THE EAR IN THE WALL

BY

ARTHUR B. REEVE

FRONTISPIECE BY WILL FOSTER

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I THE VANISHER

 II THE BLACK BOOK

 III THE SAFE ROBBERY

 IV THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

 V THE SUFFRAGETTE SECRETARY

 VI THE WOMAN DETECTIVE

 VII THE GANG LEADER

 VIII THE SHYSTER LAWYER

 IX THE JURY FIXER

 X THE AFTERNOON DANCE

 XI THE TYPEWRITER CLUE

 XII THE "PORTRAIT PARLE"

 XIII THE CONVICTION

 XIV THE BEAUTY PARLOUR

 XV THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT

 XVI THE SANITARIUM

 XVII THE SOCIETY SCANDAL

XVIII THE WALL STREET WOLF

 XIX THE ESCAPE

 XX THE METRIC PHOTOGRAPH

 XXI THE MORGUE

 XXII THE CANARD

XXIII THE CONFESSION

 XXIV THE DEBACLE OF DORGAN

 XXV THE BLOOD CRYSTALS

 XXVI THE WHITE SLAVE

XXVII THE ELECTION NIGHT

I

THE VANISHER

"Hello, Jameson, is Kennedy in?"

I glanced up from the evening papers to encounter the square-jawed, alert face of District Attorney Carton in the doorway ofour apartment. 

"How do you do, Judge?" I exclaimed. "No, but I expect him anysecond now. Won't you sit down?"

The District Attorney dropped, rather wearily I thought, into achair and looked at his watch. 

I had made Carton's acquaintance some years before as a cubreporter on the Star while he was a judge of an inferior court. Our acquaintance had grown through several political campaigns inwhich I had had assignments that brought me into contact with him. More recently some special writing had led me across his trailagain in telling the story of his clean-up of graft in the city. At present his weariness was easily accounted for. He was in themidst of the fight of his life for re-election against the so-called "System, " headed by Boss Dorgan, in which he had gone farin exposing evils that ranged all the way from vice and the drugtraffic to bald election frauds. 

"I expect a Mrs. Blackwell here in a few minutes, " he remarked, glancing again at his watch. His eye caught the headline of thenews story I had been reading and he added quickly, "What do theboys on the Star think of that Blackwell case, anyhow?"

It was, I may say, a case deeply shrouded in mystery--thedisappearance without warning of a beautiful young girl, BettyBlackwell, barely eighteen. Her family, the police, and now theDistrict Attorney had sought to solve it in vain. Some had thoughtit a kidnaping, others a suicide, and others had even hinted atmurder. All sorts of theories had been advanced without in theleast changing the original dominant note of mystery. Photographsof the young woman had been published broadcast, I knew, withouteliciting a word in reply. Young men whom she had known and girlswith whom she had been intimate had been questioned without somuch as a clue being obtained. Reports that she had been seen hadcome in from all over the country, as they always do in suchcases. All had been investigated and had turned out to be based onnothing more than imagination. The mystery remained unsolved. 

"Well, " I replied, "of course there's a lot of talk now in thepapers about aphasia and amnesia and all that stuff. But, youknow, we reporters are a sceptical lot. We have to be shown. Ican't say we put much faith in THAT. "

"But what is your explanation? You fellows always have an opinion. Sometimes I think the newspapermen are our best detectives. "

"I can't say that we have any opinion in this case--yet, " Ireturned frankly. "When a girl just simply disappears on FifthAvenue and there isn't even the hint of a clue as to any place shewent or how, well--oh, there's Kennedy now. Put it up to him. "

"We were just talking of that Betty Blackwell disappearance case, "resumed Carton, when the greetings were over. "What do you thinkof it?"

"Think of it?" repeated Kennedy promptly with a keen glance at theDistrict Attorney; "why, Judge, I think of it the same as youevidently do. If you didn't think it was a case that was in someway connected with your vice and graft investigation, you wouldn'tbe here. And if I didn't feel that it promised surprising results, aside from the interest I always have naturally in solving suchmysteries, I wouldn't be ready to take up the offer which you camehere to make. "

"You're a wizard, Kennedy, " laughed Carton, though it was easilyseen that he was both pleased and relieved to think that he hadenlisted Craig's services so easily. 

"Not much of a wizard. In the first place, I know the fight you'remaking. Also, I know that you wouldn't go to the police in thepresent state of armed truce between your office and Headquarters. You want someone outside. Well, I'm more than willing to be thatperson. The whole thing, in its larger aspects, interests me. Betty Blackwell in particular, arouses my sympathies. That's all. "

"Exactly, Kennedy. This fight I'm in is going to be the fight ofmy life. Just now, in addition to everything else, people arelooking to me to find Betty Blackwell. Her mother was in to see metoday; there isn't much that she could add to what has alreadybeen said. Betty was a most attractive girl. The family is anexcellent one, but in reduced circumstances. She had been used toa great deal as a child, but now, since the death of her father, she has had to go to work--and you know what that means to a girllike that. "

Carton laid down a new photograph which the newspapers had notprinted yet. Betty Blackwell was slender, petite, chic. Her darkhair was carefully groomed, and there was an air with which shewore her clothes and carried herself, even in a portrait, whichshowed that she was no ordinary girl. 

Her soft brown eyes had that magnetic look which is dangerous totheir owner if she does not know how to control it, eyes thatarrested one's gaze, invited notice. Even the lens must have feltthe spell. It had caught, also, the soft richness of the skin ofher oval face and full throat and neck. Indeed one could not helpremarking that she was really the girl to grace a fortune. Only aturn of the hand of that fickle goddess had prevented her fromdoing so. 

I had picked up one of the evening papers and was looking at thenewspaper half-tone which more than failed to do justice to her. Just then my eye happened on an item which I had been about todiscuss with Carton when Kennedy entered. 

"As a scientist, does the amnesia theory appeal to you, Craig?" Iasked. "Now, here is an explanation by one of the special writers, headed, 'Personalities Lost Through Amnesia. ' Listen. "

The article was brief:

Mysterious disappearances, such as that of Betty Blackwell, havealarmed the public and baffled the police before this--disappearances that have in their suddenness, apparent lack ofpurpose, and inexplicability much in common with her case. Leavingout of account the class of disappearances for their ownconvenience--embezzlers, blackmailers, and so forth--there isstill a large number of recorded cases where the subjects havedropped out of sight without apparent cause or reason and haveleft behind them untarnished reputations and solvent backaccounts. Of these, a small percentage are found to have met withviolence; others have been victims of suicidal mania, and sooneror later a clue has come to light which has established the fact. The dead are often easier to find than the living. 

Of the remaining small proportion, there are on record, however, anumber of carefully authenticated cases where the subject has beenthe victim of a sudden and complete loss of memory. 

This dislocation of memory is a variety of aphasia known asamnesia, and when the memory is recurrently lost and restored, wehave alternating personality. The Society for Psychical Researchand many eminent psychologists, among them the late William James, Dr. Weir Mitchell, Dr. Hodgson of Boston, and Dr. A. E. Osborn ofSan Francisco, have reported many cases of alternatingpersonality. 

Studious efforts are being made to understand and to explain thestrange type of mental phenomena exhibited in these cases, but asyet no one has given a clear and comprehensive explanation ofthem. Such cases are by no means always connected withdisappearances, and exhaustive studies have been made of types ofalternating personality that have from first to last beencarefully watched by scientists of the first rank. 

The variety known as the ambulatory type, where the patientsuddenly loses all knowledge of his own identity and of the pastand takes himself off, leaving no trace or clue, is the varietywhich the present case of Miss Blackwell seems to suggest. 

There followed a number of most interesting cases and an elaborateargument by the writer to show that Betty Blackwell was a victimof this psychological aberration, that she was, in other words, "avanisher. "

I laid down the paper with a questioning look at Kennedy. 

"As a scientist, " he replied deliberately, "the theory, of course, does appeal to me, especially in the ingenious way in which thatwriter applied it. However, as a detective"--he shook his headslowly--"I must deal with facts--not speculations. It leaves muchto be explained, to say the least, "

Just then the door buzzer sounded and Carton himself sprang toanswer it. 

"That's Mrs. Blackwell now--her mother. I told her that I wasgoing to take the case to you, Kennedy, and took the liberty ofasking her to come up here to meet you. Good-afternoon, Mrs. Blackwell. Let me introduce Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson, ofwhom I spoke to you. "

She bowed and murmured a tremulous greeting. Kennedy placed achair for her and she thanked him. 

Mrs. Blackwell was a slender little woman in black, well pastmiddle age. Her face and dress spoke of years of economy, even ofprivation, but her manner was plainly that of a woman of gentlebreeding and former luxury. She was precisely of the type ofdecayed gentlewoman that one meets often in the city, especiallyat some of the middle-class boarding-houses. 

Deeply as the disappearance of her daughter had affected her, Mrs. Blackwell was facing it bravely. That was her nature. One couldimagine that only when Betty was actually found would this pluckylittle woman collapse. Instinctively, one felt that she claimedhis assistance in the unequal fight she was waging against thecomplexities of modern life for which she had been so illprepared. 

"I do hope you will be able to find my daughter, " she began, controlling her voice with an effort. "Mr. Carton has been sokind, more than kind, I am sure, in getting your aid. The policeseem to be able to do nothing. They make out reports, put me off, tell me they are making progress--but they don't find Betty. "

There was a tragic pathos in the way she said it. 

"Betty was such a good girl, too, " she went on, her emotionsrising. "Oh, I was so proud of her when she got her position downin Wall Street, with the broker, Mr. Langhorne. "

"Tell Mr. Kennedy just what you told me of her disappearance, " putin Carton. 

Again Mrs. Blackwell controlled her feelings. "I don't know muchabout it, " she faltered, "but last Saturday, when she left theoffice early, she said she was going to do some shopping on FifthAvenue. I know she went there, did shop a bit, then walked on theAvenue several blocks. But after that there is no trace of her. "

"You have heard nothing, have no idea where she might have gone--even for a time?" queried Kennedy. 

He asked it with a keen look at the face of Mrs. Blackwell. Irecalled one case where a girl had disappeared in which Kennedyhad always asserted that if the family had been perfectly frank atthe start much more might have been accomplished in unravellingthe mystery. 

There was evident sincerity in Mrs. Blackwell as she repliedquickly, "Absolutely none. Another girl from the office was withher part of the time, then left her to take the subway. We don'tlive far uptown. It wouldn't have taken Betty long to get home, even if she had walked, after that, through a crowded street, too. "

"Of course, she may have met a friend, may have gone somewherewith the friend, " put in Kennedy, as if trying out the remark tosee what effect it might have. 

"Where could she go?" asked Mrs. Blackwell in naive surprise, looking at him with a counterpart of the eyes we had seen in thepicture. "I hope you don't think that Betty---"

The little widow was on the verge of tears again at the mere hintthat her daughter might have had friends that were not all, perhaps, that they should be. 

Carton came to the rescue. "Miss Blackwell, " he interposed, "was avery attractive girl, very. She had hosts of admirers, as everyattractive girl must have. Most of them, all of them, as far asMrs. Blackwell knows and I have been able to find out, were youngmen at the office where she worked, or friends of that sort--notthe ordinary clerk, but of the rising, younger, self-madegeneration. Still, they don't seem to have interested herparticularly as far as I have been able to discover. She merelyliked them. There is absolutely nothing known to point to the factthat she was any different from thousands of girls in thatrespect. She was vivacious, full of fun and life, a girl anyfellow would have been more than proud to take to a dance. She wasambitious, I suppose, but nothing more. "

"Betty was not a bad girl, " asserted Mrs. Blackwell vehemently. "She was a good girl. I don't believe there was much, in factanything important, on which she did not make me her confidante. Yes, she was ambitious. So am I. I have always hoped that Bettywould bring our family--her younger sister--back to the stationwhere we were before the panic wiped out our fortune and killed myhusband. That is all. "

"Yes, " added Carton, "nothing at all is known that would make onethink that she was what young men call a 'good fellow' with them. "

Kennedy looked up, but said nothing. I thought I could read theunspoken word on his lips, as he glanced from Carton to Mrs. Blackwell, "known. "

She had risen and was facing us. 

"Is there no one in all this great city, " appealed the distractedlittle woman with outstretched arms, "who can find my daughter? Isit possible that a girl can disappear in broad daylight in thestreets and never be heard of again? Oh, won't you find her? Tellme she is safe--that she is still the little girl I---"

Her voice failed and she was crying softly in her lacehandkerchief. It was touching and I saw that Kennedy was deeplymoved, although at once to his practical mind the thought musthave occurred that nothing was to be gained by further questionsof Mrs. Blackwell. 

"Believe me, Mrs. Blackwell, " he said in a low tone, taking herhand, "I will do all that is in my power to find her. "

"Thank you, " murmured the mother, overcome. 

A moment later, however, she had recovered her composure to somedegree and rose to go. There was a flattering look of relief onher face which in itself must have been ample reward to Craig, aretainer worth more to him in a case like this than money. 

"I'm going back to my office, " remarked Carton. "If I learnanything, I shall let you know. "

The District Attorney went out with Mrs. Blackwell. Busy as hewas, he had time to turn aside to help this bereaved woman, and Iadmired him for it. 

"Do you think it is one of those cases like some that Carton hasuncovered on the East Side and among girls newly arrived in thecity?" I asked Craig when the door was shut. 

"Can't say, " he returned, in an abstracted study. 

"It's awful if it is, " I pursued. "And if it is, I suppose allthat will result from it will be a momentary thrill of thenewspaper-readers, and then they will fall back on the old sayingthat after all it is only a result of human nature that suchthings happen--they always have happened and always will--that oldline of talk. "

"That sort of thing is NOT a result of human nature, " returnedKennedy earnestly. "It's a System. I mean to say that if it shouldturn out to be connected with the vice investigations of Carton, and not a case of aphasia, such a disappearance you would find tobe due to the persistent, cunning, and unprincipled exploitationof young girls. 

"No, Walter, it is not that women are weak or that men areinherently vicious. That doesn't account for a case like this. Then, too, some mawkish people to-day are fond of putting thewhole evil on low wages as a cause. It isn't that--alone. It isn'teven lack of education or of moral training. Human nature is notso bad in the mass as some good people think. No, don't you, as areporter, see it? It is big business, in its way, that Carton isfighting--big business in the commercialized ruin of girls, such, perhaps, as Betty Blackwell--a vicious system that enmeshes eventhose who are its tools. I'm glad if I can have a chance to helpsmash it. 

"Now, I'll tell you what I want you to do, just so that we canstart this thing with a clear understanding of what it amounts to. I want you to look up just what the situation is. I know there isan army of 'vanishers' in New York. I want to know something aboutthem in the mass. Can't you dig up something from your Starconnections?"

Kennedy had some matters concerning other cases to clear up beforehe felt free to devote his whole time to this. As there wasnothing we could do immediately, I spent some time getting at thefacts he wanted. Indeed, it did not take me long to discover thatthe disappearance of Betty Blackwell, in spite of the prominenceit had been given, was by no means an isolated case. I found thatthe Star alone had chronicled scores of such disappearances duringthe past few months, cases of girls who had simply been swallowedup in the big city. They were the daughters of neither the richnor of the poor, most of them, but girls rather in ordinarycircumstances. 

Even the police records showed upward of a thousand missing younggirls, ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-one years and I knewthat the police lists scarcely approximated the total number ofmissing persons in the great city, especially in those cases wherea hesitancy on the part of parents and relatives often concealedthe loss from public records. 

I came away with the impression that there were literally hundredsof cases every bit as baffling as that of Betty Blackwell, ofyoung girls who had left absolutely no trace behind, who had madeno preparations for departure and of whom few had been heard fromsince they disappeared. Many from homes of refinement and evenhigh financial standing had disappeared, leaving no clues behind. It was not alone the daughters of the poor that were affected--itwas all society. 

Many reasons, I found, had been assigned for the disappearances. Iknew that there must be many causes at work, that no one causecould be responsible for all or perhaps a majority of the cases. There were suicides and murders and elopements, family troubles, poverty, desire for freedom and adventure; innumerable complexcauses, even down to kidnapping. 

The question was, however, which of these causes had been inoperation in the case of Betty Blackwell? Where had she gone?Where had this whole army of vanishers disappeared? Were thesedisappearances merely accidents--or was there an epidemic ofamnesia? I could bring myself to no such conclusions, but wasforced to answer my own queries in lieu of an answer from Kennedy, by propounding another. Was there an organized band?

And, after I had tried to reason it all out, I still found myselfback at the original question, as I rejoined Kennedy at thelaboratory, "Where had they all--where had Betty Blackwell gone?"

II

THE BLACK BOOK

I had scarcely finished pouring out my suspicions to Kennedy whenthe telephone rang. 

It was Carton on the wire, in a state of unsuppressed excitement. Kennedy answered the call himself, but the conversation was briefand, to me, unenlightening, until he hung up the receiver. 

"Dorgan--the Boss, " he exclaimed, "has just found a detectaphonein his private dining-room at Gastron's. "

At once I saw the importance of the news and for the moment itobscured even the case of Betty Blackwell. 

Dorgan was the political boss of the city at that time, apparentlyentrenched, with an organization that seemed impregnable. I knewhim as a big, bullnecked fellow, taciturn to the point ofsurliness, owing his influence to his ability to "deliver thegoods" in the shape of graft of all sorts, the archenemy ofCarton, a type of politician who now is rapidly passing. 

"Carton wants to see us immediately at his office, " added Craig, jamming his hat on his head. "Come on. "

Without waiting for further comment or answer from me, Kennedy, caught by the infectious excitement of Carton's message, dashedfrom our apartment and a few minutes later we were whirlingdowntown on the subway. 

"You know, I suppose, " he whispered rather hoarsely above therumble and roar of the train, but so as not to be overheard, "thatDorgan always has kept a suite of rooms at Gastron's, on FifthAvenue, for dinners and conferences. "

I nodded. Some of the things that must have gone on in the secretsuite in the fashionable restaurant I knew would make interestingreading, if the walls had ears. 

"Apparently he must have found out about the eavesdropping in timeand nipped it, " pursued Kennedy. 

"What do you mean?" I asked, for I had not been able to gathermuch from the one-sided conversation over the telephone, and thelightning change from the case of Betty Blackwell to this had leftme somewhat bewildered. "What has he done?"

"Smashed the transmitter of the machine, " replied Kennedy tersely. "Cut the wires. "

"Where did it lead?" I asked. "How do you know?"

Kennedy shook his head. Either he did not know, yet, or he feltthat the subway was no place in which to continue the conversationbeyond the mere skeleton that he had given me. 

We finished the ride in comparative silence and hurried intoCarton's office down in the Criminal Courts Building. 

Carton greeted us cordially, with an air of intense relief, as ifhe were glad to have been able to turn to Kennedy in the growingperplexities that beset him. 

What surprised me most, however, was that, seated beside his desk, in an easy chair, was a striking looking woman, not exactly young, but of an age that is perhaps more interesting than youth, certainly more sophisticated. She, too, I noticed, had a tense, excited expression on her face. As Kennedy and I entered she hadlooked us over searchingly. 

"Let me present Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Jameson, Mrs. Ogleby, " saidCarton quickly. "Both of them know as much about how experts usethose little mechanical eavesdroppers as anyone--except theinventor. "

We bowed and waited for an explanation. 

"You understand, " continued Carton slowly to us in a tone thatenjoined secrecy, "Mrs. Ogleby, who is a friend of Mr. Murtha, Dorgan's right-hand man, naturally is alarmed and doesn't want hername to appear in this thing. "

"Oh--it is terrible--terrible, " Mrs. Ogleby chimed in in greatagitation. "I don't care about anything else. But, my reputation--it will be ruined if they connect my name with the case. As soonas I heard of it--I thought of you, Mr. Carton. I came hereimmediately. There must be some way in which you can protect me--some way that you can get along without using--"

"But, my dear Mrs. Ogleby, " interrupted the District Attorney, "Ihave told you half a dozen times, I think, that I didn't put thedetectaphone in--"

"Yes, but you will get the record, " she persisted excitedly. "Can't you do something?" she pleaded. 

I fancied that she said it with the air of one who almost had someright in the matter. 

"Mrs. Ogleby, " reiterated Carton earnestly, "I will do all I can--on my word of honour--to protect your name, but--"

He paused and looked at us helplessly. 

"What was it that was overheard?" asked Craig point-blank, watching Mrs. Ogleby's face carefully. 

"Why, " she replied nervously, "there was a big dinner last nightwhich Mr. Dorgan gave at Gastron's. Mr. Murtha took me and--oh--there were lots of others--" She stopped suddenly. 

"Yes, " prompted Kennedy. "Who else was there?"

She was on her guard, however. Evidently she had come to Cartonfor one purpose and that was solely to protect herself against thescandal which she thought might attach to having been present atone of the rather notorious little affairs of the Boss. 

"Really, " she answered, colouring slightly, "I can't tell you. Imustn't say a word about who was there--or anything about it. Goodheavens--it is bad enough as it is--to think that my name may bedragged into politics and all sorts of false stories set in motionabout me. You must protect me, Mr. Carton, you must. "

"How did you find out about the detectaphone being there?" askedKennedy. 

"Why, " she replied evasively, "I thought it was just an ordinarylittle social dinner. That's what Mr. Murtha told me it was. Ididn't think anyone outside was interested in it or in who wasthere or what went on. But, this morning, a--a friend--called meup and told me--something that made me think others besides thoseinvited knew of it, knew too much. "

She paused, then resumed hastily to forestall questioning, "Ibegan to think it over myself, and the more I thought of it, thestranger it seemed that anyone else, outside, should know. I beganto wonder how it leaked out, for I understood that it was astrictly private affair. I asked Mr. Murtha and he told Mr. Dorgan. Mr. Dorgan at once guessed that there had been somethingqueer. He looked about his rooms there, and, sure enough, theyfound the detectaphone concealed in the wall. I can't tell anymore, " she added, facing Carton and using her bewitching eyes totheir best advantage. "I can't ask you to shield Mr. Dorgan andMr. Murtha. They are your opponents. But I have done nothing toyou, Mr. Carton. You must suppress--that part of it--about me. Why, it would ruin---"

She cut her words short. But I knew what she meant, and to acertain extent I could understand, if not sympathize with her. Herhusband, Martin Ogleby, club-man and man about town, had areputation none too savoury. But, man-like, I knew, he wouldcondone not even the appearance of anything that caused gossip inhis wife's actions. I could understand how desperate she felt. 

"But, my dear lady, " repeated Carton, in a manner that showed thathe felt keenly, for some reason or other, the appeal she wasmaking to him, "must I say again that I had nothing whatever to dowith it? I have sent for Mr. Kennedy and---"

"Nothing--on your honour?" she asked, facing him squarely. 

"Nothing--on my honour, " he asserted frankly. 

She appeared to be dazed. Apparently all along she had assumedthat Carton must be the person to see, that he alone could doanything for her, would do something. 

Her face paled as she met his earnest look. She had risen and now, half chagrined, half frightened, she stood irresolute. Her lipsquivered and tears stood in her eyes as she realized that, insteadof protecting herself by her confidence, she had, perhaps, madematters worse by telling an outsider. 

Carton, too, had risen and in a low voice which we could notoverhear was trying to reassure her. 

In her confusion she was moving toward the door, utterlyoblivious, now, to us. Carton tactfully took her arm and led herto a private entrance that opened from his office down thecorridor and out of sight of the watchful eyes of the reportersand attendants in the outer hall. 

I did not understand just what it was all about, but I could seeKennedy's eye following Carton keenly. 

"What was that--a plant?" he asked, still trying to read Carton'sface, as he returned to us alone a moment later. "Did she come tosee whether you got the record?"

"No--I don't think so, " replied Carton quickly. "No, I think thatwas all on the level--her part of it. "

"But who did put in the instrument, really--did you?" askedKennedy, still quizzing. 

"No, " exclaimed Carton hastily, this time meeting Craig's eyefrankly. "No. I wish I had. Why--the fact is, I don't know whodid--no one seems to know, yet, evidently. But, " he added, leaningforward and speaking rapidly, "I think I could give a shrewdguess. "

Kennedy said nothing, but nodded encouragingly. 

"I think, " continued Carton impressively, "that it must have beenLanghorne and the Wall Street crowd he represents. "

"Langhorne, " repeated Kennedy, his mind working rapidly. "Why, itwas his stenographer that Miss Blackwell was. Why do you suspectLanghorne?"

"Because, " exclaimed Carton, more excited than ever at Kennedy'squick deduction, bringing his fist down on the desk to emphasizehis own suspicion, "because they aren't getting their share of thegraft that Dorgan is passing out--probably are sore, and thinkthat if they can get something on the Boss or some of those whoare close to him, they may force him to take them into partnershipin the deals. "

Carton looked from Kennedy to me, to see what impression histheory made. On me at least it did make an impression. HartleyLanghorne, I knew, was a Wall Street broker and speculator whodealt in real estate, securities, in fact in anything that wouldappeal to a plunger as promising a quick and easy return. 

Kennedy made no direct comment on the theory. "In what shape isthe record, do you suppose?" he asked merely. 

"I gathered from Mrs. Ogleby, " returned Carton watchfully, "thatit had been taken down by a stenographer at the receiving end ofthe detectaphone, transcribed in typewriting, and loosely bound ina book of limp black leather. Oh, " he concluded, "Dorgan wouldgive almost anything to find out what is in that little record, you may be sure. Perhaps even, rather than have such a thing out, he would come to terms with Langhorne. "

Kennedy said nothing. He was merely absorbing the case as Cartonpresented it. 

"Don't you see?" continued the District Attorney, pacing hisoffice and gazing now and then out of the window, "here's thisrecord hidden away somewhere in the city. If I could only get it--I'd win my fight against Dorgan--and Mrs. Ogleby need not sufferfor her mistake in coming to me, at all. "

He was apparently thinking aloud. Kennedy did not attempt to quizhim. He was considering the importance of the situation. For, as Ihave said, it was at the height of the political campaign in whichCarton had been renominated independently by the Reform League--ofwhich, more later. 

"You don't think that Langhorne is really in the inner ring, then?" questioned Craig. 

"No, not yet. "

"Well, then, " I put in hastily, "can't you approach him or someoneclose to him, and get---"

"Say, " interrupted Carton, "anything that took place in thatprivate dining-room at Gastron's would be just as likely toincriminate Langhorne and some of his crowd as not. It is adifference in degree of graft--that is all. They don't want anopen fight. It was just a piece of finesse on Langhorne's part. You may be sure of that. No, neither of them wants a fight. That'sthe last thing. They're both afraid. What Langhorne wanted was aline on Dorgan. And we should never have known anything about thisBlack Book, if some of the women, I suppose, hadn't talked toomuch. Mrs. Ogleby added two and two and got five. She thought itmust be I who put the instrument in. "

Carton was growing more and more excited again, "It'sexasperating, " he continued. "There's the record--somewhere--if Icould only get it. Think of it, Kennedy--an election going on andnever so much talk about graft and vice before!"

"What was in the book--mostly, do you imagine?" asked Craig, stillimperturbable. 

Carton shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, almost anything. For instance, you know, Dorgan has just put through a new scheme of cityplanning--with the able assistance of some theoretical reformers. That will be a big piece of real estate graft, unless I ammistaken. Langhorne and his crowd know it. They don't want to befrozen out. "

As they talked, I had been revolving the thing over in my head. Dorgan's little parties, as reported privately among the men onthe Star whom I knew, were notorious. The more I considered, themore possible phases of the problem I thought of. It was not evenimpossible that in some way it might bear on the Betty Blackwellcase. 

"Do you think Dorgan and Murtha are hunting the book as anxiouslyas--some others?" I ventured. 

"You have heard of the character of some of those dinners?"answered Carton by asking another question, then went on: "Why, Dorgan has had some of our leading lawyers, financiers, andlegislators there. He usually surrounds them with brilliant, clever women, as unscrupulous as himself, and--well--you canimagine the result. Poor little Mrs. Ogleby, " he addedsympathetically. "They could twist her any way they chose fortheir purposes. "

My own impression had been that Mrs. Ogleby was better able totake care of herself than his words gave her credit for, but Isaid nothing. 

Carton paused before the window and gazed out at the Bridge ofSighs that led from his building across to the city prison. 

"What a record that Black Book must hold!" he exclaimedmeditatively. "Why, if it was only that I could 'get' Murtha--I'dbe happy, " he added, turning to us. 

Murtha, as I have said, was Boss Dorgan's right bower, a cleverand unscrupulous politician and leader in a district where hesucceeded somehow or other in absolutely crushing opposition. Ihad run across him now and then in the course of my newspapercareer and, aside from his well-known character in delivering the"goods" to the organization whenever it was necessary, I had foundhim a most interesting character. 

It was due to such men as Murtha that the organization kept itsgrip, though one wave of reform after another lashed its fury onit. For Murtha understood his people. He worked at politics everyhour--whether it was patting the babies of the district on thehead, or bailing their fathers out of jail, handing out shoes tothe shiftless or judiciously distributing coal and ice to thedeserving. 

Yet I had seen enough to know the inherent viciousness of thecircle--of how the organization took dollars from the people withone concealed hand and distributed pennies from the other hand, held aloft and in the spotlight. Again and again, Kennedy and I inour excursions into scientific warfare on crime in the underworldhad run squarely up against the refined as well as the debasedcreatures of the "System. " Pyramided on what looked like open-handed charity and good-fellowship we had seen vice and crime ofall degrees. 

And yet, somehow or other, I must confess to a sort of admirationfor Murtha and his stamp--if for nothing else than because of thefrankness with which he did what he sought to do. Neither Kennedynor I could be accused of undue sympathy with the System, yet, like many who had been brought in close contact with it, it hadearned our respect in many ways. 

And so, I contemplated the situation with more than ordinaryinterest. Carton wanted the Black Book to use in order to win hispolitical fight for a clean city and to prosecute the grafters. Dorgan wanted it in order to suppress and thus protect himself andMurtha. Mrs. Ogleby wanted it to save her good name and preventeven the appearance of scandal. Langhorne wanted it in order tocoerce Dorgan to share in the graft, yet was afraid of Cartonalso. 

Was ever a situation of such peculiar, mixed motives?

"I would move heaven and earth for that Black Book!" exclaimedCarton finally, turning from the window and facing us. 

Kennedy, too, had risen. 

"You can count on me, then, Carton, " he said simply, as therecollection of the many fights in which we had stood shoulder toshoulder with the young District Attorney came over him. 

A moment later Carton had us each by the hand. 

"Thank you, " he cried. "I knew you fellows would be with me. "

III

THE SAFE ROBBERY

It was late that night that Kennedy and I left Carton after layingout a campaign and setting in motion various forces, official andunofficial, which might serve to keep us in touch with what Dorganand the organization were doing. 

Not until the following morning, however, did anything new developin such a way that we could work on it. 

Kennedy had picked up the morning papers which had been left atthe door of our apartment and was hastily running his eye over theheadlines on the first page, as was his custom. 

"By Jove, Walter, " I heard him exclaim. "What do you think ofthat--a robbery below the deadline--and in Langhorne's office, too. "

I hurried out of my room and glanced at the papers, also. Sureenough, there it was:

SAFE ROBBED IN WALL ST. OFFICE

Door Into Office of Langhorne & Westlake, Brokers, Forced and SafeRobbed. 

One of the strangest robberies ever perpetrated was pulled offlast night in the office of Langhorne & Westlake, the brokers, at-----Wall Street, some time during the regular closing time of theoffice and eight o'clock. 

Mr. Langhorne had returned to his office after dining with somefriends in order to work on some papers. When he arrived, abouteight o'clock, he found that the door had been forced. The officewas in darkness, but when he switched on the lights it wasdiscovered that the office safe had been entered. 

Nothing was said about the manner in which the safe robbery wasperpetrated, but it is understood to have been very peculiar. Sofar no details have been announced and the robbery was notreported to the police until a late hour. 

Mr. Langhorne, when seen by the reporters, stated positively thatnothing of great value had been taken and that the firm would notsuffer in any way as a result of the robbery. 

One of the stenographers in the office, Miss Betty Blackwell, whoacted as private secretary to Mr. Langhorne, is missing and thecase has already attracted wide attention. Whether or not herdisappearance had anything to do with the robbery is not known. 

"Naturally he would not report it to the police, " commentedKennedy; "that is, if it had anything to do with that Black Book, as I am sure that it must have had. "

"It was certainly a most peculiar affair if it did not, " Iremarked. "There must be some way of finding that out. It'sstrange about Betty Blackwell. "

Kennedy was turning something over in his mind. "Of course, " heremarked, "we don't want to come out into the open just yet, butit would be interesting to know what happened down there atLanghorne's. Have you any objection to going down with me andposing as a reporter from the Star?"

"None whatever, " I returned. 

We stopped at the laboratory on the campus of the University whereCraig still retained his professorship. Kennedy secured a ratherbulky piece of apparatus, which, as nearly as I can describe, consisted of a steel frame, which could be attached by screws toany wooden table. It contained a lower plate which could moveforward and back, two lateral uprights stiffened by curved braces, and a cross piece of steel attached by strong bolts to the tops ofthe posts. In the face of the machine was a dial with a pointer. 

Kennedy quickly took the apparatus apart and made it up into twopackages so that between us we could carry it easily, and at aboutthe time that Wall Street offices were opening we were on our waydowntown. 

Langhorne proved to be a tall, rather slim, man of what might becalled youngish middle age. One did not have to be introduced tohim to read his character or his occupation. Every line of hisfaultlessly fitting clothes and every expression of his keen andcarefully cared-for face betokened the plunger, the man who livedby his wits and found the process both fascinating and congenial. 

"Mr. Langhorne, " began Kennedy, after I had taken upon myself theduty of introducing ourselves as reporters, "we are preparing anarticle for our paper about a new apparatus which the Star hasimported especially from Paris. It is a machine invented byMonsieur Bertillon just before he died, for the purpose offurnishing exact measurements of the muscular efforts exerted inthe violent entry of a door or desk by making it possible toreproduce the traces of the work that a burglar has left on doorsand articles of furniture. We've been waiting for a case that theinstrument would fit into and it seemed to us that perhaps itmight be of some use to you in getting at the real robber of youroffice. Would you mind if we made an attempt to apply it?"

Langhorne could not very well refuse to allow us to try the thing, though it was plainly evident that he did not want to talk and didnot relish the publicity that the news of the morning had broughthim. 

Kennedy had laid the apparatus down on a table as he spoke and wasassembling the parts which he had separated in order to carry it. 

"These are the marks on the door, I presume?" he continued, examining some indentations of the woodwork near the lock. 

Langhorne assented. 

"The door was open when you returned?" asked Kennedy. 

"Closed, " replied Langhorne briefly. "Before I put the key intothe lock, I turned the knob, as I have a habit of doing. Insteadof catching, it yielded and the door swung open without anytrouble. "

He repeated the story substantially as we had already read it inthe papers. 

Kennedy had taken a step or two into the office, and was nowfacing the safe. It was not a large safe, but was one of the mostmodern construction and was supposed to be burglar proof. 

"And you say you lost practically nothing?" persisted Craig. 

"Nothing of importance, " reiterated Langhorne. 

Kennedy had been watching him closely. The man was at leastbaffling. There was nothing excited or perturbed about his manner. Indeed, one might easily have thought that it was not his safe atall that had been robbed. I wondered whether, after all, he hadhad the Black Book. Certainly, I felt, if he had lost it he wasvery cool about the loss. 

Craig had by this time reached the safe itself. In spite ofLanghorne's reluctance, his assurance had taken Kennedy even up tothe point which he wished. He was examining the safe. 

On the front it showed no evidence of having been "souped" ordrilled. There was not a mark on it. Nor, as we learned later fromthe police, was there any evidence of a finger-print having beenleft by the burglar. 

Langhorne now but ill concealed his interest. It was natural, too, for here he had one of the most modern of small strong-boxes, built up of the latest chrome steel and designed to withstand anyreasonable assault of cracksman or fire. 

I was on the point of inquiring how on earth it had been possibleto rob the safe, when Kennedy, standing on a chair, as Langhornedirected, uttered a low exclamation. 

I craned my neck to look also. 

There, in the very top of the safe, yawned a huge hole largeenough to thrust one's arm through, with something to spare. 

As I looked at the yawning dark hole in the top of what had beenonly a short time ago a safe worthy of the latest state of theart, it seemed incomprehensible. 

Try as I could to reason it out, I could find no explanation. Howit had been possible for a burglar to make such an opening in thelittle more than two hours between closing and the arrival ofLanghorne after dinner, I could not even guess. As far as I knewit would have taken many long hours of patient labour with thefinest bits to have made anything at all comparable to thedestruction which we saw before us. 

A score of questions were on my lips, but I said nothing, althoughI could not help noticing the strange look on Langhorne's face. Itplainly showed that he would like to have known what had takenplace during the two or more hours when his office had beenunguarded, yet was averse to betraying any such interest. 

Mystified as I was by what I saw, I was even more amazed at thecool manner in which Kennedy passed it all by. 

He seemed merely to be giving the hole in the top of the safe apassing glance, as though it was of no importance that someoneshould have in such an incredibly short time made a hole throughwhich one might easily reach his arm and secure anything he wantedout of the interior of the powerful little safe. 

Langhorne, too, seemed surprised at Kennedy's matter of factpassing by of what was almost beyond the range of possibility. 

"After all, " remarked Kennedy, "it is not the safe that we care tostudy so much as the door. For one thing, I want to make surewhether the marks show a genuine breaking and entering or whetherthey were placed there afterwards merely to cover the trail, supposing someone had used a key to get into the office. "

The remark suggested many things to me. Was it that he meant toimply that, after all, the missing Betty Blackwell had hadsomething to do with it? In fact, could the thing have been doneby a woman?

"Most persons, " remarked Craig, as he studied the marks on thedoor, "don't know enough about jimmies. Against them an ordinarydoor-lock or window-catch is no protection. With a jimmy eighteeninches long, even an anemic burglar can exert a pressuresufficient to lift two tons. Not one door-lock in ten thousand canstand this strain. It's like using a hammer to kill a fly. Really, the only use of locks is to keep out sneak thieves and to compelthe modern, scientific educated burglar to make a noise. Thisfellow, however, was no sneak thief. "

He continued to adjust the machine which he had brought. Langhornewatched minutely, but did not say anything. 

"Bertillon used to call this his mechanical burglar detector, "continued Kennedy. "As you see, this frame carries twodynamometers of unequal power. The stronger, which has a highmaximum capacity of several tons, is designed for the measurementof vertical efforts. The other measures horizontal efforts. Thetest is made by inserting the end of a jimmy or other burglar'stool and endeavouring to produce impressions similar to thosewhich have been found on doors or windows. The index of thedynamometer moves in such a way as to make a permanent record ofthe pressure exerted. The horizontal or traction dynamometerregisters the other component of pressure. "

He pressed down on the machine. "There was a pressure here ofconsiderably over two tons, " he remarked at length, "with a veryhigh horizontal traction of over four hundred pounds. What Iwanted to get at was whether this could have been done by a man, woman, or child, or perhaps by several persons. In this case, itwas clearly no mere fake to cover up the opening of the door by akey. It was a genuine attempt. Nor could it have been done by awoman. No, that is the work of a man, a powerful man, too, accustomed to the use of the jimmy. "

I fancied that a shade of satisfaction crossed the otherwiseimpassive face of Langhorne. Was it because the Bertillondynamometer appeared at first sight to exonerate Betty Blackwell, at least so far, from any connection with the crime? It wasdifficult to say. 

Important though it was, however, to clear up at the start justwhat sort of person was connected with the breaking of the door Icould not but feel that Kennedy had some purpose in deferring andminimizing for the present what, to me at least, was the greatermystery, the entering of the safe itself. 

He was still studying and comparing the marks on the door and therecord made on the dynamometer, when the office telephone rang andLanghorne was summoned to answer it. Instead of taking the call inhis own office, he chose to answer it at the switchboard, perhapsbecause that would allow him to keep an eye also on us. 

Whatever his purpose, it likewise enabled us to keep an ear onhim, and it was with surprise which both Kennedy and I had greatdifficulty in concealing, that we heard him reply, "Hello--yes--oh, Mrs. Ogleby, good-morning. How are you? That's good. So you, too, read the papers. No, I haven't lost anything of importance, thank you. Nothing serious, you know. The papers like to get holdof such things and play them up. I have a couple of reporters herenow. Heaven knows what they are doing, but I can foresee some moreunpaid advertising for the firm in it. Thank you again for yourinterest. You haven't forgotten the studio dance I'm giving on thetwelfth? No--that's fine. I hope you'll come, even if Martin hasanother engagement. Fine. Well-good-bye. "

He hung up the receiver with a mingled air of gratification andexasperation, I fancied. 

"Haven't you fellows finished yet?" he asked finally, coming overto us, a little brusquely. 

"Just about, " returned Kennedy, who had by this time begun slowlyto dismember and pack up the dynamometer, determined to takeadvantage of every minute both to observe Langhorne and to fix inhis mind the general lay-out of the office. 

"Everybody seems to be interested in me this morning, " heobserved, for the moment forgetting the embargo he had imposed onhis own words. 

As for myself, I saw at once that others besides ourselves werekeenly interested in this robbery. 

"There, " remarked Kennedy when at last he had finished packing upthe dynamometer into two packages. "At least, Mr. Langhorne, youhave the satisfaction of knowing that it was in all probability aman, a strong man, and one experienced in forcing doors whosucceeded in entering your office during your brief absence lastnight"

Langhorne shrugged his shoulders non-committally, but it wasevident that he was greatly relieved and he could not conceal hisinterest in what Kennedy was doing, even though he had succeededin conveying the impression that it was a matter of indifferenceto him. 

"I suppose you keep a great many of your valuable papers in safetydeposit vaults, " ventured Kennedy, finishing up the wrapping ofthe two packages, "as well as your personal papers perhaps athome. "

He made the remark in a casual manner, but Langhorne was too keento fall into the trap. 

"Really, " he said with an air of finality, "I must decline to beinterviewed at present. Good-day, gentlemen. "

"A slippery customer, " was Craig's comment when we reached thestreet outside the office. "By the way, evidently Mrs. Ogleby isleaving no stone unturned in her effort to locate that Black Bookand protect herself. "

I said nothing. Langhorne's manner, self-confident to the point ofbravado, had baffled me. I began to feel that even if he had lostthe detectaphone record, his was the nature to carry out the bluffof still having it, in much the same manner that he would haveplayed the market on a shoestring or made the most of an unfilledfour-card flush in a game of poker. 

Kennedy was far from being discouraged, however. Indeed, it seemedas if he really enjoyed matching his wit against the subtlety of aman like Langhorne, even more than against one the type of Dorganand Murtha. 

"I want to see Carton and I don't want to carry these bundles allover the city, " he remarked, changing the subject for the moment, as he turned into a public pay station. "I'll ring him up and havehim meet us at the laboratory, if I can. "

A moment later he emerged, excited, perspiring from the closenessof the telephone booth. 

"Carton has some news--a letter--that's all he would say, " heexclaimed. "He'll meet us at the laboratory. "

We hastily resumed our uptown journey. 

"What do you think it is?" I asked. "About Betty Blackwell?"

Kennedy shook his head non-committally. "I don't know. But he hassome of his county detectives watching Dorgan and Murtha in thatBlack Book case, I know. They are worried. It doesn't look asthough they, at least, had the record--that is, if Langhorne hasreally lost it. "

I wondered whether Langhorne might not, after all, as Kennedy hadhinted, have concealed it elsewhere. The activity of Dorgan andMurtha might indicate that they knew more about the robbery thanappeared yet on the surface. Had they failed in it? Had they beendouble-crossed by the man they had chosen for the work, assumingthat they knew of and had planned the "job"?

The safe-breaking and the way Langhorne took it had served tocomplicate the case even further. While we had before beenreasonably sure that Langhorne had the book, now we were sure ofnothing. 

IV

THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

"What do you make of that?" inquired Carton half an hour later ashe met us breathlessly at the laboratory. 

He unfolded a letter over which he had evidently been puzzlingconsiderably. It was written, or rather typewritten, on plainpaper. The envelope was plain and bore no marks of identification, except possibly that it had been mailed uptown. 

The letter ran:

DEAR SIR:

Although this is an anonymous letter, I beg that you will notconsider it such, since it will be plain to you that there is goodreason for my wishing to remain nameless. 

I want to tell you of some things that have taken place recentlyat a little hotel in the West Fifties. No doubt you know of theplace already--the Little Montmartre. 

There are several young and wealthy men who frequent this resort. I do not dare tell you their names, but one is a well-known club-man and man about town, another is a banker and broker, also wellknown, and a third is a lawyer. I might also mention an intimatefriend of theirs, though not of their position in society--adoctor who has somewhat of a reputation among the class of peoplewho frequent the Little Montmartre, ready to furnish them withanything from a medical certificate to drugs and treatment. 

I have read a great deal in the newspapers lately of thedisappearance of Betty Blackwell, and her case interests me. Ithink you will find that it will repay you to look into the hint Ihave given. I don't think it is necessary to say any more. Indeedit may be dangerous to me, and I beg that you will not even showthis letter to anyone except those associated with you and then, please, only with the understanding that it is to go no farther. 

Betty Blackwell is not at this hotel, but I am sure that some ofthose whose wild orgies have scandalized even the LittleMontmartre know something about her. 

 Yours truly, AN OUTCAST. 

Kennedy looked up quickly at Carton as he finished reading theletter. 

"Typical, " he remarked. "Anonymous letters occasionally are of afriendly nature, but usually they reflect with more or lessseverity upon the conduct or character of someone. They usuallyreceive little attention, but sometimes they are of the mostserious character. In many instances they are most important linksin chains of evidence pointing to grave crimes. 

"It is possible to draw certain conclusions from such letters atonce. For instance, it is a surprising fact that in a large numberof cases the anonymous letter writer is a woman, who may writewhat it does not seem possible she could write. Such letters oftenby their writing, materials used, composition and general formindicate at once the sex of the writer and frequently shownationality, age, education, and occupation. These facts may oftenpoint to the probable author. 

"Now in this case the writer evidently was well educated. Assumedilliteracy is a frequent disguise, but it is impossible for anauthor to assume a literacy he or she does not possess. Then, too, women are more apt to assume the characteristics of men than menof women. There are many things to be considered. Too bad itwasn't in ordinary handwriting. That would have shown much more. However, we shall try our best with what we have here. Whatimpressed you about it?"

"Well, " remarked Carton, "the thing that impressed me was that asusual and as I fully expected, the trail leads right back toprotected vice and commercialized graft. This Little Montmartre isone of the swellest of such resorts in the city, the legitimatesuccessor to the scores and hundreds of places which theauthorities and the vice investigators have closed recently. Infact, Kennedy, I consider it more dangerous, because it is run, onthe surface at least, just like any of the first-class hotels. There's no violation of law there, at least not openly. "

Craig had continued to examine the letter closely. "So, you havealready investigated the Little Montmartre?" he queried, drawingfrom his pocket a little strip of glass and laying it downcarefully over the letter. 

"Indeed I have, " returned the District Attorney, watching Kennedycuriously. "It is a place with a very unsavoury reputation. Andyet I have been able to get nothing on it. They are so confoundedclever. There is never any outward violation of law; they adherestrictly to the letter of the rule of outward decency. "

Over the typewritten characters Kennedy had placed the strip ofglass and I could see that it was ruled into little oblongs, intoeach of which one of the type of the typewritten sheet seemed tofall. Apparently he had forgotten the contents of the letter inhis interest in the text itself. He held the paper up to the lightand seemed to study its texture and thickness. Then he examinedthe typed characters more closely with a little pocket magnifyingglass, his lips moving as if he were counting something. Next heseized a mass of correspondence on his desk and began comparingthe letter with others, apparently to determine just the shade ofwriting of the ribbon. Finally he gave it up and leaned back inhis chair regarding us. 

"It is written in the regular pica type, " he remarkedthoughtfully, "and on a machine that has seen considerable roughusage, although it is not an old machine. It will take me a littletime to identify the make, but after I have done that, I think Icould identify the particular machine itself the moment I saw it. You see, it is only a clue that would serve to fix it once youfound that machine. The point is, after all, to find it. But oncefound, I am sure we shall be close to the source of the letter. Imay keep this and study it at my leisure?"

"Certainly. "

For a moment Carton was silent. Then it seemed as though thematter of Betty Blackwell brought to mind what he had read in themorning papers. 

"That robbery of Langhorne's safe was a most peculiar thing, wasn't it?" he meditated. "I suppose you know what Miss Blackwellwas?"

"Langhorne's stenographer and secretary, of course, " I repliedquickly. 

"Yes, I know. But I mean what she had actually done? I don'tbelieve you do. My county detectives found out only last night. "Kennedy paused in his rummaging among some bottles to which he hadturned at the mention of the safe robbery. "No--what was it?" heasked. 

Carton bent forward as if our own walls might have ears and saidin a low voice: "She was the operator who took down thedetectaphone conversations at the other end of the wire in afurnished room in the house next to Gastron's. "

He drew back to see what effect the intelligence had on us, thenresumed slowly: "Yes, I've had my men out on the case. That iswhat they think. I believe she often executed little confidentialcommissions for Langhorne, sometimes things that took her on shorttrips out of town. There is a possibility that she may be on amission of that sort. But I think--it's this Black Book case thatinvolves her now. "

"Langhorne wouldn't talk much about anything, " I put in, hastilyremembering his manner. "He may not be responsible--but from hisactions I'd wager he knows more about her than appears. "

"Just so, " agreed Carton. "If my men can find out that she was theoperator who 'listened in' and got the notes and the transcript ofthe Black Book, then she becomes a person of importance in thecase and the fact must be known to others who are interested. Why, " he pursued, "don't you see what it means? If she is out ofthe way, there is no one to swear to the accuracy of the notes inthe record, no one to identify the voices--even if we do managefinally to locate the thing. "

"Dorgan and the rest are certainly leaving nothing undone to shakethe validity of the record, " ruminated Kennedy, accepting for themoment at least Carton's explanation of the disappearance of MissBlackwell. "Have you any idea what might have happened to her?"

Carton shook his head negatively. "There are severalexplanations, " he replied slowly. "As far as we have been able tofind out she led a model life, at home with her mother and sister. Except for the few commissions for Langhorne and lately when shewas out rather late taking the detectaphone notes, she was veryquiet, --in fact devoted to her mother and the education of heryounger sister. "

"What sort of place was it in which the receivers of thedetectaphone were located--do you know?" asked Kennedy quickly. 

"Yes, it seems to be a very respectable boardinghouse, " answeredCarton. "She came there with a grip about a week ago and hired aroom, saying she was out of town a great deal. Just about the sametime a young man, who posed as a student in electrical engineeringat some school uptown, left. It must have been he who installedthe detectaphone--perhaps with the aid of a waiter in Gastron's. At any rate, she seems to have been alone in the boarding-house--that is, I mean, not acquainted with any of the other guests--during the time when she was taking down the record. Dorgan tracedthe wires, outside the two buildings, to her rooms, but she wasnot there. In fact there was nothing there but a grip with a fewarticles that give no clue to anything. Somehow she must haveheard of it, for no one knows anything about her, since then. "

"Perhaps Langhorne is keeping her out of the way so that no onecan tamper with her testimony, " I suggested. 

"It's possible, " said Carton in a tone that showed that he did notbelieve in that explanation. "How about that safe robbery, Kennedy? Some of the papers hinted that she might have knownsomething of that. I had a man down there watching, afterwards, but I had cautioned him to be careful and keep under cover. One ofthe elevator boys told him that the robbers had made a hole in thesafe. What did he mean? Did you see it?"

Rapidly Kennedy sketched what we had done, telling the story ofhow the dynamometer had at least partly exonerated BettyBlackwell. 

When he reached the description of the hole in the safe, Cartonwas absolutely incredulous. As for myself, it presented a mysterywhich I found absolutely inexplicable. How it was possible in sucha short time to make a hole in a safe by any known means, I couldnot understand. In fact, if I had not seen it myself, I shouldhave been even more sceptical than Carton. 

Kennedy, however, made no reply immediately to our expressions ofdoubt. He had found and set apart from the rest a couple of littleglass bottles with ground glass stoppers. Then he took a thickpiece of steel and laid it across a couple of blocks of wood, under which was a second steel plate. 

Without a word of explanation, he took the glass stopper out ofthe larger bottle and poured some of the contents on the upperplate of steel. There it lay, a little mound of reddish powder. Then he took a little powder of another kind from the otherbottle. 

He lighted a match and ignited the second pile of powder. 

"Stand back--close to the wall--shield your eyes, " he called tous. 

He had dropped the burning mass on the red powder and in two orthree leaps he joined us at the far end of the room. 

Almost instantly a dazzling, intense flame broke out. It seemed tosizzle and crackle. With bated breath we waited and, as best wecould, shielding our eyes from the glare, watched. 

It was almost incredible, but that glowing mass of powder seemedliterally to be sinking, sinking right down into the cold steel. In tense silence we waited. On the ceiling we could see thereflection of the molten mass in the cup which it had burned foritself in the cold steel plate. 

At last it fell through to the lower piece of steel, on which itburnt itself out--fell through as the burning roof of a framebuilding might have fallen into the building. 

Neither Carton nor I spoke a word, but as we now cautiouslyadvanced with Kennedy and peered over the steel plate weinstinctively turned to Craig for an explanation. Carton seemed toregard him as if he were some uncanny mortal. For, there in thesteel plate, was a hole. As I looked at the clean-cut edges, I sawthat it was smaller but identical in nature with that which we hadseen in the safe in Langhorne's office. 

"Wonderful!" ejaculated Carton. "What is it?"

"Thermit, " was all Kennedy said, as just a trace of a smile ofsatisfaction flitted over his face. 

"Thermit?" echoed Carton, still as mystified as before. 

"Yes, an invention of a chemist named Goldschmidt, of Essen, Germany. It is composed of iron oxide, such as conies off ablacksmith's anvil or the rolls of a rolling-mill, and powderedmetallic aluminum. You could thrust a red-hot bar into it withoutsetting it off, but when you light a little magnesium powder anddrop it on thermit, a combustion is started that quickly reachesfifty-four hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It has the peculiarproperty of concentrating its heat to the immediate spot on whichit is placed. It is one of the most powerful oxidizing agentsknown, and it doesn't even melt the rest of the steel surface. Yousee how it ate its way directly through this plate. Steel, hard orsoft, tempered, annealed, chrome, or Harveyized--it all burns justas fast and just as easily. And it's comparatively inexpensive, also. This is an experiment Goldschmidt it fond of showing hisstudents--burning holes in one--and two-inch steel plates. It isthe same with a safe--only you need more of the stuff. Eitherblack or red thermit will do the trick equally well, however. "

Neither of us said anything. There was nothing to say except tofeel and express amazement. 

"Someone uncommonly clever or instructed by someone uncommonlyclever, must have done that job at Langhorne's, " added Craig. "Have you any idea who might pull off such a thing for Dorgan orMurtha?" he asked of Carton. 

"There's a possible suspect, " answered Carton slowly, "but sinceI've seen this wonderful exhibition of what thermit can do, I'malmost ashamed to mention his name. He's not in the class thatwould be likely to use such things. "

"Oh, " laughed Kennedy, "never think it. Don't you suppose thecrooks read the scientific and technical papers? Believe me, theyhave known about thermit as long as I have. Safes are constructednow that are proof against even that, and other methods of attack. No indeed, your modern scientific cracksman keeps abreast of thetimes in his field better than you imagine. Our only protection isthat fortunately science always keeps several laps ahead of him inthe race--and besides, we have organized society to meet all suchperils. It may be that the very cleverness of the fellow will behis own undoing. The unusual criminal is often that much theeasier to run down. It narrows the number of suspects. "

"Well, " rejoined Carton, not as confident now as when he had firstmet us in the laboratory, "then there is a possible suspect--afellow known in the underworld as 'Dopey' Jack--Jack Rubano. He'sa clever fellow--no doubt. But I hardly think he's capable ofthat, although I should call him a rather advanced yeggman. "

"What makes you suspect him?" asked Kennedy eagerly. 

"Well, " temporized Carton, "I haven't anything 'on' him in thisconnection, it's true. But we've been trying to find him and can'tseem to locate him in connection with primary frauds in Murtha'sown district. Dopey Jack is the leader of a gang of gunmen overthere and is Murtha's first lieutenant whenever there is a toughpolitical battle of the organization either at the primaries or onElection Day. "

"Has a record, I suppose?" prompted Kennedy. 

"Would have--if it wasn't for the influence of Murtha, " rejoinedCarton. 

I had heard, in knocking about the city, of Dopey Jack Rubano. That was the picturesque title by which he was known to the policeand his enemies as well as to his devoted followers. A few yearsbefore, he had begun his career fighting in "preliminaries" at theprize fight clubs on the lower East Side. 

He had begun life with a better chance than most slum boys, for hehad rugged health and an unusually sturdy body. His very strengthhad been his ruin. Working decently for wages, he had been told byother petty gang leaders that he was a "sucker, " when he could getmany times as much for boxing a few rounds at some "athletic"club. He tried out the game with many willing instructors andfound that it was easy money. 

Jack began to wear better clothes and study the methods of otheryoung men who never worked but always seemed to have plenty ofmoney. They were his pals and showed him how it was done. Itwasn't long before he learned that he could often get more byhitting a man with a blackjack than by using his fists in theroped ring. Then, too, there were various ways of blackmail andextortion that were simple, safe, and lucrative. He might bearrested, but he early found that by making himself useful to somepoliticians, they could fix that minor difficulty in the life. 

Thus because he was not only strong and brutal, but had a sort ofability and some education, Dopey Jack quickly rose to a positionof minor leadership--had his own incipient "gang, " his own"lobbygows. " His following increased as he rose in gangland, andfinally he came to be closely associated with Murtha himself onone hand and the "guns" and other criminals of the underworld whofrequented the stuss games, where they gambled away the productsof their crimes, on the other. 

Everyone knew Dopey Jack. He had been charged with many crimes, but always through the aid of "the big fellows" he avoided thepenitentiary and every fresh and futile attempt to end his careerincreased the numbers and reverence of his followers. His had beenthe history and he was the pattern now of practically every gangleader of consequence in the city. The fight club had been histesting ground. There he had learned the code, which can besummarized in two words, "Don't squeal. " For gangland hatesnothing so much as a "snitch. " As a beginner he could be trustedto commit any crime assigned to him and go to prison, perhaps thechair, rather than betray a leader. As a leader he had those underhim trained in the same code. That still was his code to thoseabove him in the System. 

"We want him for frauds at the primaries, " repeated Carton, "atleast, if we can find him, we can hold him on that for a time. Ithought perhaps he might know something of the robbery--and aboutthe disappearance of the girl, too. 

"Oh, " he continued, "there are lots of things against him. Why, only last week there was a dance of a rival association of gangleaders. Against them Dopey Jack led a band of his own followersand in the ensuing pistol battle a passer-by was killed. Of coursewe can't connect Dopey Jack with his death, but--then we know aswell as we know anything in gangland that he was responsible. "

"I suppose it isn't impossible that he may know something aboutthe disappearance of Miss Blackwell, " remarked Kennedy. 

"No, " replied Carton, "not at all, although, so far, there isabsolutely no clue as far as I can figure out. She may have beenbought off or she may have been kidnapped. "

"In either case the missing girl must be found, " said Craig. "Wemust get someone interested in her case who knows something aboutwhat may happen to a girl in New York. "

Carton had been revolving the matter in his mind. "By George, " heexclaimed suddenly, "I think I know just the person to take upthat case for us--it's quite in her line. Can you spare the timeto run down to the Reform League headquarters with me?"

"Nothing could be more important, just at the minute, " repliedCraig. 

The telephone buzzed and he answered it, a moment later handingthe receiver to Carton. 

"It's your office, " he said. "One of the assistant districtattorneys wants you on the wire. "

As Carton hung up the receiver he turned to us with a look ofgreat satisfaction. 

"Dopey Jack has just been arrested, " he announced. "He has shut uplike an oyster, but we think we can at least hold him for a fewdays this time until we sift down some of these clues. "

V

THE SUFFRAGETTE SECRETARY

Carton took us directly to the campaign headquarters of the ReformLeague, where his fight for political life was being conducted. 

We found the offices in the tower of a skyscraper, whence waspouring forth a torrent of appeal to the people, in printed andoral form of every kind, urging them to stand shoulder to shoulderfor good government and vote the "ring" out of power. 

There seemed to me to be a different tone to the place from thatwhich I had ordinarily associated with political headquarters inprevious campaigns. There was a notable absence of the old-fashioned politicians and of the air of intrigue laden withtobacco. 

Rather, there was an air of earnestness and efficiency, which wasdecidedly encouraging and hopeful. It seemed to speak of a new erain politics when things were to be done in the open instead of atsecret meetings and scandalous dinners, as Dorgan did them atGastron's. 

Maps of the city were hanging on the walls, some stuck full ofvarious coloured pins, denoting the condition of the canvass. Other maps of the city in colours, divided into all sorts ofdistricts, told how fared the battle in the various strongholds ofBoss Dorgan and Sub-boss Murtha. 

Huge systems of card indexes, loose leaf devices, labour-savingappliances for getting out a vast amount of campaign "literature"in a hurry; in short, a perfect system, such as a great, well-managed business might have been proud of, were in evidenceeverywhere one looked. 

Work was going ahead in every department under high pressure, forthe campaign, which had been more than usually heated, was nowdrawing to a close. Indeed, it would have taken no greatastuteness, even without one's being told, to deduce merely fromthe surroundings that the people here were engaged in the annualstruggle of seeking the votes of their fellow-citizens for reformand were nearly worn out by the arduous endeavour. 

It had been, as I have said, the bitterest campaign in years. Formerly the reformers had been of the "silk-stocking" type, butnow a new and younger generation was coming upon the stage, ageneration which had been trained to achieve results, ambitious toattain what in former years had been considered impossible. TheReform League was making a stiff campaign and the System was, bythe same token, more frightened than ever before. 

Carton was fortunate in having shaken off the thralldom of the oldbosses even before the popular uprising against them had assumedsuch proportions as to warrant anyone in taking his political lifein his hands by defying the powers that ruled behind the scenes. In fact, the Reform League itself owed its existence to afortunate conjunction of both moral and economic conditions whichdemanded progress. 

Of course, the League did not have such a big "barrel" as theiropponents under Dorgan. But, at least they did have many willingworkers, men and women, who were ready to sacrifice something forthe advancement of the principles for which they stood. 

In one part of the suite of offices which had been leased by theLeague, Carton had had assigned to him an office of his own, andit was to this office that he led us, after a word with the boywho guarded the approach to the door, and an exchange of greetingswith various workers and visitors in the outside office. 

We seated ourselves while Carton ran his eye through some lettersthat had been left on his desk for his attention. 

A moment later the door of his office opened and a young lady in avery stunning street dress, with a pretty little rakish hat and atantalizing veil, stood a moment, hesitated, and then was about toturn back with an apology for intruding on what looked like aconference. 

"Good-morning, Miss Ashton, " greeted Carton, laying down theletters instantly. "You're just the person I want to see. "

The girl, with a portfolio of papers in her hand, smiled and hequickly crossed the room and held the door open, as he whispered aword or two to her. 

She was a handsome girl, something more than even pretty. Thelithe gracefulness of her figure spoke of familiarity with bothtennis and tango, and her face with its well-chiselled profiledenoted intellectuality from which no touch of really femininecharm had been removed by the fearsome process of the creation ofthe modern woman. Sincerity as well as humour looked out from theliquid depths of her blue eyes beneath the wavy masses of blondehair. She was good to look at and we looked, irresistibly. 

"Let me introduce Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson, Miss Ashton, "began Carton, adding: "Of course you have heard of Miss MargaretAshton, the suffragist leader? She is the head of our pressbureau, you know. She's making a great fight for us here--awinning fight. "

It seemed from the heightened look of determination which setCarton's face in deeper lines that Miss Ashton had thatindispensable political quality of inspiring both confidence andenthusiasm in those who worked with her. 

"It is indeed a great pleasure to meet you, " remarked Kennedy. "Both Mr. Jameson and myself have heard and read a great dealabout your work, though we seem never before to have had thepleasure of meeting you. "

Miss Ashton, I recalled, was a very clever girl, a graduate of afamous woman's college, and had had several years of newspaperexperience before she became a leader in the cause of equalsuffrage. 

The Ashtons were well known in society and it was a sore trial tosome of her conservative friends that she should reject what theyconsidered the proper "sphere" for women and choose to go out intolife and devote herself to doing something that was worth while, rather than to fritter her time and energy away on the gaiety andinconsequentiality of social life. 

Among those friends, I had understood, was Hartley Langhornehimself. He was older than Miss Ashton, but had belonged to thesame social circle and had always held her in high regard. In factthe attentions he paid her had long been noticeable, the more soas she seemed politely unaffected by them. 

Carton had scarcely more than introduced us, yet already I feltsure that I scented a romance behind the ordinarily prosaicconduct of a campaign press bureau. 

It is far from my intention even to hint that the ability orsuccess of the head of the press bureau were not all her own orwere in any degree overrated. But it struck me, both then andoften later, that the candidate for District Attorney had anextraordinary interest in the newspaper campaign, much more, forinstance, than in the speakers' bureau. I am sure that it was notwholly accounted for by the fact that publicity is playing a moreand more important part in political campaigning. 

Nevertheless, as we came to know afterwards such innovations asher card index system by election districts all over the city, showing the attitude of the various newspaper editors, localleaders, and other influential citizens, recording changes ofsentiment and possible openings for future work, all were veryfull and valuable. Kennedy, who had a regular pigeon-hole mind forfacts himself, was visibly impressed by the huge mechanical memorybuilt up by Miss Ashton. 

Though he said nothing to me, I knew that Craig also had observedthe state of affairs between the reform candidate and the suffrageleader. 

"You see, Miss Ashton, " explained Carton, "someone has placed adetectaphone in the private dining-room of Dorgan at Gastron's. Iheard of it first through Mrs. Ogleby, who attended one of thedinners and was terribly afraid her name would be connected withthem if the record should ever be published. "

"Mrs. Ogleby?" cried Miss Ashton quickly. "She--at a dinner--withMr. Murtha? I--I can't believe it. "

Carton said nothing. Whether he knew more about Mrs. Ogleby thanhe cared to tell, I could not even guess. 

As he went on briefly summarizing the story, Miss Ashton shot aquick glance or two at him. 

Carton noticed it, but appeared not to do so. "I suppose, " heconcluded, "that she thought I was the only person capable ofeavesdropping. As a matter of fact, I think the instrument was putin by Hartley Langhorne as part of the fight that is going onfiercely under the surface in the organization. "

It was Carton's turn now, I fancied, to observe Miss Ashton moreclosely. As far as I could see, the information was a matter ofperfect indifference to her. 

Carton did not say it in so many words, but one could not helpgathering that rather than seem to be pursuing a possible rivaland using his official position in order to do it, he was notconsidering Langhorne in any other light than as a mere actor inthe drama between himself and Dorgan and Murtha. 

"Now, " he concluded, "the point of the whole thing is this, MissAshton. We have learned that Betty Blackwell--you know the case--who took the notes over the detectaphone for the Black Book, hassuddenly and mysteriously disappeared. If she is gone, it may bedifficult to prove anything, even if we get the book. MissBlackwell happens to be a stenographer in the office of Langhorne& Westlake. "

For the first time, Miss Ashton seemed to show a sign ofembarrassment. Evidently she would just as well have had MissBlackwell in some other connection. 

"Perhaps you would rather have nothing to do with it, " suggestedCarton, "but I know that you were always interested in things ofthe sort that happen to girls in the city and thought perhaps youcould advise us, even if you don't feel like personally taking upthe case. "

"Oh, it doesn't--matter, " she murmured. "Of course, the firstthing for us to do is, as you say, to find what has become ofBetty Blackwell. "

Carton turned suddenly at the word "us, " but Miss Ashton was stillstudying the pattern of the rug. 

"Do you know any more about her?" she asked at length. 

As fully as possible the District Attorney repeated what he hadalready told us. Miss Ashton seemed to be more than interested inthe story of the disappearance of Langhorne's stenographer. 

As Carton unfolded the meagre details of what we knew so far, MissAshton appeared to be torn by conflicting opinions. The more shethought of what might possibly have happened to the unfortunategirl, the more aroused about the case she seemed to become. 

Carton had evidently calculated on enlisting her sympathies, knowing how she felt toward many of the social and economicinjustices toward women, and particularly girls. 

"If Mr. Murtha or Mr. Dorgan is responsible in any way for anyharm to her, " she said finally, her earnest eyes now ablaze withindignation, "I shall not rest until someone is punished. "

Kennedy had been watching her emotions keenly, I suspect, to seewhether she connected Langhorne in any way with the disappearance. I could see it interested him that she did not seem even toconsider that Langhorne might be responsible. Whether herintuition was correct or not, it was at least better at presentthan any guess that we three might have made. 

"They control so many forces for evil, " she went on, "that thereis no telling what they might command against a defenceless girllike her when it is a question of their political power. "

"Then, " pursued Kennedy, pacing the floor thoughtfully, "the nextquestion is, How are we to proceed? The first step naturally willbe the investigation of this Little Montmartre. How is it to bedone? I presume you don't want to go up there and look the placeover yourself, do you, Carton?"

"Most certainly not, " said Carton emphatically. "Not if you wantthis case to go any further. Why, I can't walk around a corner nowwithout a general scurry for the cyclone cellars. They all knowme, and those who don't are watching for me. On the contrary, ifyou are going to start there I had better execute a flank movementin Queens or Jersey to divert attention. Really, I mean it. I hadbetter keep in the background. But I'll tell you what I would liketo do. "

Carton hesitated and came to a full stop. 

"What's the matter?" asked Kennedy quickly, noticing thehesitation. 

"Why--I--er--didn't know just how you'd take a suggestion--that'sall. "

"Thankfully. What is it?"

"You know young Haxworth?"

"You mean the son of the millionaire who is investigating vice andwhom the newspapers are poking fun at?"

"Yes. Those papers make me tired. He has been working, you know, with me in this matter. He is really serious about it, too. He hasa corps of investigators of his own already. Well, there is one ofthem, a woman detective named Clare Kendall, who is the brains ofthe whole Haxworth outfit. If you would be willing to have them--er--to have her co-operate with you, I think I could persuadeHaxworth---"

"Oh, " broke in Kennedy with a laugh. "I see. You think perhapsthere might be some professional jealousy? On the contrary, itsolves a problem I was already considering. Of course we shallneed a woman in this case, one with a rare amount of discretionand ability. Yes, by all means let us call in Miss Kendall, andlet us take every advantage we can of what she has alreadyaccomplished. "

Carton seized the telephone. 

"Tell her to meet us at my laboratory in half an hour, " interposedKennedy. "You will come along?"

"I can't. Court opens in twenty minutes and there is a motion Imust argue myself. "

Miss Ashton appeared to be greatly gratified at Craig's receptionof the suggestion, and Carton noticed it

"Oh, yes, " recollected Carton, "by the way, as I was on my waydown here, my office called up and told me that they had succeededin locating and arresting Dopey Jack. That ought to please you, --it will mean cutting down the number of those East Side 'rackets'considerably if we succeed with him. "

"Good!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I don't think there were any worseaffairs than the dances of that Jack Rubano Association. They havegot hold of more young girls and caused more tragedies than anyother gang. If you need any help in getting together evidence, Mr. Carton, I shall be only too glad to help you. I have several oldscores myself to settle with that young tough. "

"Thank you, " said Carton. "I shall need your help, if we are to doanything. Of course, we can hold him only for primary frauds justnow, but I may be able to do something about that dance that hebroke up as a shooting affray. "

Miss Ashton nodded encouragingly. 

"And, " he went on, "it's barely possible that he may knowsomething, or some of his followers may, about the robbery of Mr. Langhorne's safe, --if not about the complete and mysteriousdisappearance of Betty Blackwell. "

"They'd stop at nothing to save their precious skins, " commentedMiss Ashton. "Perhaps that is a good lead. At any rate I cansuggest that to the various societies and other agencies which Iintend to set in motion trying to trace what has happened to her. You can have him held until they have time to report?"

"I shall make it a point to do so at any cost, " he returned, "andI can say only this, that we are all deeply indebted to you forthe interest you have shown in the case. "

"Not at all, " she replied enthusiastically, evidently havingovercome the first hesitation which had existed because MissBlackwell had been Langhorne's stenographer. 

Miss Ashton had quickly jotted down in her notebook the bestdescription we could give of the missing girl, her address, andother facts about her, and a list of those whom she meant to startat work on the case. 

For a moment she hesitated over one name, then with a suddenresolution wrote it down. 

"I intend to see Hartley Langhorne about it, too, " she addedfrankly. "Perhaps he may tell something of importance, after all. "

I am sure that this final resolution cost her more than all therest. Carton would never have asked it of her, yet was gratifiedthat she saw it to be her duty to leave nothing undone in tracingthe girl, not even considering the possibility of offendingLanghorne. 

"Decent people don't seem to realize, " she remarked as she shuther little notebook and slipped it back into her chatelaine, "howthe System and the underworld really do affect them. They think itis all something apart from the rest of us, and never consider howclosely we are all bound together and how easy it is for thelowest and most vicious stratum in the social order to pass overand affect the highest. "

"That's exactly the point, " agreed Carton. "Take this very case. It goes from Wall Street to gangland, from Gastron's down to theunderworld gambling joints of Dopey Jack and the rest. "

"Society--gambling, " mused Miss Ashton, taking out her notebookagain. "That reminds me of Martin Ogleby. I must see Mary and tryto warn her against some of those sporty friends of herhusband's. "

"Please, Miss Ashton, " put in Carton quickly, "don't mention thatI have told you of the detectaphone record. It might do more harmthan good, just at present. For a time at least, I think we shouldtry to keep under cover. "

Whether or not that was his real reason, he turned now to Kennedyfor support. We had been, for the most part, silent spectators ofwhat had been happening. 

"I think so--for the present--at least as far as our knowledge ofthe Black Book goes, " acquiesced Craig. He had turned to MissAshton and made no effort to conceal the admiration which he feltfor her, after even so brief an acquaintance. "I think Miss Ashtoncan be depended upon to play her part in the game perfectly. I, for one, want to thank her most heartily for the way in which shehas joined us. "

"Thank you, " she smiled, as she rose to go to her own office. "Oh, you can always depend on me, " she assured us as she gathered upher portfolio of papers, "where there are the interests of a girllike Betty Blackwell involved!"

VI

THE WOMAN DETECTIVE

Half an hour later, a tall, striking, self-reliant young womanwith an engaging smile opened the laboratory door and asked forProfessor Kennedy. 

"Miss Kendall?" Craig inquired, coming forward to meet her. 

She was dark-haired, with regular features and an expression whichshowed a high degree of intelligence. Her clear grey eyes seemedto penetrate and tear the mask off you. It was not only herfeatures and eyes that showed intelligence, but her gown showedthat without sacrificing neatness she had deliberately toned downthe existing fashions which so admirably fitted in with her figurein order that she might not appear noticeable. It was clever, forif there is anything a good detective must do it is to preventpeople from looking twice. 

I knew something of her history already. She had begun on a ratherdifficult case for one of the large agencies and after a few yearsof experience had decided that there was a field for anindependent woman detective who would appeal particularly to womenthemselves. Unaided she had fought her way to a position of keenrivalry now with the best men in the profession. 

Narrowly I watched Kennedy. Here, I felt instinctively, were the"new" woman and the "new" man, if there are such things. Iwondered just how they would hit it off together. For the moment, at least, Clare Kendall was an absorbing study, as she greeted uswith a frank, jerky straight-arm handshake. 

"Mr. Carton, " she said directly, "has told me that he received ananonymous letter this morning. May I see it?"

There are times when the so-called "new" woman's assumed masculinebrusqueness is a trifle jarring, as well as often missing thepoint. But with Clare Kendall one did not feel that she waseternally trying to assert that she was the equal or the superiorof someone else, although she was, as far as the majority ofdetectives I have met are concerned. It was rather that she wasdifferent; in fact, almost from the start I felt that she wasindispensable. She seemed to have that ability to go straight tothe point at issue, a sort of faculty of intuition which is oftenmore valuable than anything else, the ability to feel or sensethings for which at first there was no actual proof. No gooddetective ever lacks that sort of instinct, and Clare Kendall, being a woman, had it in large degree. But she had more. She hadthe ability to go further and get the facts and actual proof; for, as she often said during the course of a case, "Woman's intuitionmay not be good evidence in a court of law, but it is one of thebest means to get good evidence that will convince a court oflaw. "

"My investigators have been watching that place for some time, "she remarked as she finished the letter. "Of course, having beenclosely in touch with this sort of thing for several months in mywork, I have had all the opportunity in the world to observe andcollect information. The letter does not surprise me. "

"Then you think it is a good tip?" asked Kennedy. 

"Decidedly, although without the letter I should not have startedthere, I think. Still, as nearly as I can gather, there is arather nondescript crowd connected in one way or another with theMontmartre. For instance, there is a pretty tough character whoseems to be connected with the people there, my investigators tellme. It is a fellow named 'Ike the Dropper, ' one of those strong-arm men who have migrated up from the East Side to the White LightDistrict. At least my investigators have told me they have seenhim there, for I have never bothered with the place myself. Therehas been plenty of work elsewhere which promised immediateresults. I'm glad to have a chance to tackle this place, though, with your help. "

"What do you think of the rest of the letter?" asked Craig. 

"I think I could make a pretty shrewd guess from what I haveheard, as to the identity of some of those hinted at. I'm notsure, but I think the lawyer may be a Mr. Kahn, a clever enoughattorney who has a large theatrical clientele and none too savourya reputation as a local politician. The banker may be Mr. Langhorne, although he is not exactly a young man. Still, I knowhe has been associated with the place. As for the club-man Ishould guess that that was Martin Ogleby. "

Kennedy and I exchanged glances of surprise. 

"As a first step, " said Kennedy, at length, "I am going to write aletter to Betty Blackwell, care of the Little Montmartre--orperhaps you had better do the actual writing of it, Miss Kendall. A woman's hand will look less suspicious. "

"What shall I write?" she asked. 

"Just a few lines. Tell her that you are one of the girls in theoffice, that you have heard she was at the Montmartre--anything. The actual writing doesn't make any difference. I merely want tosee what happens. "

Miss Kendall quickly wrote a little note and handed it to him. 

"Then direct this envelope, " he said, reaching into a drawer ofhis desk and bringing out a plain white one. "And let me seal it. "

Carefully he sealed and stamped the letter and handed it to me topost. 

"You will dine with us, Miss Kendall?" he asked. "Then we willplan the next step in our campaign. "

"I shall be glad to do so, " she replied. 

Fifteen minutes later I had dropped the letter in the drop of abranch of the general post-office to ensure its more promptdelivery, and it was on its way through the mails to accomplishthe purpose Kennedy may have contemplated. 

"Just now it is more important for us to become acquainted withthis Little Montmartre, " he remarked. "I suppose, Miss Kendall, wemay depend on you to join us?"

"Indeed you may, " she replied energetically. "There is nothingthat we would welcome more than evidence that would lead to theclosing of that place. "

Kennedy seemed to be impressed by the frankness and energy of theyoung woman. 

"Perhaps if we three should go there, hire a private dining-room, and look about without making any move against the place thatwould excite suspicion, we might at least find out what it is thatwe are fighting. Of course we must dine somewhere, and up there atthe same time we can plan our campaign. "

"I think that would be ripping, " she laughed, as the humour of thesituation dawned on her. "Why, we shall be laying our plans rightin the heart of the enemy's country and they will never realizeit. Perhaps, too, we may get a glimpse of some of those peoplementioned in the anonymous letter. "

To Clare Kendall it was simply another phase of the game which shehad been playing against the forces of evil in the city. 

The Little Montmartre was, as I already knew, one of the smallerhotels in a side street just off Broadway, eight or ten stories inheight, of modern construction, and for all the world exactly likea score of other of the smaller hostelries of the famous city ofhotels. 

Clare, Craig, and myself pulled up before the entrance in ataxicab, that seeming to be the accepted method of entering witheclat. A boy opened the door. I jumped out and settled with thedriver without a demur at the usual overcharge, while Craigassisted Clare. 

Laughing and chatting, we entered the bronze plate-glass doors andwalked slowly down a richly carpeted corridor. It was elegantlyfurnished and decorated with large palms set at intervals, quitethe equal in luxuriousness, though on a smaller scale, of any ofthe larger and well-known hotels. Beautifully marked marbles andexpensive hangings greeted the eye at every turn. Faultlesslyliveried servants solicitously waited about for tips. 

Craig and Clare, who were slightly ahead of me, turned quicklyinto a little alcove, or reception room and Craig placed a chairfor her. Farther down the corridor I could see the office, andbeyond a large main dining-room from which strains of music cameand now and then the buzz of conversation and laughter from gayparties at the immaculately white tables. 

"Boy, " called Kennedy quietly, catching the eye of a passing bellhop and unostentatiously slipping a quarter into his hand, whichclosed over the coin almost automatically, "the head waiter, please. Oh--er--by the way--what is his name?"

"Julius, " returned the boy, to whom the proceeding seemed topresent nothing novel, although the whole atmosphere of the placewas beyond his years. "I'll get him in a minute, sir. He's in themain dining-room. He's having some trouble with the cabaretsingers. One of them is late--as usual. "

We sat in the easy chairs watching the people passing andrepassing in the corridor. There was no effort at concealmenthere. 

A few minutes later Julius appeared, a young man, tall and rathergood-looking, suave and easy. A word or two with Kennedy followed, during which a greenback changed hands--in fact that seemed to bethe open sesame to everything here--and we were in the elevatordecorously escorted by the polished Julius. 

The door of the elevator shut noiselessly and it shot up to thenext floor. Julius preceded us down the thickly carpeted corridorleading the way to a large apartment, or rather a suite of rooms, as handsomely furnished as any in other hotels. He switched on thelights and left us, with the remark, "When you want the waiter oranything, just press the button. "

In the largest of the rooms was a dining-table and several chairsof Jacobean oak. A heavy sideboard and serving-table stood againstopposite walls. Another, smaller room was furnished veryattractively as a sitting-room. Deep, easy chairs stood in thecorners and a wide, capacious davenport stretched across one wall. In another nook was a little divan or cosy corner. 

Electric bulbs burned pinkly in the chandeliers and on silvercandelabra on the table, giving a half light that was veryromantic and fascinating. From a curtained window that opened uponan interior court we could catch strains from the cabaret singersbelow in the main dining-room. Everything was new and bright. 

Kennedy pressed the button and a waiter brought a menu, imposingin length and breath-taking in rates. 

"The cost of vice seems to have gone up with the cost of living, "remarked Miss Kendall, as the waiter disappeared as silently as hehad responded to the bell. It was a phrase that stuck in my head, so apt was it in describing the anomalous state of things we foundas the case unrolled. 

Craig ordered, now and then consulting Clare about some detail. The care and attention devoted to us could not have been morepunctilious if it had been an elaborate dinner party. 

"Well, " he remarked, as the waiter at last closed the door of theprivate dining-room to give the order in downstairs in thekitchen, "the Little Montmartre makes a brave showing. I supposeit will be some time before the dinner arrives, though. There iscertainly some piquancy to this, " he added, looking about at thefurnishings. 

"Yes, " remarked Miss Kendall, "risque from the moment you enterthe door. "

She said it with an impersonal tone as if there were completedetachment between herself as an observer and as a guest of theMontmartre. 

"Miss Kendall, " asked Kennedy, "did you notice anythingparticularly downstairs? I'd like to check up my own impressionsby yours. "

"I noticed that Titian beauty in the hotel office as we left thereception room and entered the elevator. "

Craig smiled. 

"So did I. I thought you would be both woman enough and detectiveenough to notice her. Well, I suppose if a man likes that sort ofgirl that's the sort of girl he likes. That's point number one. But did you notice anything else--as we came in, for instance?"

"No--except that everything seems to be a matter of scientificmanagement here to get the most out of the suckers. This is noplace for a piker. It all seems to run so smoothly, too. Still, I'm sure that our investigators might get something on the placeif they kept right after it, although on the surface it doesn'tlook as if any law was being openly violated here. What do youmean? What is your point number two?"

"In the front window, " resumed Craig, "just as you enter, Inoticed one of those little oblong signs printed neatly in blackon white--'Dr. Vernon Harris, M. D. ' You recall that the lettersaid something about a doctor who was very friendly with thatclique the writer mentioned? It's even money that this Harris isthe one the writer meant. I suppose he is the 'house physician' ofthis gilded palace. "

Clare nodded appreciatively. "Quite right, " she agreed. "Just howdo you think he might be involved?"

"Of course I can't say. But I think, without going any further, that a man like that in a place like this will bear watchinganyway, without our needing more than the fact that he is here. Naturally we don't know anything about him as a doctor, but hemust have some training; and in an environment like this--well, alittle training may be a dangerous thing. "

"The letter said something about drugs, " mused Clare. 

"Yes, " added Kennedy. "As you know, alcohol is absolutelynecessary to a thing like this. Girls must keep gay andattractive; they must meet men with a bright, unfaltering look, and alcohol just dulls the edge of conscience. Besides, look overthat wine list--it fills the till of the Montmartre, judging bythe prices. But then, alcohol palls when the pace is as swift asit seems to be here. Even more essential are drugs. You know, after all, it is no wonder so many drug fiends and drunkards arecreated by this life. Now, a doctor who is not over-scrupulous, and he would have to be not over-scrupulous to be here at all, would find a gold mine in the dispensing of drugs and the toningup of drug fiends and others who have been going the pace toorapidly. "

"Yes, " she said. "We have found that some of these doctors are agreat factor in the life of various sections of the city wherethey hang out. I know one who is deeply in the local politics andboasts that any resort that patronizes him is immune. Yes, that'sa good point about Dr. Harris. "

"I suppose your investigators have had more or less to do withwatching the progress of drug habits?" ventured Craig. 

"Very much, " she replied, catching the drift of his remarks. "Wehave found, for instance, that there are a great many cases whereit seems that drugs have been used in luring young and innocentgirls. Not the old knockout drops--chloral, you know--but moderndrugs, not so powerful, perhaps, but more insidious, and in thatrespect, I suppose, more dangerous. There are cocaine fiends, opium smokers; oh, lots of them. But those we find in the slumsmostly. Still, I suppose there are all kinds of drugs up here inthe White Light District--belladonna to keep the eyes bright, arsenic to whiten the complexion, and so on. "

"Yes, " asserted Craig. "This section of the city may not be sobrutal in its drug taking as others, but it is here--yes, and itis over on Fifth Avenue, too, right in society. Before we getthrough I'm sure we'll both learn much more than we even dream ofnow. "

The door opened after a discreet tap from the waiter and thelavish dinner which Craig had ordered appeared. The door stayedopen for a moment as the bus boy carried in the dishes. A rustleof skirts and low musical laughter was wafted in to us and wecaught a glimpse of another gay party passing down the hall. 

"How many private dining-rooms are there?" asked Craig of thewaiter. 

"Just this one, sir, and the next one, which is smaller, " repliedthe model waiter, with the air of one who could be blind and deafand dumb if he chose. 

"Oh, then we were lucky to get this. "

"Yes, sir. It is really best to telephone first to Julius to makesure and have one of the rooms reserved, sir. "

Craig made a mental note of the information. The party in the nextroom were hilariously ordering, mostly from the wine list. None ofus had recognized any of them, nor had they paid much attention tous. 

Craig had eaten little, although the food was very good. 

"It's a shame to come here and not see the whole place, " heremarked. "I wonder if you would excuse me while I drop downstairsto look over things there--perhaps ingratiate myself with thatTitian? Tell Miss Kendall about our visit to Langhorne's officewhile I am gone, Walter. "

There was not much that I could tell except the bare facts, but Ithought that Miss Kendall seemed especially interested in thebroker's reticence about his stenographer. 

I had scarcely finished when Craig returned. A glance at his facetold me that even in this brief time something had happened. 

"Did you meet the Titian?" I asked. 

"Yes. She is the stenographer and sometimes works the switchboardof the telephone. I happened to strike the office while the clerkwas at dinner and she was alone. While I was talking to her I waslooking about and my eye happened to fall on one of the letterboxes back of the desk, marked 'Dr. Harris. ' Well, at once I hadan overwhelming desire to get a note which I saw sticking in it. So I called up a telephone number, just as a blind, and while shewas at the switchboard I slipped the note into my pocket. Here itis. "

He had laid an envelope down before us. It was in a woman's hand, written hastily. 

"I'd like to know what was in it without Dr. Harris knowing it, "he remarked. "Now, the secret service agents abroad have raisedletter-opening to a fine art. Some kinds of paper can be steamedopen without leaving a trace, and then they follow that simpleoperation by reburnishing the flap with a bone instrument. Butthat won't do. It might make this ink run. "

Among the ornaments were several with flat wooden bases. Kennedytook one and placed it on the edge of the table, which wasperfectly square. Then he placed the envelope between the tableand the base. 

"When other methods fail, " he went on, "they place the envelopebetween two pieces of wood with the edges projecting about athirty-second of an inch. "

He had first flattened the edge of the envelope, then roughenedit, and finally slit it open. 

"Scientific letter-opening, " he remarked, as he pulled out alittle note written on the hotel paper. It read:

DEAR HARRY:

Called you up twice and then dropped into the hotel, but you seemto be out all the time. Have something VERY IMPORTANT to tell you. Shall be busy to-night and in the morning, but will be at the thedansant at the Futurist Tea Room to-morrow afternoon about four. Be sure to be there. 

 MARIE. 

"I shall, " commented Kennedy. "Now the question is, how to seal upthis letter so that he won't know it has been opened. I saw someof this very strong mucilage in the office. Ring the bell, Walter. I'll get that impervious waiter to borrow it for a moment. "

Five minutes later he had applied a hair line of the strong, colourless gum to the inside of the envelope and had united theedges under pressure between the two pieces of wood. As soon as itwas dry he excused himself again and went back to the office, where he managed to secure an opportunity to stick the letter backin the box and chat for a few minutes longer with the Titian. 

"There's a wild cabaret down in the main dining-room, " he reportedon his return. "I think we might just as well have a glimpse of itbefore we go. "

Kennedy paid the cheque, which by this time had mounted like ataximeter running wild, and we drifted into the dining-room, arather attractive hall, panelled in Flemish oak with artificialflowers and leaves about, and here and there a little birdconcealed in a cage in the paper foliage. 

As cabarets go, it was not bad, although I could imagine how wildit might become in the evening or on special occasion. 

"That Dr. Harris interests me, " remarked Kennedy across the tableat us. "We must get something in writing from him in some way. Andthen there's that girl in the office, too. She seems to be rightin with all these people here. "

Evidently the cabaret had little of interest to Miss Kendall, who, after a glance that took in the whole dining-room and disclosednone there in the gay crowd who, as far as we could see, had anyrelation to the case, seemed bored. 

Craig noticed it and at once rose to go. 

As we passed out and into the corridor, Miss Kendall turned andwhispered, "Look over at the desk--Dr. Harris. "

Sure enough, chatting with the stenographer was a man with one ofthose black bags which doctors carry. He was a young man inappearance, one of those whom one sees in the White LightDistrict, with unnaturally bright eyes which speak of late hoursand a fast pace. He wore a flower in his buttonhole--a veryfetching touch with some women. Debonair, dapper, dashing, hisface was not one readily forgotten. As we passed hurriedly Iobserved that he had torn open the note and had thrown theenvelope, unsuspectingly, into the basket. 

VII

THE GANG LEADER

With the arrest of Dopey Jack, it seemed as if all the forces ofthe gang world were solidified for the final battle. 

Carton had been engaged in a struggle with the System so long thathe knew just how to get action, the magistrates he could dependon, the various pitfalls that surrounded the snaring of one highin gangland, the judges who would fix bail that was prohibitivelyhigh. 

As he had anticipated and prepared for, every wire was pulled tosecure the release of Rubano. But Carton was fortunate in havingunder him a group of young and alert assistants. It took thecombined energies of his office, however, to carry the thingthrough and Kennedy and I did not see Carton again for some time. 

Meanwhile we were busy gathering as much information as we couldabout those who were likely to figure in the case. It wasremarkable, but we found that the influence of Dorgan and Murthawas felt in the most unexpected quarters. People who would havetalked to us on almost any other subject, absolutely refused tobecome mixed up in this affair. It was as though the Systempractised terrorism on a large scale. 

Late in the afternoon we met in Carton's office, to compare noteson the progress made during the day. 

The District Attorney greeted us enthusiastically. 

"Well, " he exclaimed as he dropped into his big office chair, "this has been a hard day for me--but I've succeeded. "

"How?" queried Kennedy. 

"Of course the newspapers haven't got it yet, " pursued Carton, "but it happened that there was a Grand Jury sitting andconsidering election cases. It went hard, but I made them considerthis case of Dopey Jack. I don't know how it happened, but I seemto have succeeded in forcing action in record time. They havefound an indictment on the election charges, and if that fallsthrough, we shall have time to set up other charges against him. In fact we are 'going to the mat, ' so to speak, with this case. "

The office telephone rang and after a few sentences ofcongratulation, Carton turned to us, his spirits even higher thanbefore. "That was one of my assistants, " he explained, "one of thecleverest. The trial will be before Judge Pomeroy in GeneralSessions and it will be an early trial. Pomeroy is one of the bestof them, too--about to retire, and wants to leave a good record onthe bench behind him. Things are shaping up as well as we couldwish for. "

The door opened and one of Carton's clerks started to announce thename of a visitor. 

"Mr. Carton, Mr. --"

"Murtha, " drawled a deep voice, as the owner of the name strodein, impatiently brushing aside the clerk. "Hello, Carton, " greetedthe Sub-boss aggressively. 

"Hello, Murtha, " returned Carton, retaining his good temper andseeing the humour of the situation, where the practice of yearswas reversed and the mountain was coming to Mahomet. "This is alittle--er--informal--but I'm glad to see you, nevertheless, " headded quietly. "Won't you sit down? By the way, meet Mr. Kennedyand Mr. Jameson. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Murtha shook hands with us suspiciously, but did not sit down. Hecontinued to stand, his hat tilted back over his head and his hugehands jammed down into his trousers pockets. 

"What's this I hear about Jack Rubano, Carton?" he opened fire. "They tell me you have arrested him and secured an indictment. "

"They tell the truth, " returned Carton shortly. "The Grand Juryindicted Dopey Jack this afternoon. The trial---"

"Dopey Jack, " quoted Murtha in disgusted tones. "That's the way itis nowadays. Give a dog a bad name--why, --I suppose this badname's going to stick to him all his life, now. It ain't right. You know, Carton, as well as I do that if they charged him withjust plain fighting and got him before a jury, all you would haveto say would be, 'Gentlemen, the defendant at the bar is thenotorious gangster, Dopey Jack. ' And the jurors wouldn't wait tohear any more, but'd say, 'Guilty!' just like that. And he'd go upthe river for the top term. That's what a boy like that gets oncethe papers give him such an awful reputation. It's fierce!"

Carton shook his head. "Oh, Murtha, " he remonstrated with just atwinkle in his eye, "you don't think I believe that sort of softstuff, do you? I've had my eye on this 'boy'--he's twenty-eight, by the way--too long. You needn't tell me anything about hisrespectable old father and his sorrowing mother and weepingsister. Murtha, I've been in this business too long for that heartthrob stuff. Leave that to the lawyers the System will hire forhim. Let's cut that out, between ourselves, and get down to brasstacks. "

It was a new and awkward role for Murtha as suppliant, and heevidently did not relish it. Aside from his own interest in DopeyJack, who was one of his indispensables, it was apparent that hecame as an emissary from Dorgan himself to spy out the land andperhaps reach some kind of understanding. 

He glanced about at us, with a look that broadly hinted that hewould prefer to see Carton alone. Carton made no move to ask us toleave and Kennedy met the boss's look calmly. Murtha smothered hisrage, although I knew he would with pleasure have had us stuck upor blackjacked. 

"See here, Carton. " he blurted out at length, approaching the deskof the District Attorney and lowering his big voice as much as hewas capable, "can't we reach some kind of agreement betweenourselves? You let up on Rubano--and--well, I might be able to getsome of my friends to let up on Carton. See?"

He was conveying as guardedly as he could a proposal that if theDistrict Attorney would consent to turn his back while the lawstumbled in one of the numerous pitfalls that beset a criminalprosecution, the organization would deliver the goods, quietlypass the word along to knife its own man and allow Carton to bere-elected. 

I studied Carton's face intently. To a man of another stripe, theproposal might have been alluring. It meant that although theorganization ticket won, he would, in the public eye at least, have the credit of beating the System, of going into officeunhampered, of having assured beyond doubt what was at best onlyproblematical with the Reform League. 

Carton did not hesitate a moment. I thought I saw in his face thesame hardening of the lines of his features in grim determinationthat I had seen when he had been talking to Miss Ashton. I knewthat, among other things, he was thinking how impossible it wouldbe for him ever to face her again in the old way, if he sold out, even in a negative way, to the System. 

Murtha had shot his huge face forward and was peering keenly atthe man before him. 

"You'll--think it over?" he asked. 

"I will not--I most certainly will not, " returned Carton, for thefirst time showing exasperation, at the very assumption of Murtha. "Mr. Murtha, " he went on, rising and leaning forward over thedesk, "we are going to have a fair election, if I can make it. Imay be beaten--I may win. But I will be beaten, if at all, by theold methods. If I win--it will be that I win--honestly. "

A half sneer crossed Murtha's face. He neither understood norcared to understand the kind of game Carton played. 

"You'll never get anything on that boy, " blustered Murtha. "Do yousuppose I'm fool enough to come here and make a dishonestproposition--here--right in front of your own friends?" he added, turning to us. "--I ain't asking any favours, or anythingdishonest. His lawyers know what they can do and what you can do. It ain't because I care a hang about you, Carton, that I'm here. If you want to know the truth, it's because you can make trouble, Carton, --that's all. You can't convict him, in the end, because--you can't. There's nothing 'on' him. But you can make trouble. We'll win out in the end, of course. "

"In other words, you think the Reform League has you beaten?"suggested Carton quietly. 

"No, " ejaculated Murtha with an oath. "We don't know--but maybeYOU have us beaten. But not the League. We don't want you forDistrict Attorney, Carton. You know it. But here's a practicalproposition. All you have to do is just to let this Rubano casetake its natural course. That's all I ask. "

He dwelt on the word "natural" as if it were in itself convincing. "Why, " he resumed, "what foolishness it is for you to throw awayall your chances just for the sake of hounding one poor fellowfrom the East Side. It ain't right, Carton, --you, powerful, holding an important office, and he a poor boy that never had achance and has made the most of what little nature gave him. Why, I've known that boy ever since he hardly came up to my waist. Itell you, there ain't a judge on the bench that wouldn't listen towhat we can show about him--hounded by police, hounded by theDistrict Attorney, driven from pillar to post, and---"

"You will have a chance to tell the story in court, " cut inCarton. "Pomeroy will try the case. "

"Pomeroy?" repeated Murtha in a tone that quite disguised theanger he felt that it should come up before the one judge theSystem feared and could not control. "Now, look here, Carton. We're all practical men. Your friend--er--Kennedy, here, he'spractical. "

Murtha had turned toward us. He was now the Murtha I had heard ofbefore, the kind that can use a handshake or a playful slap on theback, as between man and man, to work wonders in getting action orcarrying a point. Far from despising such men as Murtha, I thinkwe all rather admired his good qualities. It was his point ofview, his method, his aim that were wrong. As for the man himselfhe was human--in fact, I often thought far more human than some ofthe reformers. 

"I'll leave it to Kennedy, " he resumed. "Suppose you were runninga race. You knew you were going to win. Would you deliberatelystop and stick your foot out, in order to trip up the man who wascoming in second?"

"I don't know that the cases are parallel, " returned Kennedy withan amused smile. 

Murtha kept his good nature admirably. 

"Then you would stick your foot out--and perhaps lose the raceyourself?" persisted Murtha. 

"I'll relieve Kennedy of answering that, " interrupted Carton, "notbecause I don't think he can do it better than I can, perhaps, butbecause this is my fight--my race. "

"Well, " asked Murtha persuasively, "you'll think it over, first, won't you?"

Carton was looking at his opponent keenly, as if trying to takehis measure. He had some scheme in mind and Kennedy was watchingthe faces of both men intently. 

"This race, " began Carton slowly, in a manner that showed hewanted to change the subject, "is different from any other in thepolitics of the city as either of us have ever known it, Murtha. "

Murtha made as though he would object to the proposition, butCarton hurried on, giving him no chance to inject anything intothe conversation. 

"It may be possible--it is possible, " shot out the young DistrictAttorney, "to make use of secret records--conversations--atconferences--dinners--records that have been taken by a newinvention that seems to be revolutionizing politics all over thecountry. "

The look that crossed Murtha's face was positively apoplectic. Theveins in his forehead stood out like whipcords. 

He started to speak, but choked off the words before he haduttered them. I could almost read his mind. Carton had saidnothing directly about the Black Book, and Murtha had caughthimself just in time not to betray anything about it. 

"So, " he shouted at last, "you are going to try some of those finelittle scientific tricks on us, are you?"

He was pacing up and down the room, storming and threatening byturns. 

"I want to tell you, Carton, " pursued Murtha, "that you're upagainst a crowd who were playing this game before you were born. You reformers think you are pretty smooth. But we know a thing ortwo about you and what you are doing. Besides, " he leaned over thedesk again, "Carton, there ain't many men that can afford to throwstones. I admit my life hasn't been perfect--but, then I ain'tposing as any saint. I don't mind telling you that theorganization, as you call it, is looking into some of the thingsthat you reformers have done. It may be that some of your people--some of the ladies, " he insinuated, "don't look on life in thebroad-minded way that some of the rest do. Mind you--I ain'tmaking any threats, but when it comes to gossip and scandal andmud-slinging--look out for the little old organization--that'sall!"

Carton had set his tenacious jaw. "You can go as far as you like, Murtha, " was all he said, with a grim smile. 

Murtha looked at him a moment, then his manner changed. 

"Carton, " he said in a milder tone, at length, "what's the use ofall this bluffing? You and I understand each other. These menunderstand--life. It's a game--that's what it is--a game. Sometimes one move is right, sometimes another. You know what youwant to accomplish here in this city. I show you a way to do it. Don't answer me, " persisted Murtha, raising a hand, "just--thinkit over. "

Carton had taken a step forward, the tense look on his faceunchanged. "No, " he exclaimed, and we could almost hear his jawsnap as if it had been a trap. "No--I'll not think it over. I'llnot yield an inch. Dopey Jack goes to trial before election. "

As Carton bit off the words, Murtha became almost beside himselfwith rage and chagrin. He was white and red by turns. For a momentI feared that he might do Carton personal violence. 

"Carton, " he ground out, as he reached the door, "you will regretthis. "

"I hope not, " returned the other summoning with a mighty effort atleast the appearance of suavity. "Good-bye. "

The only answer was the vicious slam which Murtha gave the door. 

As the echo died, the District Attorney turned to us. "Apparently, then, Dorgan did not secure the Black Book, " was all he said, "even supposing Dopey Jack planned and executed that robbery ofLanghorne. "

VIII

THE SHYSTER LAWYER

That's a declaration of war, " remarked Kennedy, as Carton resumedhis seat at the desk unconcernedly after the stormy ending of theinterview with Murtha. 

"I suppose it is, " agreed the District Attorney, "and I can't saythat I am sorry. "

"Nor I, " added Craig. "But it settles one thing. We are now out inwhat I call the 'open' investigation. They have forced us fromcover. We shall have to be prepared to take quick action now, whatever move they may make. "

Together we were speculating on the various moves that the Systemmight make and how we might prepare in advance for them. 

Evidently, however, we were not yet through with these indirectdealings with the Boss. The System was thorough, if nothing else, and prompt. We had about decided to continue our conference overthe dinner table in some uptown restaurant, when the officerstationed in the hall poked his head in the door and announcedanother visitor for the District Attorney. 

This time the entrance was exactly the opposite to the bluster ofMurtha. The man who sidled deferentially into the room, a momentafter Carton had said he would see him, was a middle-sized fellow, with a high, slightly bald forehead, a shifty expression in hissharp ferret eyes, and a nervous, self-confident manner that musthave been very impressive before the ignorant. "My name is Kahn, "he introduced himself. "I'm a lawyer. "

Carton nodded recognition. 

Although I had never seen the man before, I recollected the namewhich Miss Kendall had mentioned. He was one of the best knownlawyers of the System. He had begun his career as an "ambulancechaser, " had risen later to the dignity of a police court lawyer, and now was of the type that might be called, for want of a bettername, a high class "shyster"--unscrupulous, sharp, cunning. 

Shyster, I believe, has been defined as a legal knave, a lawyerwho practises in an unprofessional or tricky manner. Kahn was allthat--and still more. If he had been less successful, he wouldhave been the black sheep of the overcrowded legal flock. Idealshe had none. His claws reached out to grab the pittance of thepoverty-stricken client as well as the fee of the wealthy. He hadrisen from hospitals to police courts, coroner's court, andcriminal courts, at last attaining the dignity of offices oppositean entrance to the criminal courts building, from which vantagepoint his underlings surveyed the scene of operations likevultures hovering over bewildered cattle. 

Carton knew him. Kahn was the leader among some score of men moreor less well dressed, of more or less evil appearance, who areconstantly prowling from one end to the other of the broad firstfloor of the criminal courts building during the hours of the daythat justice is being administered there. 

These are the shyster lawyers and their runners and agents whoprey upon the men and women whom misfortune or crime havedelivered into the hands of the law. Others of the same speciesare wandering about the galleries on other floors of the building, each with a furtive eye for those who may be in trouble themselvesor those who seem to be in need of legal assistance for a relativeor friend in trouble. 

Perhaps the majority of lawyers practising in the courts arereputable to the highest degree, and many of the rest merely to asafe degree. Many devote themselves to philanthropic work whenevera prisoner is penniless. But the percentage of shysters is high. Kahn belonged in the latter class, although his days of doingdirty work himself were passed. He had a large force of incipientshysters for that purpose. As for himself, he handled only the bigcases in which he veneered the dirty work by a sort of finesse. 

Kahn bowed and smiled ingratiatingly. "Mr. Carton, " he began in aconciliatory tone, "I have intruded on your valuable time in theinterest of my client, Mr. Jack Rubano. "

"Huh!" grunted Carton. "So they've retained you, have they, Ike?"he mused familiarly, closely regarding the visitor. 

Kahn, far from resenting the familiarity, seemed rather to enjoyit and take it as his due measure of fame. 

"Yes, Mr. Carton, they have retained me. I have just had a talkwith the prisoner in the Tombs and have gone over his case verycarefully, sir. "

Carton nodded, but said nothing, willing to let Kahn do thetalking for the present until he exposed his hand. 

"He has told me all about his case, " pursued Kahn evenly. "It isnot such a bad case. I can tell you that, Mr. Carton, because Ididn't have to resort to the 'friend of the judge' gag in order toshow him that he had a good chance. "

Kahn looked knowingly at Carton. At least he was frank about hisown game before us; in fact, utterly shameless, it seemed to me. Probably it was because he knew it was no use, that Carton had noillusions about him. Still, there was an uncanny bravado about itall. Kahn was indeed very successful in making the worst appearthe better reason. He knew it and knew that Carton knew it. Thatwas his stock in trade. 

He had seated himself in a chair by the District Attorney's deskand as he talked was hitching it closer and closer, for men ofKahn's stamp seem unable to talk without getting into almostpersonal contact with those with whom they are talking. Cartondrew back and folded his hands back of his head as he listened, still silent. 

"You know, Mr. Carton, " he insinuated, "it is a very differentthing to be sure in your own mind that a man is guilty from beingable to prove it in court. There are all sorts of delays that maybe granted, witnesses are hard to hold together, in fact there aremany difficulties that arise in the best of cases. "

"You don't need to tell me that, Kahn, " replied Carton quietly. 

"I know it, Mr. Carton, " rejoined the other apologetically. "I wasjust using that as a preface to what I have to say. "

He took another hitch of the chair nearer Carton and lowered hisvoice impressively. "The point, sir, at which I am driving issimply this. There must be some way in which we can reach anagreement, compromise this case, satisfactorily to the people witha minimum of time and expense--some way in which the indictment orthe pleadings can be amended so that it can be wound up and--youunderstand--both of us win--instead of dragging it out and perhapsyou losing the case in the end. "

Carton shook his head. "No, Kahn, " he said in a low tone, butfirmly, "no compromise. "

Kahn bent his ferret eyes on Carton's face as if to bore throughinto his very mind. 

"No, " added the District Attorney, "Murtha was just here, and Imay as well repeat what I said to him--although I might fairlyassume that he went from this room directly across the street toyour office and that you know it already. This case has gone toofar, it has too many other ramifications for me to consent torelax on it one iota. "

Kahn was baffled, but he was cleverer than Murtha and did not showit. 

"Surely, " he urged, "you must realize that it is not worth yourwhile at such a critical time for yourself to waste energies on acase when there are so many more profitable things that you coulddo. The fact is that I would be the last one to propose anythingthat was not open and above board and to our mutual advantage. There must be some way in which we can reach an agreement whichwill be satisfactory to all parties in interest, sir. "

"Kahn, " repeated Carton a little testily, "how often must I repeatto you and your people that I am NOT going to compromise this casein any shape, form, or manner? I am going to fight it out on thelines I have indicated if I have to disrupt this entire office toget men to do it. I have plenty to do seeking re-election, but myfirst duty is to act as public prosecutor in the office to which Ihave been already elected. Otherwise, it would be a poorrecommendation to the people to return me to the same position. No, you are merely wasting your time and ours talking compromise. "

Kahn had been surveying Carton keenly, now and then taking ashifty glance at Kennedy and myself. 

As Carton rapped out the last words, as if in the nature of anultimatum, Kahn gazed at him in amazement. Here was a man whom heknew he could neither bribe, bully, or bulldoze. 

"You must consider this, too, " he added pointedly. "There has beena good deal of mud-slinging in this campaign. We may find itnecessary to go back into the antecedents and motives of those whorepresent the people in this case. "

It was a subtle threat. Just what it implied I could not evenguess, nor did Carton betray anything by look or word. Carton hadvoluntarily placed himself in the open and in a position fromwhich he could not retreat. Evidently, now, he was willing toforce the fight, if the other side would accept the issue. Itmeant much to him but he did not balk at it. 

"No, Kahn, " he repeated firmly, "no compromise. "

Kahn drew back a bit and hastily scanned the face of theprosecutor. Evidently he saw nothing in it to encourage him. Yethe was too smooth to let his temper rise, as Murtha had. By thesame token I fancied him a more dangerous opponent. There wassomething positively uncanny about his assurance. 

Kahn rose slowly. "Then it is war--without quarter?" asked Kahnshrewdly. 

"War--without quarter, " repeated Carton positively. 

He withdrew quietly, with an almost feline tread, quite incontrast with the bluster of Murtha. I felt for the first time asort of sinking sensation, as I began to realize the variedcharacter of the assault that was preparing. 

Not so, Carton and Kennedy. It seemed that every event that moreclearly defined our position and that of our opponents added zestto the fight for them. And I had sufficient confidence in thecombination to know that their feelings were justified. 

Carton silently pulled down and locked the top of his desk, thenfor a moment we debated where we should dine. We decided on aquiet hotel uptown and, leaving word where we could be found, hurried along for the first real relaxation and refreshment aftera crowded day's work. 

If, however, we thought we could escape even for a few minutes wewere mightily mistaken. We had not fairly done justice to theroast when a boy in buttons came down the line of tables. 

"Mr. Carton--please. "

The District Attorney crooked his finger at the page. 

"You're wanted at the telephone, sir. "

Carton rose and excused himself. 

The message must have given him food of another kind, for when hereturned after a long absence, he pushed aside the now cold roastand joined us in the coffee and cigars. 

"One of my men, " he announced, "has been doing some shadowing forme. Evidently, both Murtha and Kahn having failed, they areresorting to other tactics. It looks as if they had in some way, probably from some corrupt official of the court or employee incharge of the jury list, obtained a copy of the panel whichJustice Pomeroy has summoned for the case. "

"It ought to be a simple thing to empanel another set of talesmenand let these fellows serve in some other part of the court, " Isuggested, considering the matter hastily. 

"Much better to let it rest as it is, " cut in Craig quickly, "andtry to catch Kahn with the goods. It would be great to catch oneof these clever fellows trying to 'fix' the jury, as well asintimidate witnesses, as he already hinted himself. "

"Just the thing, " exclaimed Carton, whose keen sense of proportionshowed what a valuable political asset such a coup would make inaddition to its effect on the case. 

"We'll get Kahn right, if we have a chance, " planned Craig. "Youare acquainted more or less with his habits, I suppose. Where doesKahn hang out? Most fellows like him have a sort of Amen Cornerwhere they meet their henchmen, issue orders, receive reports andcarry on business that wouldn't do for an office downtown. "

"Why, I believe he goes to Farrell's--has an interest in theplace, I think. "

Farrell's, we recognized, as a rather well-known all-night cafewhich managed to survive the excise vicissitudes by dint of havingno cabaret or entertainment. 

We finished the dinner in silence, Kennedy turning various schemesover in his mind, and rejecting them one after another. 

"There's nothing we can do immediately, I suppose, " he remarked atlength. "But if you and Carton care to come up to the laboratorywith me, I might in time of peace prepare for war. I have a littleapparatus up there which I think may fit in somehow and if itdoes, Mr. Kahn's days of jury fixing are numbered. "

A few minutes later, we found ourselves in Kennedy's laboratory, where he had gathered together an amazing collection ofparaphernalia in the warfare of science against crime which he hadbeen waging during the years that I had known him. 

Carton looked about in silent admiration. As for myself, althoughone might have thought it was an old story with me, I had foundthat no sooner had I become familiar with one piece of apparatusto perform one duty, than another situation, entirely differentand unprecedented in our cases arose which called for another, entirely new. I had learned to have implicit confidence inKennedy's ability to meet each new emergency with something fullycapable of solving the problem. 

From a cabinet, Kennedy took out what looked like the little blackleather box of a camera, with, however, a most peculiar lookinglens. 

IX

THE JURY FIXER

"Let's visit Farrell's, " remarked Craig, after looking over theapparatus and slinging it over his shoulder. 

It was early yet, and the theatres were not out, so that therewere comparatively few people in the famous all-night cafe. Weentered the bar cautiously and looked about. Kahn at least was notthere. 

In the back of this part of the cafe were several booths, open toconform to the law, yet sufficiently screened so that there was atleast a little privacy. 

Above the booths was a line of transoms. 

"What's back there?" asked Kennedy, under his breath. 

"A back room, " returned Carton. 

"Perhaps Kahn is there, " Craig suggested. "Walter, you're the onewhom he would least likely recognize. Suppose you just stick yourhead in the door and look about as quietly as you can. "

I lounged back, glanced at the records of sporting events postedon the wall at the end of the bar, then, casually, as if lookingfor someone, swung the double-hinged door that led from the barinto the back room. 

The room was empty except for one man, turned sidewise to thedoor, reading a paper, but in a position so that he could seeanyone who entered. I had not opened the door widely enough to benoticed, but I now let it swing back hastily. It was Kahn, pompously sipping something he had ordered. 

"He's back there, " I whispered to Kennedy, as I returned, excitedly motioning toward one of the transoms over the boothsback of which Kahn was seated. 

"Right there?" he queried. 

"Just about, " I answered. 

A moment later Kennedy led the way over to the booth under thetransom and we sat down. A waiter hovered near us. Craig silencedhim quickly with a substantial order and a good-sized tip. 

From our position, if we sat well within the booth, we wereeffectually hidden unless someone purposely came down and lookedin on us. We watched Kennedy curiously. He had unslung the littleblack camera-like box and to it attached a pair of fine wires anda small pocket storage battery which he carried. 

Then he looked up at the transom. It was far too high for us tohear through, even if those in the back room talked fairly loud. Standing on the leather wall seats of the booth to listen or evento look over was out of the question, for it would be sure toexcite suspicion among the waiters, or the customers who werecontinually passing in and out of the place. 

Kennedy was watching his chance, and when the cafe emptied itselfafter being deluged between the acts from a neighbouring theatre, he jumped up quickly in the seat, stood on his toes and craned hisneck through the diagonally opened transom. Before any of thewaiters, who were busy clearing up the results of the last theatreraid, had a chance to notice him, Craig had slipped the littleblack box into the shadow of the corner. 

From it dangled down the fine wires, not noticeable. 

"He's sitting just back of us yet, " reported Kennedy. "I don'tknow about that flaming arc light in the middle of the room, but Ithink it will be all right. Anyhow, we shall have to take achance. It looks to me as if he were waiting for someone--didn'tit to you, Walter?"

I nodded acquiescence. 

"He has wasted no time in getting down to work, " put in Carton, who had been a silent spectator of the preparations of Kennedy. "What's that thing you put on the ledge up there--a detectaphone?"

Kennedy smiled. "No--they're too clever to do any talking, atleast in a place like this, I'm afraid, " he said, carefully hidingthe wires and the battery beside him in the shadow of the cornerof the booth. "It may be that nothing will happen, anyhow, but ifit does we can at least have the satisfaction of having tried toget something. Carton, you had better sit as far back in the boothas I am. The longer we can stay here unnoticed the better. LetWalter sit on the outside. "

We changed places. 

"Lawyers have been complaining to me lately, " remarked Carton in awell modulated voice, "about jury fixing. Some of them say it hasbeen going on on a large scale and I have had several of my countydetectives working on it. But they haven't landed anything yet, --except rumours, like this one about the Dopey Jack jury. I've hadthem out posing as jurymen who could be 'approached' and wouldarrange terms for other bribable jurymen. "

"And you mean to say that that's going on right here in thiscity?" I asked, scenting a possible newspaper story. 

"This campaign I have started, " he replied, "is only the beginningof our work in breaking up the organized business of jury bribing. I mean to put an end to the work of what I have reason to believeis a secret ring of jury fixers. Why, I understand that the pricesfor 'hanging' a jury range all the way from five to five hundreddollars, or even higher in an important case. The size of the juryfixer's 'cut' depends upon the amount the client is willing to payfor having his case made either a disagreement or a dismissal. Usually a bonus is demanded for a dismissal in criminal cases. Butsuch things are very difficult to--"

"Sh!" I cautioned, for from my vantage point I saw two menapproaching. 

They saw me in the booth, but not the rest of us, and turned toenter the next one. Though they were talking in low tones, wecould catch words and phrases now and then, which told us that weourselves would have to be very careful about being overheard. 

"We've got to be careful, " one of them remarked in a scarcelyaudible undertone. "Carton has detectives mingling with thetalesmen in every court of importance in the city. "

The reply of the other was not audible, but Carton leaned over tous and whispered, "One of Kahn's runners, I think. "

Apparently Kahn was taking extreme precautions and wantedeverything in readiness so that whatever was to be done would gooff smoothly. Kennedy glanced up at the little black leather boxperched high above on the sill of the partition. 

"The chief says that a thousand dollars is the highest price thathe can afford for 'hanging' this jury--providing you get on it, orany of your friends. "

The other man, whose voice was not of the vibrating, penetratingquality of the runner, seemed to hesitate and be inclined toargue. 

"We've had 'em as low as five dollars, " went on the runner, atwhich Carton exchanged a knowing glance with us. "But in a specialcase, like this, we realize that they come high. "

The other man grumbled a bit and we could catch the word, "risky. "

Back and forth the argument went. The runner, however, was aworthy representative of his chief, for at last he succeeded incarrying both his point and his price. 

"All right, " we heard him say at last, "the chief is in the backroom. Wait until I see whether he is alone. "

The runner rose and went around to the swinging door. From theother side of the transom we could, as we had expected, hearnothing. A moment later the runner returned. 

"Go in and see him, " he whispered. 

The man rose and made his way through the swinging door into theback room. 

None of us said a word, but Kennedy was literally on his toes withexcitement. He was holding the little battery in his hand andafter waiting a few moments pressed what looked like a pushbutton. 

He could not restrain his impatience longer, but had jumped up onthe leather seat and for a moment looked at the black leather box, then through the half open transom, as best he could. 

"Press it--press it!" he whispered to Carton, pointing at the pushbutton, as he turned a little handle on the box, then quicklydropped down and resumed his seat. 

"Craig--one of the waiters, " I cried hurriedly. 

The outside bar had been filling up as the evening advanced andthe sight of a man standing on one of the seats had attracted theattention of a patron. A waiter had followed his curious gaze andsaw Kennedy. 

With a quick pull on the wire, Kennedy jerked the black leatherbox from its high perch and deftly caught it as it fell. 

"Say--what are youse guys doin', huh?" demanded the waiterpugnaciously. 

Carton and I had risen and stood between the man and Craig. 

The sound of voices in high pitch was enough to attract a crowdever ready to watch a scrap. Mindful of the famous "flying wedge"of waiters at Farrell's for the purpose of hustling objectionableand obstreperous customers with despatch to the sidewalk, I wasprepared for anything. 

The runner who was sitting alone in the next booth, leaned out andgazed around the corner into ours. 

"Carton!" he shouted in a tone that could have been heard on thestreet. 

The effect of the name of the District Attorney was magical. Forthe moment, the crowd fell back. Before the tough waiters oranyone else could make up their minds just what to do, Kennedy, who had tucked the box into his capacious side pocket, took eachof us by the arm and we shoved our way through the crowd. 

The head waiter followed us to the door, but offered noresistance. In fact no one seemed to know just what to do and itwas all over so quickly that even Kahn himself had not time to geta glimpse of us through the swinging door. 

A moment later we had piled into a taxicab at the curb and werespeeding through the now deserted streets uptown to thelaboratory. 

Kennedy was jubilant. "I may have almost precipitated a riot, " hechortled, "but I'm glad I stood up. I think it must have been atthe psychological moment. "

At the laboratory he threw off his coat and prepared to plungeinto work with various mysterious pans of chemicals, baths, jars, and beakers. 

"What is it?" asked Carton, as Kennedy carefully took out the darkleather box, shielding it from the glare of a mercury vapourlight. 

"A camera with a newly-invented electrically operated between-lensshutter of great illumination and efficiency, " he explained. "Ithas always been practically impossible to get such pictures as Iwanted, but this new shutter has so much greater speed thananything else ever invented before, that it is possible to use itin this sort of detective work. I've proved its speed up to onetwo-thousandth of a second. It may or may not have worked, but ifit has we've caught someone, right in the act. "

Kennedy had a "studio" of his own which was quite equal to theemergency of developing the two pictures which he had taken withthe new camera. 

Late as it was, we waited for him to finish, just as we would havewaited down in the Star office if one of our staff photographershad come in with something important. 

At last Kennedy emerged from his workshop. As he did so, heslapped down two untoned prints. 

Both were necessarily indistinct owing to the conditions underwhich they had had to be taken. But they were quite sufficient forthe purpose. 

As Carton bent over the second one, which showed Kahn in the veryact of handing over a roll of bills to the rather anemic man whomhis runner had brought to him, Carton addressed the photograph asif it had been Kahn himself. 

"I have you at last, " he cried. "This is the end of your secretring of jury fixers. I think that will about settle the case ofKahn, if not of Dopey Jack, when we get ready to spring it. Kennedy, make another set of prints and let me lock them in a safedeposit vault. That's as precious to me as if it were the BlackBook itself!"

Craig laughed. "Not such a bad evening's work, after all, " heremarked, clearing things up. "Do you realize what time it is?"

Carton glanced perfunctorily at his watch. "I had forgotten time, "he returned. 

"Yes, " agreed Craig, "but to-morrow is another day, you know. Idon't object to staying up all night, or even several nights, butthere doesn't seem to be anything more that we can do now, and itmay be that we shall need our strength later. This is, after all, only a beginning in getting at the man higher up. "

"The man highest up, " corrected Carton, with elation as we partedon the campus, Kennedy and I to go to our apartment. 

"See you in the morning, Carton, " bade Kennedy. "By that time, nodoubt, there will be some news of the Black Book. "

We arrived at our apartment a few minutes later. On the floor wassome mail which Kennedy quickly ran over. It did not appear to beof any importance--that is, it had no bearing on the case whichwas now absorbing our attention. 

"Well, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed as he tore openone diminutive letter. "That was thoughtful, anyhow. She must havesent us that a few minutes after we left headquarters. "

He handed me an engraved card. It was from Miss Ashton, invitingus to a non-partisan suffrage evening at her studio in her home, to be followed by a dance. 

Underneath she had written a few words of special invitation, ending, "I shall try to have some people there who may be able tohelp us in the Betty Blackwell matter. "

X

THE AFTERNOON DANCE

It was early the following morning that I missed Kennedy from ourapartment. Naturally I guessed from my previous experiences withthat gentleman that he would most likely be found at hislaboratory, and I did not worry, but put the finishing touches ona special article for the Star which I had promised for that dayand had already nearly completed. 

Consequently it was not until the forenoon that I sauntered aroundto the Chemistry Building. Precisely as I had expected, I foundKennedy there at work. 

I had been there scarcely a quarter of an hour when the dooropened and Clare Kendall entered with a cheery greeting. It wasevident that she had something to report. 

"The letter to Betty Blackwell which you sent to the Montmartrehas come back, unopened, " she announced, taking from her handbag aletter stamped with the post-office form indicating that theaddressee could not be found and that the letter was returned tothe sender. The stamped hand of the post-office pointed to theupper left-hand corner where Clare had written in a fictitiousname and used an address to which she frequently had mail sentwhen she wanted it secret. 

"Only on the back, " she pursued, turning the letter over, "thereare some queer smudges. What are they? They don't look like dirt. "

Kennedy glanced at it only casually, as if he had fully expectedthe incident to turn out as it did. 

"Not unopened, Miss Kendall, " he commented. "We have already had alittle scientific letter-opening. This was a case of scientificletter-sealing. That was a specially prepared envelope. "

He reached down into his desk and pulled out another, sealed itcarefully, dried it, then held it over a steaming pan of wateruntil the gum was softened and it could be opened again. On theback were smudges just like those on the letter that had beenreturned. 

"On the thin line of gum on the flap of the envelope, " heexplained, "I have placed first a coating of tannin, over which isthe gum. Then on the part of the envelope to which the flapadheres when it is sealed I placed some iron sulphate. When Isealed the envelope so carefully I brought the two togetherseparated only by the thin film of gum. Now when steam is appliedto soften the gum, the usual method of the letter-opener, thetannin and the sulphate are brought together. They run and leavethese blots or dark smudges. So, you see, someone has been foundat the Montmartre, even if it is not Betty Blackwell herself, whohas interest enough in the case to open a letter to her beforehanding it back to the postman. That shows us that we are on theright trail at least, even if it does not tell us who is at theend of the trail. Here's another thing; This 'Marie' is a new one. We must find out about her. "

"At the Futurist Tea Room at four this afternoon, when she meetsour good friend, young Dr. Harris, " reminded Clare. "Betweencabarets and tea rooms I don't know whether this is work or play. "

"It's work, all right, " smiled Kennedy, adding, "at least it wouldbe if it weren't lightened by your help. "

It was the middle of the afternoon when Craig and I left thelaboratory to keep our appointment with Miss Kendall at theFuturist Tea Room, where we hoped to find Dr. Harris's friend"Marie, " who seemed to want to see him so badly. 

A long line of touring and town cars as well as taxicabs boreeloquent testimony not only to the popularity of this tea room andcabaret, but to the growth of afternoon dancing. One neverrealizes how large a leisure class there is in the city untilafter a visit to anything from a baseball game to a matinee--and adance. People seemed literally to be flocking to the Futurist. They seemed to like its congeniality, its tone, its "atmosphere. "

As we left our hats to the tender mercies of the "boys" who hadthe checking concession we could see that the place was rapidlyfilling up. 

"If we are to get a table that we want here, we'd better get itnow, " remarked Kennedy, slipping the inevitable piece of change tothe head waiter. "If we sit over there in that sort of littlebower we can see when Miss Kendall arrives and we shall not be soconspicuous ourselves, either. "

The Futurist was not an especially ornate place, although a greatdeal of money had evidently been expended in fitting it up toattract a recherche clientele. 

Our table, which Kennedy had indicated, was, as he had said, in asort of little recess, where we could see without being muchobserved ourselves, although that seemed almost an impossibilityin such a place. In fact, I noticed before we had had time to seatourselves that we had already attracted the attention of two showgirls who sat down the aisle and were amusing themselves atwatching us by means of a mirror. It would not have been verydifficult to persuade them to dispense with the mirror. 

A moment later Clare Kendall entered and paused at the door aninstant, absorbing the gay scene as only a woman and a detectivecould. Craig rose and advanced to meet her, and as she caughtsight of us her face brightened. The show girls eyed her narrowlyand with but slight approval. 

"We feel more at ease with a lady in the party, " remarked Craig, as they reached the table and I rose to greet her. "Two men alonehere are quite as noticeable as two ladies. Walter, I know, wasquite uncomfortable. "

"To say nothing of the fact which you omitted, " I retaliated, "that it is a pleasure to be with Miss Kendall--even if we musttalk shop all the time. "

Clare smiled, for her quick intuition had already taken in anddismissed as of no importance the two show girls. We ordered as amatter of course, then settled back for a long interval until thewaiter out of the goodness of his heart might retrieve whateverwas possible from the mob of servitors where refreshments weredispensed. 

"Opposite us, " whispered Clare, resting her chin on herinterlocked fingers and her elbows on the tip-edge of the table, "do you see that athletic-looking young lady, who seems to beready for anything from tea to tango? Well, the man with her isMartin Ogleby. "

Ogleby was of the tall, sloping-shouldered variety, whom one cansee on the Avenue and in the clubs and hotels in such numbers thatit almost seems that there must be an establishment for turningthem out, even down to a trademark concealed somewhere about them, "Made in England. " Only Ogleby seemed a little different in therespect that one felt that if all the others were stamped by thesame die, he was the die, at least. Compared to him many of theothers took on the appearance of spurious counterfeits. 

"Dr. Harris, " Craig whispered, indicating to us the direction withhis eyes. 

Outside on a settee, we could see in the corridor a man waiting, restless and ill at ease. Now and then he looked covertly at hiswatch as if he expected someone who was late and he wondered ifanything could be amiss. 

Just then a superbly gowned woman alighted from a cab. The starterbowed as if she were familiar. It was evident that this was thewoman for whom Harris waited, the "Marie" of the letter. 

She was a carefully groomed woman, as artificial as French heels. Yet indeed it was that studied artificiality which constituted herchief attraction. As Harris greeted her I noted that Clare wasamazed at the daring cut of her gown, which excited comment evenat the Futurist. 

Her smooth, full, well-rounded face with its dark olive skin andjust a faint trace of colour on either cheek, her snappy hazeleyes whose fire was heightened by the penciling of the eyebrows, all were a marvel of the dexterity of her artificial beautifier. And yet in spite of all there was an air of unextinguishablecoarseness about her which it was difficult to describe, but easyto feel. "Her lips are too thick and her mouth too large, "remarked Clare, "and yet in some incomprehensible way she givesyou the impression of daintiness. What is it?"

"The woman is frankly deceptive from the tip of her aigrette tothe toes of her shoes, " observed Craig. 

"And yet, " smiled Clare, watching with interest the little stirher arrival had made among the revellers, "you can see that she isthe envy of every woman here who has slaved and toiled for thatsame effect without approaching within miles of it or attractingone quarter the notice for her pains that this woman receives. "

Dr. Harris was evidently in his element at the attention which hiscompanion attracted. They seemed to be on very good terms indeed, and one felt that Bohemianism could go no further. 

They paused, fortunately, at a just vacated table around an "L"from us and sat down. For once waiters seemed to vie in servingrather than in neglecting. 

By this time I had gained the impression that the Futurist was allthat its name implied--not up to the minute, but decidedly aheadof it. There was an exotic flavour to the place, a peculiarfascination, that was foreign rather than American, at seeingdemi-monde and decency rubbing elbows. I felt sure that a largepercentage of the women there were really young married women, whose first step downward was truly nothing worse than saying theyhad been at their whist clubs when in reality it was tango andtea. What the end might be to one who let the fascination blindher perspective I could imagine. 

Dr. Harris and "Marie" were nearer the dancing floor than we were, but seemed oblivious to it. Now and then as the music changed wecould catch a word or two. 

He was evidently making an effort to be gay, to counteract thefeeling which she had concealed as she came in, but which had theupper hand now that they were seated. 

"Won't you dance?" I heard him say. 

"No, Harry. I came here to tell you about how things are going. "

There was a harshness about her voice which I recognized asbelonging exclusively to one class of women in the city. Shelowered it as she went on talking earnestly. 

"It looks as though someone has squealed, but who--" I caught inthe fragmentary lulls of the revelry. 

"I didn't know it was as bad as that, " Dr. Harris remarked. 

They talked almost in whispers for several moments while Istrained my ears to catch a syllable, but without success. Whatwere they talking about? Was it about Dopey Jack? Or did they knowsomething about Betty Blackwell? Perhaps it was about the BlackBook. Even when the music stopped they talked without dropping aword. 

The music started again. There was no mistaking the appeal thatthe rocking whirl of the rhythmic dance made. From the side of thetable where Kennedy was seated he could catch an occasionalglimpse of the face of Marie. I noticed that he had torn a blankpage off the back of the menu and with a stub of a pencil was halfidly writing. 

At the top he had placed the word, "Nose, " followed by "straight, with nostrils a trifle flaring, " and some other words I could notquite catch. Beneath that he had written "Ears, " which in turn wasfollowed by some words which he was setting down carefully. Eyes, chin, and mouth followed, until I began to realize that he wasmaking a sort of scientific analysis of the woman's features. 

"I shall need some more--" I caught as the music softenedunexpectedly. 

A singer on the little platform was varying the programme now by asolo and I shifted my chair so as to get a better view and at thesame time also a look at the table around the corner from us. 

As I did so I saw Dr. Harris reach into his breast pocket and takeout a little package which he quickly handed to Marie. As theirhands met, their eyes met also. I fancied that the doctorstruggled to demagnetize, so to speak, the look which she gavehim. 

"You'll come to see me--afterwards?" she asked, dropping thelittle package into her handbag of gold mesh and rattling thevarious accoutrements of beautification which tinkled next to it. 

Harris nodded. 

"You're a life saver to some--" floated over to me from Marie. 

The solo had been completed and the applause was dying away. 

" . .. Tells me he needs . .. Badly off . .. Don't forget to see . .. "

The words came in intervals. What they meant I did not know, but Istrove to remember them. Evidently Marie and a host of others weredepending on Harris for something. At any rate, it seemed, nowthat she had talked she felt easier in mind, as one does aftercarrying a weight a long time in secret. 

"Tanguez-vous?" he asked as the orchestra struck up again. 

"Yes--thank you, Harry--just one. "

We watched the couple attentively as they were alternately lostand found in the dizzy swaying mass. The music became wilder andthey threw themselves into the abandon of the dance. 

They had been absorbed so much in each other and the unburdeningof whatever it was she had wanted to tell him, that neither hadnoticed the other couple on the other side of the floor whosepresence had divided our own attention. 

Martin Ogleby and his partner were not dancing. It was warm andthey were among the lucky ones who had succeeded in gettingsomething besides a cheque from the waiters. Two tall glasses ofginger ale with a long curl of lemon peel sepentining through thecracked ice stood before them. 

The dance had brought Dr. Harris and Marie squarely around towithin a few feet of where Ogleby was sitting. As Harris swungaround she faced Ogleby in such a way that he could not avoid her, nor could she have possibly missed seeing him. 

For a moment their eyes met. Not a muscle in either face moved. Itwas as if they were perfect strangers. She turned and murmuredsomething to her partner. Ogleby leaned over, without the leastconfusion, and made a witty remark to his partner. It was over ina minute. The acting of both could not have been better if theyhad deliberately practised their parts. What did it mean?

As the dance concluded I saw Ogleby glance hastily over in thedirection of Marie. He gave a quick smile of recognition, as muchas to say "Thank you. "

It was evident now that both Dr. Harris and Marie, whoever shewas, were getting ready to leave. As they rose to move to thedoor, Kennedy quickly paid our own cheque, leaving the change tothe waiter, and without seeming to do so we followed them. 

Harris was standing near the starter with his hat off, apparentlymaking his adieux. Deftly Kennedy managed to slip in behind so asto be next in line for a cab. 

"Walter and I will follow Harris if they separate, " he whisperedto Clare Kendall. "You follow the woman. "

The afternoon was verging toward dinner and people were literallybribing the taxicab starter. Our own cab stood next in line behindthat which Harris had called. 

"I have certainly enjoyed this little glimpse of Bohemia, "commented Kennedy to Miss Kendall as we waited. "I shouldn't mindif detective work took me more often to afternoon dances. There, they are going down the steps. Here's the cab I called. Let meknow how things turn out. Goodbye. Here--chauffeur, around thatway--where that other cab is going--the lady will tell you whereto drive. "

Harris hesitated a moment as if considering whether to take a cabhimself, then slowly turned and strolled down the street. 

We followed, slowly also. There was something unreal about thebright afternoon sunshine after the atmosphere of the Futurist TeaRoom, where everything had been done to promote the illusion ofnight. 

Harris walked along meditatively, crossing one street afteranother, not as if debating where he was going, but rather in nogreat hurry to get there. 

Instead of going down Broadway he swerved into Seventh Avenue, then after a few blocks turned into a side street, quickened hispace, and at last dived down into a basement under a saloon. 

It was a wretched neighbourhood, one of those which reminds one ofthe life of an animal undergoing a metamorphosis. Once it hadevidently been a rather nice residential section. The movement ofpopulation uptown had left it stranded to the real estatespeculators, less desirable to live in, but more valuable for thefuture. The moving in of anyone who could be got to live there hadled to rapid deterioration and a mixed population of whites andnegroes against the day when the upward sweep of business shouldbring the final transformation into office and loft buildings. Butfor the present it was decaying, out of repair, a mass of cheaprooming-houses, tenements, and mixed races. 

The joint into which Harris had gone was the only evidence ofanything like prosperity on the block, and that evidence wasconfined to the two entrances on the street, one leading into theground floor and the other down a flight of steps to the basement. 

"Do you want to go in?" asked Kennedy in a tone that indicatedthat he himself was going. 

Just then a negro, dazzling in the whiteness of his collar and thebrilliancy of his checked suit, came up the stairs accompanied bya light mulatto. 

"It's a black and tan joint, " Craig went on, "at least downstairs--negro cabaret, and all that sort of thing. "

"I'm game, " I replied. 

We stumbled down the worn steps, past a swinging door near whichstood the proprietor with a careful eye on arrivals anddepartures. The place was deceiving from the outside. It reallyextended through two houses, and even at this early hour it wasfairly crowded. 

There were negroes of all degrees of shading, down to those whowere almost white. Scattered about at the various tables wereperhaps half a dozen white women, tawdry imitations of the fasterset at the Futurist which we had just left, the leftovers of aprevious generation in the Tenderloin. There was also a fairsprinkling of white men, equally degraded. White men and colouredwomen, white women and coloured men, chatted here and there, butfor the most part the habitues were negroes. At any rate thelevelling down seemed to have produced something like an equalityof races in viciousness. 

As we sat down at a table, Kennedy remarked: "They used to driftdown to Chinatown, a good many of these relics. You used to seethem in the old 'suicide halls' of the Bowery, too. But that isall passing away now. Reform and agitation have closed up thoseold dives. Now they try to veneer it over with electric lights andbright varnish, but I suppose it comes to the same thing. Afterthey are cast off Broadway, the next step lower is the black andtan joint. After that it is suicide, unless it is death. "

"I don't think this is any improvement over the--the bad olddays, " I ventured. 

Kennedy shook his head in agreement. "There's Harris, down therein the back, talking to someone, a white man, alone. "

A waiter came over to us grinning, for we had assumed the role ofsightseers. 

"Who is that, 'way back there, with his chair tipped to the wall, talking to the man with his back to us?" asked Kennedy. 

"Ike the Dropper, sah, " informed the waiter with obvious pridethat such a celebrity should be harboured here. 

I looked with a feeling akin to awe at the famous character who, in common with many others of his type, had migrated uptown fromthe proverbial haunts of the gunmen on the East Side in search ofpastures new and untroubled. 

Ike the Dropper may have once been a strong-arm man, but atpresent I knew that he was chiefly noted for the fact, and he andhis kind were reputed to be living on the earnings of women towhom they were supposed to afford "protection. " I reflected on thepassing glories of brutality which had sunk so low. 

There were noise and life a plenty here. At a discordant box of apiano a negro performer was playing with a keen appreciation oftime if of nothing else, and two others with voices that might nothave been unpopular in a decent minstrel show were rendering apopular air. They wore battered straw hats and a make-up which wasintended to be grotesque. 

From time to time, as the pianist was moved, he played snatches ofthe same music as that which we had heard at the Futurist, andbetween us and Harris and Ike the Dropper several couples wereone-stepping, each in their own sweet way. As the music becamemore lively their dancing came more and more to resemble some ofthe almost brutal Apache dances of Paris, in that the man seemedto exert sheer force and the woman agility in avoiding him. It wasan entirely new phase of afternoon dancing, an entirely new"leisure class, " this strange combination of Bohemia andSenegambia. 

At a table next to us, so near that we could almost rub elbowswith them, sat a white man and a white woman. They had beentalking in low tones, but I could catch whole sentences now andthen, for they seemed to be making no extraordinary effort atconcealment. 

"He was framing a sucker to get away with a whole front, " I heardthe man say, "or with a poke or a souper, but instead he gotdropped by a flatty and was canned for a sleep. "

"Two dips--pickpockets, " whispered Craig. "Someone was trying totake everything a victim had, or at least his pocketbook or watch, but instead he was arrested by a detective and locked up overnight. "

"Good work, " I laughed. "You are 'some' translator. "

I looked at our neighbours with a certain amount of respect. Werethey framing up something themselves? At any rate I felt that Iwould rather see them here and know what they were than to bejostled by them in a street car. The sleek proprietor kept acareful eye on them and I knew that a sort of unwritten law wouldprevent them from trying on anything that would endanger theirwelcome in a joint none too savoury already. 

Nevertheless I was quite interested in the bits of pickpocketargot that floated across to us, expressions like "crossing themit, " "nipping a slang, " a "mouthpiece, " "making a holler" andinnumerable other choice bits as unintelligible to me as"Beowulf. "

After a few minutes the woman got up and went out, leaving the manstill sitting at the table. Of course it was none of my businesswhat they were doing, I suppose, but I could not help beinginterested. 

That diversion being ended, I joined Kennedy in his scrutiny ofHarris and his choice friend. Of course at our distance it wasabsolutely impossible to gain any idea of what they were talkingabout, and indeed our chief concern was not to attract anyattention. Whatever it was, they were very earnest about it andpaid no attention to us. 

The dancing had ceased and the two "artists" were entertaining theselect audience with some choice bits of ragtime. We could see Ikethe Dropper and Dr. Harris still talking. 

Suddenly Kennedy nudged me. I looked up in time to see Dr. Harrisreach into his inside breast pocket again and quietly slip out apackage much like that which we had already seen him hand to Marieat the Futurist. Ike took it, looked at it a moment with somesatisfaction, then stuffed it down carefully into the right-handoutside pocket of his coat. 

"I wonder what that is that Harris seems to be passing out tothem?" mused Craig. 

"Drugs, perhaps, " I ventured offhand. 

"Maybe. I'd like to know for certain. "

Just then Harris and Ike rose and walked down on the other side ofthe place toward the door. Kennedy turned his head so that even ifthey should look in our direction they would not see his face. Idid the same. Fortunately neither seemed interested in the otheroccupants. Harris having evidently fulfilled his mission, whetherof delivering the package or receiving news which Ike seemed to bepouring into his ear, had but one thought, to escape from a placewhich was evidently distasteful to him. At the door they pausedfor a moment and spoke with the proprietor. He nodded reassuringlyonce or twice to Dr. Harris, much to the relief, I thought, ofthat gentleman. 

Kennedy was chafing under the restraint which kept him in thebackground and prevented any of his wizardry of mechanicaleavesdropping. I fancied that his roving eye was consideringvarious means of utilizing his seemingly inexhaustible ingenuityif occasion should arise. 

At last Harris managed to shake hands good-bye and disappeared upthe steps to the sidewalk still followed by Ike. 

Kennedy leaned over and looked the "dip" sitting alone back of ussquarely in the face. 

"Would you like to make twenty-five dollars--just like that?" heasked with a quick gesture that accorded very well with the slang. 

The man looked at him very suspiciously, as if considering whatkind of new game this was. 

"That was your gun moll who just went out, wasn't it?" pursuedKennedy with assurance. 

"Aw, come off. Whatyer givin' us?" responded the man half angrily. 

"Don't stall. I know. I'm not one of the bulls, either. It's justa plain proposition. Will you or won't you take twenty-five ofeasy money?"

Kennedy's manner seemed to mystify him. For a moment he looked usover, then seemed to decide that we were all right. 

"How?" he asked in a harsh but not wholly ungracious whisper. "I'll tip yer off if the boss is lookin'. He don't like no frame-ups in here. "

"You saw Ike the Dropper go out with that man?"

"The guy with the glasses?"

"Yes. "

"Well?"

"The guy with the glasses gave Ike a little package which Ike putinto the right-hand outside pocket of his coat. Now it's worthtwenty-five beans to me to get that package--get me?"

"I gotyer. Slip me a five now and the other twenty if I get it. "

Kennedy appeared to consider. 

"I'm on the level, " pursued the dip. "Me and the goil is in hardluck with a mouthpiece who wants fifty bucks to beat the case forone of the best tools we ever had in our mob that they got rightto-day. "

"From that I take it that one of your pals needs fifty dollars fora lawyer to get him out of jail. Well, I'll take a chance. Bringthe package to me at--well, the Prince Henry cafe. I'll be thereat seven o'clock. "

The pickpocket nodded, slid from his place and sidled out of thejoint without attracting any attention. 

"What's the lay?" I asked. 

"Oh, I just want that package, that's all. Come on, Walter. Wemight as well go before any of these yellow girls speak to us andframe up something on us. "

The proprietor bowed as much as to say, "Come again and bring yourfriends. "

XI

THE TYPEWRITER CLUE

Ike was nowhere to be seen when we reached the street, but downthe block we caught sight of Dr. Harris on the next corner. Kennedy hastened our pace until we were safely in his wake, thenmanaged to keep just a few paces behind him. 

Instead of turning into the street where the Futurist was, Harriskept on up Broadway. It was easy enough to follow him in the crowdnow without being perceived. 

He turned into the street where the Little Montmartre waspreparing for a long evening of entertainment. We turned, and tocover ourselves got into a conversation with a hack driver whoseemed suddenly to have sprung from nowhere with the crypticwhisper, "Drive you to the Ladies' Club, gents?"

Out of the tail of his eye Kennedy watched Harris. Instead ofturning into the Montmartre and his office, he went past to ahigh-stooped brownstone house, two doors away, climbed the stepsand entered. 

We sauntered down the street and looked quickly at the house. Abrass sign on the wall beside the door read, "Mme. Margot's BeautyShop. "

"I see, " commented Kennedy. "You know women of the type whofrequent the Futurist and the Montmartre are always running to thehairdressing and manicure parlours. They make themselves'beautiful' under the expert care of the various specialists andbeauty doctors. Then, too, they keep in touch that way with whatis going on in the demi-monde. That is their club, so to speak. Itis part of the beauty shop's trade to impart such information--atleast of a beauty shop in this neighbourhood. "

I regarded the place curiously. 

"Come, Walter, don't stare, " nudged Kennedy. "Let's take a turndown to the Prince Henry and wait. We can get a bite to eat, too. "

I had hardly expected that the pickpocket would play fair, butevidently the lure of the remaining twenty dollars was too strong. We had scarcely finished our dinner when he came in. 

"Here it is, " he whispered. "The house man here at the PrinceHenry knows me. Slip me the twenty. "

Kennedy leisurely tore the wrappings from the packet. 

"I suppose you have already looked at this first and found that itisn't worth anything to you compared to twenty dollars. Anyhow, you kept your word. Hello--what is it?"

He had disclosed several small packets. Inside each, sealed, was apeculiar glistening whitish powder. 

"H'm, " mused Kennedy, "another job for the chemist. Here's thebankroll. "

"Thanks, " grinned the dip as he disappeared through the revolvingdoor. 

We had returned to the laboratory that night where Kennedy waspreparing to experiment on the white powder which he had securedin the packet that came from Dr. Harris. The door opened and ClareKendall entered. 

"I've been calling you up all over town, " she said, "and couldn'tfind you. I have something that will interest you, I think. Yousaid you wanted something written by Dr. Harris. Well, there itis. "

She laid a sheet of typewriting on the laboratory table. 

"How did you get it?" asked Kennedy in eager approbation. 

"When I left you at the Futurist Tea Room to follow that womanMarie in the cab, I had a good deal of trouble. I guess peoplethought I was crazy, the way I was ordering that driver about, buthe was so stupid and he would get tangled up in the traffic onFifth Avenue. Still, I managed to hang on, principally because Ihad a notion already that she was going to the Montmartre. Sureenough, she turned down that block, but she didn't go into thehotel after all. She stopped and went into a place two doors down--Mme. Margot's Beauty Parlour. "

"Just where we finally saw Harris go, " exclaimed Kennedy. "I begyour pardon for interrupting. "

"Of course I couldn't go in right after her, so I drove around thecorner. Then it occurred to me that it would be a good time tostop in to see Dr. Harris--when he was out. You know my experiencewith the fakers has made me pretty good at faking up ailments. Then, too, I knew that it would be easy when he was not there. Isaid I was an old patient and had an appointment and that I'dwait, although I knew those were not his regular office hours. Hehas an alleged trained nurse there all the time. She let me intohis waiting-room on the second floor in front--you remember theprivate dining-rooms are in back. I waited in momentary fear thathe WOULD come back. You see, I had a scheme of my own. Well, Iwaited until at last the nurse had to leave the office for a shorttime. 

"That was my chance. I tiptoed over to his desk in the next room. On it were a lot of letters. I looked over them but could findnothing that seemed to be of interest. They were all letters fromother people. But they showed that he must have quite an extensivepractice, and that he is not over-scrupulous. I didn't want totake anything that would excite suspicion unless I had to. Justthen I heard someone coming down the corridor from the elevator. Ihad just time to get back to a chair in the waiting-room when thedoor opened and there was that Titian from the office, youremember. She saw me without recognizing me, went in and laid somepapers on his desk. As soon as she was gone, I went in again andlooked them over. Here was one that she had copied for him. "

Kennedy had been carefully scrutinizing the sheet of paper as shetold how she obtained it. 

"It couldn't be better as far as our purposes are concerned, " hecongratulated. "It seems to consist of some notes he had made andwished to preserve about drugs. "

I leaned over and read:

VERONAL. --Diethylmalonyl or diethylbarbituric acid. A hypnoticused extensively. White, crystalline, odourless, slightly bitter. Best in ten to fifteen grain cachets. Does not affect circulatoryor respiratory systems or temperature. Toxicity low: 135 gr. Takenwith no serious result. Unreasonable use for insomnia, however, may lead to death. 

HEROIN. --Constant use of heroin has been known to lead to--

I looked inquiringly at Kennedy. 

"Just some fragmentary notes which he had evidently been making. Rather interesting in themselves as showing perhaps something ofhis practice, but not necessarily incriminating. "

While we were discussing the contents of the notes, Kennedy hadlaid over the typewritten sheet the rules and graduated strip ofglass which he had used in examining the strange letter signed "AnOutcast. "

A moment later he pulled the letter itself from a drawer and laidthe two pieces of writing side by side, comparing them, going fromone to the other successively. 

"People generally, who have not investigated the subject, " heremarked as he worked, "hold the opinion that the typewriter hasno individuality. Fortunately that is not true. The typewritingmachine does not always afford an effective protection to thecriminal. On the contrary, the typewriting may be a direct meansof tracing a document to its source and showing it to be what itreally is. This is especially true of typewritten anonymousletters. Without careful investigation it is impossible to saywhat can be determined from the examination of any particularpiece of typewriting, but typewriting can often be positivelyidentified as being the work of a certain particular typewritingmachine and even the date of writing can sometimes be found out. "

He had been carefully counting something under the lens of apocket glass. "Even the number of threads to the inch in theribbon, as shown in the type impression, plainly seen andaccurately measured by the microscope or in an enlargedphotograph, may show something about the identity of a disputedwriting. "

He was pointing to a letter "r. " Under the glass I noticed thatthere was a break in the little curl at the top. 

"Now if you find such a break in the same letter in another pieceof typewriting, what would you think?"

"That they were from the same machine, " I replied. 

"Not so fast, " he cautioned. "True, it might raise a presumptionthat it was from the same machine. But the laws of chance would beagainst your enthusiasm, Walter. "

"Of course, " I admitted on second thought. 

"It's just like the finger-print theory. There must be a sort ofsummation of individual characteristics. Now here's a broken 'l'and there is an 'a' that is twisted. Now, if the same defects arefound in another piece of writing, that makes the presumption allthe stronger, and when you have massed together a number of suchcharacteristics it raises the presumption to a mathematicalcertainty, does it not?"

I nodded and he went on. "The faces of many letters inevitablybecome broken, worn, or battered. Not only does that tend toidentify a particular machine, but it is sometimes possible, ifyou have certain admitted standard specimens of writing covering along period, to tell just when a disputed writing was made. Thereare two steps in such an inquiry, the first the determination ofthe fact that a document was written on a certain particular kindof machine and the second that it was written on a certainindividual machine of that make. I have here specimens of thewriting of all the leading machines. It is easy to pick out themake used, say in the 'Outcast' letter. Moreover, as I said when Ifirst saw that letter, it is in the regular pica type. So are theyall, but as ninety-five per cent, use the pica style that initself proved nothing. "

"What is that bit of ruled glass?" asked Clare, bending over theletters in deep interest. 

"In ordinary typewriting, " replied Craig, "each letter occupies animaginary square, ten to the inch horizontally and six to the inchvertically. Typewriting letters are in line both ways. This ruledglass plate is an alinement test plate for detecting defects inalinement. I have also here another glass plate in which the linesdiverge each at a very slightly different angle--a typewritingprotractor for measuring the slant of divergence of variousletters that have become twisted, so to speak. 

"When it is in perfect alinement the letter occupies the middle ofeach square and when out of alinement it may be in any of the fourcorners, or either side of the middle position or at the top orbottom above or below the middle. That, you see, makes ninepositions in all--or eight possible divergences from normal inthis particular alone. "

Clare had been using the protractor herself, quickly familiarizingherself with it. 

"Another possible divergence, " went on Kennedy, "is theperpendicular position of the letter in relation to the line. Thatis of great value in individualizing a machine. It is very seldomthat machines, even when they are new, are perfect in thisparticular. It does not seem much until you magnify it. Thenanyone can see it, and it is a characteristic that is fixed, continuous, and not much changed by variations in speed or methodsof writing. 

"Here's another thing. Typewriter faces are not flat like printingtype, but are concaved to conform to the curve of the printingsurface of the roller. When they are properly adjusted allportions should print uniformly. But when they are slightly out ofposition in any direction the two curved surfaces of type androller are not exactly parallel and therefore don't come togetherwith uniform pressure. The result is a difference in intensity indifferent parts of the impression. "

It was fascinating to see Craig at work over such minute pointswhich we had never suspected in so common a thing as ordinarytypewriting. 

"Then you can identify these letters positively?" asked Clare. 

"Positively, " answered Craig. "If two machines of the same makewere perfect to begin with and in perfect condition--which isnever found to be the case when they are critically examined--thework from one would be theoretically indistinguishable from thatof another until actual use had affected them differently. Thework of any number of machines begins inevitably to diverge assoon as they are used. Since there are thousands of possibleparticulars in which differences may develop, it very soon becomespossible to identify positively the work of a particulartypewriting machine. "

"How about the operator?" I asked curiously. 

"Different habits of touch, spacing, speed, arrangement, andpunctuation all may also tend to show that a particular piece ofwriting was or was not done by one operator. In other words, typewriting individuality in many cases is of the most positiveand convincing character and reaches a degree of certainty whichmay almost be described as absolute proof. The identification of atypewritten document in many cases is exactly parallel to theidentification of an individual who precisely answers a generaldescription as to features, complexion, size, and in additionmatches a long detailed list of scars, birthmarks, deformities, and individual peculiarities. "

Together we three began an exhaustive examination of the letters, and as Kennedy called off the various characteristics of each typeon the standard keyboard we checked them up. It did not take longto convince us, nor would it have failed to convince the mostsceptical, that both had come from the same source and the samewriter. 

"You see, " concluded Kennedy triumphantly, "we have advanced along step nearer the solution of at least one of the problems ofthis case. "

Miss Kendall had evidently been thinking quickly and turning thematter over in her mind. 

"But, " she spoke up quickly, "even that does not point to the sameperson as the author--not the writer, but the author--of the threepieces of writing. "

"No indeed, " agreed Craig. "There is much left to be done. As amatter of fact, there might have been one author, or there mighthave been two, although all the mechanical work was done by oneperson. But we are at least sure that we have localized the sourceof the writing. We know that it is from the Montmartre that theletter came. We know that it is in some way that that place andsome of the people who frequent it are connected with thedisappearance of Betty Blackwell. "

"In other words, " supplied Clare, "we are going to get at thetruth through that Titian-haired stenographer. "

"Exactly. "

Clare had risen to go. 

"It quite takes my breath away to think that we are really makingsuch progress against the impregnable Montmartre. At various timesmy investigators have been piecing together little bits ofinformation about that place. I shall have the whole record puttogether to-night. I shall let you know about it the first thingin the morning. "

The door had scarcely closed when Kennedy turned quickly to me andremarked, "That girl has something on her mind. I wonder what itis?"

XII

THE "PORTRAIT PARLE"

What it was that Clare Kendall had on her mind, appeared thefollowing day. 

"There's something I want to try, " she volunteered, evidentlyunable to repress it any longer. "I have a plan--or half a plan. Don't you think it would be just the thing, under thecircumstances, to ring up District Attorney Carton, tell him whatwe have accomplished and take him into our confidence? Perhaps hecan suggest something. At any rate we have all got to worktogether, for there is going to be a great fight when they findout how far we have gone. "

"Bully idea, " agreed Craig. 

Twenty minutes later we were seated in the District Attorney'soffice in the Criminal Courts Building, pouring into hissympathetic ear the story of our progress so far. 

Carton seemed to be delighted, as Kennedy proceeded to outline thecase, at the fact that he and Miss Kendall had found it possibleto co-operate. His own experience in trying to get others to workwith the District Attorney's office, particularly the police, hadbeen quite the reverse. 

"I wish to heaven you could get the right kind of evidence againstthe Montmartre gang, " he sighed. "It is a gang, too--a high-classgang. In fact--well, it must be done. That place is a blot on thecity. The police never have really tried to get anything on it. Miss Kendall never could, could you? I admit I never have. Itseems to be understood that it is practically impossible to proveanything against it. They openly defy us. The thing can't go on. It demoralizes all our other work. Just one good blow at theMontmartre and we could drive every one of these vile crooks tocover. " He brought his fist down with a thud on the desk, swungaround in his chair, and emphasized his words with his forefinger. 

"And yet, I know as well as I know that you are all in this roomthat graft is being paid to the police and the politicians by thatplace and in fact by all those places along there. If we are to doanything with them, that must be proved. That is the first stepand I'm glad the whole thing hinges on the Blackwell case. Peoplealways sit up and take notice when there is something personalinvolved, some human interest which even the newspapers can see. That Montmartre crowd, whoever they are, must be made to feel thestrong arm of the law. That's what I am in this office to do. Now, Kennedy, there must be some way to catch those crooks with thegoods. "

"They aren't ordinary crooks, you know, " ruminated Kennedy. 

"I know they are not. But you and Miss Kendall and Jameson oughtto be able to think out a scheme. "

"But you see, Mr. Carton, " put in Clare, "this is a brand newsituation. Your gambling and vice and graft exposures have madeall of them so wary that they won't pass a bill from their rightto their left pockets for fear it is marked. "

Carton laughed. 

"Well, you are a brand new combination against them. Let me see;you want suggestions. Why don't you use the detectaphone--get ourown little Black Book?"

Kennedy shook his head. 

"The detectaphone is all right, as Dorgan knows. It might workagain. But I don't think I'll take any chances. No, these grafterswouldn't say 'Thank you' in an open boat in mid-ocean, for fear ofwireless, now. They've been educated up to a lot of things lately. No, it must be something new. What do you know about graft upthere?"

"The people who are running those places in the fifties are makingbarrels of money, " summarized Carton quickly. "No one everinterferes with them, either. I know from reliable sources, too, that the police are 'getting theirs. ' But although I know it Ican't prove it; I can't even tell who is getting it. But once aweek a collector for the police calls around in that district andshakes them all down. By Jove, to-day is the day. The trouble withit all is that they have made the thing so underground that no onebut the principals know anything about it--not even the agents. Iguess you are right about the detectaphone. "

"To-day's the day, is it?" mused Craig. 

"So I understand. "

"I think I can get them with a new machine they never dreamed of, "exclaimed Kennedy, who had been turning something over in hismind. 

He reached for the telephone and called the Montmartre. 

"Julius, please, " he said when they answered; then, placing hishand over the transmitter, he turned to Clare. "That was yourfriend the Titian, Miss Kendall. "

"No friend of mine if she happens to remember seeing me in Dr. Harris's office the other day. Still, I doubt if she would. "

"Hello--Julius? Good morning. How about a private dining-room forthree, Julius?"

We could not hear the reply, but Craig added quickly, "I thoughtthere were two?"

Evidently the answer was in the affirmative, for Craig asked next, "Well, can't we have the small one?"

He hung up the receiver with a satisfied smile after closing with"That's the way to talk. Thank you, Julius. Good-bye. "

"What was the difficulty?" I asked. 

"Why, I thought I'd take a chance--and it took. Now figure it outfor yourself. Carton says it's dough day, so to speak, up there. What is more natural than that the money for all those placesleased to various people should be passed over in a place that ispublic and yet is not public? For instance, there is theMontmartre itself. Now think it out. Where would that be done inthe Montmartre? Why, in one of the private dining-rooms, ofcourse. "

"That seems reasonable, " agreed Carton. 

"That was the way I doped it, " pursued Craig. "I thought I'dconfirm it if I could. You remember they told us to call up alwaysif I wanted a private dining-room and it would be reserved for me. So it was the most natural thing in the world for me to call up. If they had said yes, I should have been disappointed. But theysaid no, and straightway I wanted one of those rooms the worstway. One seems to be engaged--the large one. He said nothing aboutthe other, so I asked him. Since I knew about it, he could hardlysay no. Well, I have engaged it for lunch--an early luncheon, too. "

"It sounds all right, as though you were on the right trail, "remarked Carton. "But, remember, only the best sort of evidencewill go against those people. They can afford to hire the bestlawyers that money can retain. And be careful not to let them getanything on you, for they are fearful liars, and they'll go thelimit to discredit you. "

"Trust us, " assured Craig. "Now, Miss Kendall, if you will give usthe pleasure of lunching with you at the Montmartre again, I thinkwe may be able to get the Judge just the sort of open and shutevidence he is after. "

"I shall be glad to do it. I'm ready now. "

Kennedy glanced at his watch. "It's a little early yet. If we takea taxicab we shall have plenty of time to stop at the laboratoryon our way. "

Arriving at the laboratory, he went to a drawer, from which hetook a little box which contained a long tube, and carefullyplaced it in the breast pocket of his coat. Then from a chest oftools he drew several steel sections that apparently fittedtogether, and began stuffing the parts into various pockets. 

"Here, Walter, " he said, "these make me bulge like a yeggman withhis outfit under his coat. Can't you help me with some of theseparts?"

I jammed several into various pockets--heavy pieces of metal--andwe were ready. 

Our previous visits to the Montmartre seemed to have given us theentree and the precaution of telephoning made it even easier. Indeed, it appeared that about all that was necessary there was tobe known and to be thought "right. " We carefully avoided theoffice, where the stenographer might possibly have recognizedClare, and entered the elevator. 

"Is Dr. Harris in?" asked Craig, both by way of gettinginformation and showing that he was no stranger. 

The black elevator boy gave an ivory grin. "No, sah. He done goneon one o' them things. "

Another question developed the fact that whenever Harris was awayit was generally assumed that he was tinting the metropolisvermilion from the Battery to the Bronx. 

We passed down the hall to the smaller of the two dining-rooms, and as we went by the larger we could see the door open and thatno one was there. 

We had ordered and the waiter had scarcely shut the door beforeKennedy had divested himself of the heavy steel sections which hehad hidden in his pockets. I did the same. 

With a quick glance he seemed to be observing just how thefurniture was placed. The smaller dining-room was quite aselaborately furnished as the larger, though of course thefurniture was more crowded. 

He moved the settee and was on his knees in a corner. "Let mesee, " he considered. "There was nothing on this side of the largerroom except the divan in the centre. "

As nearly as he could judge he was measuring off just where thedivan stood on the opposite side of the wall, and its height. Thenhe began fitting together the pieces of steel. As he added one toanother, I saw that they made a sectional brace and bit of his owndesign, a long, vicious-looking affair such as a burglar mighthave been glad to own. 

Carefully he started to bore through the plaster and lath back ofthe settee and to one side of where the divan must have been. Hewas making just as small a hole as possible, now and then stoppingto listen. 

There was no noise from the next room, but a tap on the doorannounced the waiter with luncheon. He shoved the settee back andjoined us. The discreet waiter placed the food on the table anddeparted without a word or look. Kennedy resumed his work and weleft the luncheon still untasted. 

The bit seemed to have gone through as Kennedy, turning itcarefully, withdrew it now and then to make sure. At last heseemed to be satisfied with the opening he had made. 

From the package in his breast pocket he drew a long brass tubewhich looked as if it might be a putty-blower. Slowly he insertedit into the hole he had bored. 

"What is it?" I asked, unable to restrain my curiosity longer. 

"I felt sure that there would be no talking done in that room, especially as we are in this one and anyone knows that even if youcan't put a detectaphone in a room, it will often work if merelyplaced against a wall or door, on the other side, in the nextroom. So I thought I'd use this instead. Put your eye down here. "

I did so and was amazed to find that through a hole less than aquarter of an inch in diameter the brass tube enabled me to seethe entire room next to us. 

I looked up at Kennedy in surprise. "What do you think of this, Miss Kendall?" I asked, moving the settee out of her way. "What doyou call it?"

"That is a detectascope, " he replied, "a little contrivance whichmakes use of the fish-eye lens. 

"Yes. The detectascope enables you to see what is going on inanother room. The focus may be altered in range so that the facesof those in the room may be recognized and the act of passingmoney or signing cheques, for instance, may be detected. Theinstrument is fashioned somewhat after the cytoscope of thedoctors, with which the human interior may be seen. "

"Very remarkable, " exclaimed Clare. "But I can't understand how itis possible to see so much through such a little tube. Why, Ialmost fancy I can see more in that room than I could with my owneyes if I were placed so that I could not move my head. "

Kennedy laughed. 

"That's the secret, " he went on. "For instance, take a drop ofwater. Professor Wood of Johns Hopkins has demonstrated recentlythe remarkable refracting power of a drop of water, using thecamera and the drop of water as a lens. It is especiallyinteresting to scientists because it illustrates the range ofvision of some fishes. They have eyes that see over half a circle. Hence the lens gets its name--'the fish-eye lens. ' A globerefracts the light that reaches it from all directions, and if itis placed as the lens is in the detectascope so that one half ofit catches the light, all this light will be refracted through it. Ordinary lenses, because of their flatness, have a range of only afew degrees, the widest in use, I believe, taking in only ninety-six degrees, or a little over a quarter of a circle. So you see mydetectascope has a range almost twice as wide as that of any otherlens. "

The little tube was fascinating, and although there was no one inthe next room yet, I could not resist the desire to keep onlooking through it. 

"Since you are so interested, Walter, " laughed Craig, "we'llappoint you to take the first shift at watching. Meanwhile we mayas well eat since we shall certainly have to pay. When you aretired or hungry I'll take a turn. "

Kennedy and I had been taking turns at watching through thedetectascope while Miss Kendall told us more about how she hadcome to be associated with the organization to clean up New York. 

"We have struck some delicate situations before, " she was saying, "times when it meant either that we must surrender and compromisethe work of the investigation or offend an interest that mightturn out to be more powerful than we realized. Our rule from thestart was, 'No Compromise. ' You know the moment you compromisewith one, all the others hear it and it weakens your position. We've made some powerful enemies, but our idea is that as long aswe keep perfectly straight and honest they will never be able tobeat us. We shall win in the end, because so far it has never cometo a show-down, when we appealed to the public itself, that thepublic had not risen and backed us strongly. "

I had come to have the utmost confidence in Clare Kendall and herfrank way of handling a ticklish yet most important subjectwithout fear or prudishness. There was a refreshing newness abouther method. It was neither the holier-than-thou attitude of manyreligionists, nor the smug monopoly of all knowledge of the socialworker, nor the brutal wantonness of the man or woman of the worldwho excuses everything "because it is human nature, always hasbeen and always will be. "

"We have no illusions on the subject, " she pursued. "We don'texpect to change human nature until the individual standardchanges. But we are convinced of this--and it is as far as we goand is what we are out to accomplish--and that is that we can, andare going to, smash protected, commercialized vice as one of thebig businesses of New York. "

"Sh-h, " cautioned Kennedy, whose turn it happened to be just thento watch. "Someone has just entered the room. "

"Who is it?" I whispered eagerly. 

"A man. I can't see his face. His back is toward me, but there issomething familiar about him. There--he is turning around. ForHeaven's sake--it's Ike the Dropper!"

We had already recounted to Miss Kendall our experiences infollowing Dr. Harris to the black and tan joint and the meetingwith Ike the Dropper. 

"Then Ike the Dropper is the collector for the police or thepoliticians higher up, " she exclaimed under her breath. "If welearned nothing more, that would be enough. It would tell us whomto watch. "

Hastily we took turns at getting a good look at Ike through thewonderful little detectascope. Then Kennedy resumed his watch, whispering now and then what he saw. Apparently Ike had proceededto make himself comfortable in the luxurious surroundings of theprivate dining-room, against the arrival of the graft payers. 

"I wonder who the man higher up is, " whispered Miss Kendall. 

"Someone is coming in, " reported Kennedy. "By George, it is thatstenographer from the office downstairs. She is handing him anenvelope. Good for her! He tried to kiss her and she backed awayin disgust. The scoundrel!

"Isn't it clever, though? Not a word is said by anyone. I don'tsuppose she could swear to knowing anything about what is in theenvelope. There she goes out. He is opening the envelope andcounting out the money--ten one-hundred-dollar bills. There theygo into the fob pocket of his trousers. I imagined he learnedsomething from my pick-pocket. That is the safest pocket a manhas. That little contribution, I take it, was from the Montmartreitself. "

Then followed an interval in which Ike puffed away on his cigar insilent state. 

"Here's another now, " announced Craig. "Another woman. I never sawher before. "

Both Miss Kendall and I looked and neither of us recognized her. She was slim and would have been young-looking if she had not madesuch obvious efforts to imitate the healthy colour of the cheekswhich she probably would have had if she had lived sensibly andleft cosmetics alone. 

Kennedy was hastily jotting down some notes on the back of anenvelope. 

"They are going through the same proceedings again. I guess Ikedoesn't like her. There she goes. Only two hundred this time. "

Another wait followed, during which Ike smoked down his cigar andlighted another from the stub. Then the door opened again. 

Kennedy motioned quickly to Clare to look through thedetectascope. Meanwhile he pulled from his pocket the piece ofpaper he had written on and torn from the back of the menu at theFuturist. 

"Marie!" exclaimed Clare under her breath. 

"The same, " whispered Kennedy. "Miss Kendall, you have the true'camera eye' of the born detective. Now--please--let me see if Ican get what occurs. "

She yielded her place to him. 

"Three hundred more, " he murmured. "Marie must be in the game, though. He didn't wait for her to leave before he tore open theenvelope. Now they are burning the envelopes in the ash tray. Andstill not a word. This is clever, clever. Think of it--fifteenhundred dollars of easy money like that! I wonder how much of itsticks to Ike's hands on the way up. He must have a capacious fobpocket for that. Say, he's a regular fellow with the ladies, Ikeis. Only this one doesn't seem to resent it. By George, I wonderif this fellow Ike isn't giving the police or the politicians thedouble-cross. He couldn't be on such intimate terms with one whowas paying graft to him as collector otherwise; do you think so?"

Craig looked up without waiting for an answer. "You will excuseany levity, but that was some kiss she just gave him. "

Kennedy resumed his position for looking through the detectascope, occasionally glancing down at the notes he had made the day beforeand now and then making a slight alteration. 

"There. She is going away now. Well, I guess the collection is allover. He has his hat on and a third cigar, ready to go as soon assomebody signals that the coast is clear. That was a good day'swork for Ike and the man higher up, whoever he is. Ah--there hegoes. It was a signal from the waiter he was after. Now we may aswell finish this luncheon. It cost enough. "

For several minutes we ate in silence. 

"I wish I could have followed Ike, " observed Craig. "But of courseit would have been of no use. To go out right after him would havegiven the whole thing away. "

"Who is that dark-haired, dark-skinned woman, Marie, do yousuppose?" asked Clare. "Sometimes I almost think she is partnegro. "

"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised, though, if you were right. If you have any investigators to spare, they might try to find outwho she is and something of her history. I will give them a copyof these notes which I intend to turn over to the Department ofJustice men who have been making the white slave investigation forthe Federal Government. "

Kennedy had laid the notes which he had made on the menu before usand was copying them. Both Clare and I leaned over to read them. It was Greek to me:

Nose--straight, base elevated, nostrils thick, slightly flaring. 

Ears--lobe descending oval, traversed by a hollow, antitragusconcave; lobe separated from cheek. 

Lips--large. 

Mouth--large. 

Chin--receding. 

There was much more that he had jotted down and added to thedescription. 

"Oh, " exclaimed Clare, as she ran through the writing, "that isthis new portrait parle, the spoken picture, isn't it?"

"Yes, " replied Kennedy. "You may know that the Government has beenusing it in its white slave inquiry and has several thousands ofsuch descriptions. Under the circumstances, I understand that theGovernment agents find it superior to finger-prints. Finger-printsare all right for identification, as we have found right here, forinstance, in the Night Court. But Bertillon's new portrait parleis the thing for apprehension. "

"What is it?" I asked. 

"Well, take the case before us. We have had no chance to finger-print that woman and what good would it do if we had? No one couldrecognize her that way until she was arrested or some means hadbeen taken to get the prints again. 

"But the portrait parle is scientific apprehension, the step thatcomes before scientific identification by finger-prints. It meansgiving the detective an actual portrait of the person he is sentafter without burdening him with a photograph. As descriptions arenow given, together with a photograph, a person is described as ofsuch a weight, height, general appearance, and so on. A clevercrook knows that. He knows how to change his appearance so thatthere are few even of the best detectives who can recognize him. This new system describes the features so that a man can carrythem in his mind systematically, features that cannot be changed. 

"Take the nose, for example, " explained Kennedy. "There are onlythree kinds, as Bertillon calls them--convex, straight, andconcave. A detective, we will say, is sent out after a man with aconcave nose or, as in this case a woman with a straight nose. Thus he is freed from the necessity of taking a second glance attwo-thirds of the women, roughly, that he meets--that is, theoretically. He passes by all with convex and concave noses. 

"There are four classes of ears--triangular, square, oval, andround, as they may be called. Having narrowed his search to womenwith straight noses, the detective needs to concern himself withonly one-fourth of the women with straight noses. Having come downto women with straight noses and, say, oval ears, he willeliminate all those that do not have the mouth, lips, chin, eyes, forehead, and so on that have been given him. Besides that, thereare other striking differences in noses and ears that make hiswork much easier than you would imagine, once he has been trainedto observe such things quickly. "

"It sounds all right, " I agreed haltingly. 

"It is all right, too, " he argued warmly. "The proof of it is itsuse in Paris and other cities abroad and the fact that it has beenimported here to New York in the Police Department and has beenused by the Government. I could tell you many interesting storiesabout how it has succeeded where photographs would have failed. "

I had been reading over the description again and trying to applyit. 

"For instance, " Craig resumed thoughtfully. "I believe that thiswoman is a mulatto, but that is a long way from proving it. Still, I hope that by using the portrait parle and other things we may beable to draw the loose threads together into a net that will catchher--providing, of course, that she ought to be caught. "

He had finished making copies of the portrait parle and had calledfor a cheque for the lunch. 

"So you see, " he concluded, "this is without any doubt the womanwe saw at the Futurist, whom Miss Kendall followed to MadameMargot's Beauty Shop, two doors down. "

Kennedy handed a copy to Miss Kendall. 

"Using that and whatever other means you may have, Miss Kendall, "he said, "I wish that you would try to find this woman and all youcan about her. Walter, take this other copy and see Carton. Ithink he has a county detective who knows the system. I shallspend the rest of the day getting in touch with the Federalauthorities in this city and in Washington trying to find outwhether they know anything about her. "

We left the Montmartre with as much care as we had entered andseemingly without having yet aroused any suspicion. The rest ofthe day was spent in setting to work those whom we felt we couldtrust to use the portrait parle to locate the mysterious dark-haired Marie who seemed to cross our trail at every turn, yet whoproved so elusive. 

XIII

THE CONVICTION

Meanwhile, the organization was using every effort to getpossession of the Black Book, as Kennedy had suspected. 

Miss Ashton had been busy on the case of the missing BettyBlackwell, but as yet there was no report from any of the agencieswhich she had set in motion to locate the girl. She had seenLanghorne, and, although she did not say much about the result ofthe interview, I felt sure that it had resulted in a furtherestrangement between them, perhaps a suspicion on the part ofLanghorne that Carton had been responsible for it. 

In as tactful a way as possible, Miss Ashton had also warned Mrs. Ogleby of the danger she ran, but, as I had already supposed, thewarning had been unnecessary. The rumours about the detectaphonerecord of the dinner had been quite enough. As for the dinneritself, what happened, and who were present, it remained still amystery, perhaps only to be explained when at last we managed tolocate the book. 

Since the visit of Kahn, we had had no direct or indirectcommunications with either Dorgan or Murtha. They were, however, far from inactive, and I felt that their very secrecy, which hadalways been the strong card of the organization, boded no good. Although both Carton and Kennedy were straining every nerve tomake progress in the case, there was indeed very little to report, either the next day or for some time after the episode which hadplaced Kahn in our power. 

Carton was careful not to say anything about the graphic record wehad taken of Kahn's attempt to throw the case. It was better so, he felt. The jury fixing evidence would keep and it would proveall the stronger trump to play when the right occasion arose. Thattime rapidly approached, now, with the day set for the trial ofDopey Jack. 

The morning of the trial found both Kennedy and myself in the partof General Sessions to which the case had been assigned to betried under Justice Pomeroy. 

To one who would watch the sieve through which justice vigorouslytries to separate the wheat from the chaff, the innocent from theguilty, a visit to General Sessions is the best means. For it isfed through the channels that lead through the police courts, theGrand Jury chambers, and the District Attorney's office. There onecan study the largest assortment of criminals outside of a penalinstitution, from the Artful Dodger and Bill Sykes, Fagin and Jimthe Penman, to the most modern of noted crooks of fact or fiction, all done here in real flesh and blood. It is the busiest ofcriminal courts. More serious offenders against the law aresentenced here than in any other court in New York. The finalchapter in nearly every big crime is written there, sooner orlater. 

As we crowded in, thanks to the courtesy of Carton, we found aroomy chamber, with high ceiling, and grey, impressive walls inthe southeast corner of the second floor of the Criminal CourtsBuilding. Heavy carved oaken doors afforded entrance and exit forthe hundreds of lawyers, witnesses, friends, and relatives ofdefendants and complainants who flocked thither. 

Rows upon rows of dark-brown stained chairs filled the west halfof the courtroom, facing a three-foot railing that enclosed a jurybox and space reserved for counsel tables, the clerk and theDistrict Attorney representing the people. 

At the extreme east rose in severe dignity the dais or bench abovewhich ascended a draped canopy of rich brown plush. Here JusticePomeroy presided, in his robes of silk, a striking, white-hairedfigure of a man, whose face was seamed and whose eyes were keenwith thought and observation. 

Across the street, reached by the famous Bridge of Sighs, loomedthe great grey hulk of stone and steel bars, the city prison, usually referred to as "The Tombs. " As if there had been somecunning design in the juxtaposition, the massive jail reareditself outside the windows as an object lesson. It was a perpetualwarning to the lawbreaker. Its towers and projections jutted outas so many rocks on a dangerous shore where had been wreckedthousands of promising careers just embarked on the troublesomeseas of life. 

Skirting the line of southern windows through which The Tombs wasvisible, ran a steel wire screen, eight feet high, marking off anarrow chute that hugged the walls to a door at the rear of thecourtroom leading to the detention pen. Ordinarily prisoners werebrought over the Bridge of Sighs in small droves and herded in thedetention pens just outside the courtroom until their cases werecalled. 

The line-up of prisoners at such times awaiting their turn at thebar of justice affords ample opportunity for study to theprofessional or the amateur criminalist. 

Almost daily in this court one might look upon murderers, banklooters, clever forgers, taxicab robbers, safe crackers, highwaymen, second-story men, shoplifters, pickpockets, thieves, big and little--all sorts and conditions of crooks come to pay theprice. 

The court was crowded, for the gang leaders knew that this was ashow-down for them. Carton himself, not one of his assistants, wasto conduct the case. If Dopey Jack, who had violated almost everylaw in the revised statutes and had never suffered anything worsethan a suspended sentence, could not get off, then no one could. And it was unthinkable that Dopey should not only be arrested andheld in jail without bail, but even be convicted on such a trivialmatter as slight irregularities that swung the primaries in alarge section of the city for his superior, "higher up. "

Rubano's father, a decent, sorrowing old man, sat in the rear ofthe courtroom, probably wondering how it had all happened, for hecame evidently of a clean, law-abiding family. 

But there was nothing in the appearance of the insolent criminalat the bar to show that he was of the same breed. He was no longerthe athlete, whom "prize fighting" had inculcated with principlesof manliness and fair play as well as a strong body. All that, asI had seen often before, was a pitiful lie. He was rat-eyed andsoft-handed. His skin had the pastiness that comes of moreexposure to the glare of vile dance halls than the sunlight ofday. His black hair was slicked down; he was faultlessly tailoredand his shoes had those high, bulging toes which are the extremeof Fourteenth Street fashion. 

Outside, overflowing into the corridor, were gangsters, followersand friends of Dopey Jack. Only an overpowering show of forcepreserved the orderliness of the court from their boasting, bragging, and threats. 

The work of selecting the jury began, and we watched it carefully. Kahn, cool and cunning, had evidently no idea of what Carton washolding out against him. In the panel I could see the anemic-looking fellow whom we had caught with the goods up at Farrell's. Carton's men had shadowed him and had learned of every man withwhom he had spoken. As each, for some reason or other, wasobjected to by Carton, Kahn began to show exasperation. 

At last the anemic fellow came up for examination. Kahn acceptedhim. 

For a moment Carton seemed to fumble among his papers, withouteven looking at the prospective juror. Then he drew out the printwhich Kennedy had made. Quietly, without letting anyone else seeit, he deliberately walked to Kahn's table and showed it to thelawyer, without a word, in fact without anyone else in the courtknowing anything about it. 

Kahn's face was a study, as he realized for the first time what itwas that Carton and Kennedy had been doing that night atFarrell's. He paled. His hand shook. It was with the utmost effortthat he could control his voice. He had been cornered and theyellow streak in him showed through. 

In a husky voice he withdrew the juror, and Carton, in the samecold, self-possessed manner resumed his former position, not evena trace of a smile on his features. 

It was all done so quickly that scarcely a soul in the courtbesides ourselves realized that anything had happened. 

"Isn't he going to say anything about it?" I whispered to Craig. 

"That will come later, " was all that Kennedy replied, his eyesriveted still on Carton. 

Though no one besides ourselves realized it, Carton had thrown abombshell that had demolished the defence. Others noticed it, butas yet did not know the cause. Kahn, the great Kahn by whom allthe forces of the underworld had conjured, was completelyunnerved. Carton had fixed it so that he could not retreat andleave the case to someone else. He had knocked the props fromunder his defence by uncannily turning down every man whom he hadany reason of suspecting of having been approached. Then he hadgiven Kahn just a glimpse of the evidence that hinted at what wasin store for himself personally. Kahn was never the same afterthat. 

Judge Pomeroy, who had been following the progress of the caseattentively, threw another bombshell when he announced that hewould direct that the names of the jurors be kept secret until itwas absolutely necessary to disclose them, a most unusualproceeding designed to protect them from reprisals of gangmen. 

At last the real trial began. Carton had been careful to see thatnone of the witnesses for the people should be "stiffened" as theprocess was elegantly expressed by those of Dopey Jack's class--inother words, intimidated, bribed, or otherwise rendered innocuous. One after another, Carton rammed home the facts of the case, thefraudulent registration and voting, the use of the names of deadmen to pad the polling lists, the bribery of election officials atthe primaries--the whole sordid, debasing story of how Dopey Jackhad intimidated and swung one entire district. 

It was clever, as he presented it, with scarcely a reference tothe name of Murtha, the beneficiary of such tactics--as though, perhaps, Murtha's case was in his mind separate and would beattended to later when his turn came. 

Rapidly, concisely, convincingly, Carton presented the facts. Nowand then Kahn would rise to object to something as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. But there was lacking something in hismethod. It was not the old Kahn. In fact, one almost felt thatCarton was disappointed in his adversary, that he would havepreferred a stiff, straight from the shoulder, stand-up fight. 

Now and then we could hear a whisper circulating about among thespectators. What was the matter with Kahn? Was he ill? Gangdom wasin a daze itself, little knowing the smooth stone that Carton hadslung between the eyes of the great underworld Goliath of the law. 

At last Carton's case was all in, and Kahn rose to present hisown, a forced smile on his face. 

There was an attempt at a demonstration, but Judge Pomeroy rappedsharply for order, and alert court attendants were about to nipeffectively any such outburst. Still, it was enough to show theundercurrent of open defiance of the court, of law, of the people. 

What it was no one but ourselves knew but Kahn was not himself. Others saw it, but did not understand. They had waited patientlythrough the sledge-hammer pounding of Carton, waiting expectantlyfor Kahn to explode a mine that would demolish the work of theDistrict Attorney as if it had been so much paper. Carton hadfiguratively dampened the fuse. It sputtered, but the mine did notexplode. 

Once or twice there were flashes of the old Kahn, but for the mostpart he seemed to have crumpled up. Often I thought he was not theequal of even a police court lawyer. The spectators seemed to knowthat something was wrong, though they could not tell just what itwas. Kahn's colleagues whispered among themselves. He made hispoints, but they lacked the fire and dash and audacity that oncehad caused the epigram that Kahn's appearance in court indicatedtwo things--the guilt of the accused and a verdict of acquittal. 

Even Justice Pomeroy seemed to notice it. Kahn had tried many acase before him and the old judge had a wholesome respect for thewiley lawyer. But to-day the court found nothing so grave as thestrange dilatoriness of the counsel. 

Once the judge had to interfere with the remark, "I may remind thelearned counsel for the defence that the court intends to finishthis case before adjournment for the day, if possible; if not, then we shall sit to-night. "

Kahn seemed not to grasp the situation, as he had of old. Heactually hurried up the presentation of the case, oblivious to thenow black looks that were directed at him by his own client. If hehad expected to recover his old-time equanimity as the caseproceeded, he failed. For no one better than he knew what thatlittle photograph of Carton's meant--disgrace, disbarment, perhapsprison itself. What was this Dopey Jack when ruin stared himselfso relentlessly in the face in the person of Carton, calm andcool?

At last the summing up was concluded and both sides rested. JudgePomeroy charged the jury, I thought with eminent fairness andimpartiality, even, perhaps, glossing over some points whichKahn's weak presentation might have allowed him to make more of ifKahn had been bolder and stronger in pressing them. 

The jury filed out and the anxious waiting began. On all sides wasthe buzz of conversation. Kahn himself sat silent, gazing for themost part at the papers before him. There must have been somewrangling of the jury, for twice hope of the gangsters revivedwhen they sent in for the record. 

But it was not over an hour later when the jury finally filed backagain into their box. As Judge Pomeroy faced them and asked theusual question, the spectators hung, breathless, on the words ofthe foreman as the jurors stood up silently in their places. Therewas a tense hush in the courtroom, as every eye was fastened onthe face of the foreman. 

The hush seemed to embarrass him. But finally he found his voice. Nervously, as if he were taking his own life in his hands hedelivered the verdict. 

"We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment!"

Instantly, before anyone could move, the dignified judge faced theprisoner deliberately. 

"You have heard the verdict, " he said colourlessly. "I shallsentence you Friday. "

Three court attendants were at Dopey Jack's side in a moment, butnone too soon. The pent-up feeling of the man idolized byblackmailers, and man-killers, and batteners on street-women, whoheld nothing as disgrace but a sign of respect for law or remorsefor capture, burst forth. 

He cast one baleful look at Kahn as they hurried him to the wire-screened passageway. "It's all a frame-up--a damned frame-up!" heshouted. 

As he disappeared a murmer of amazement ran through the room. Theunthinkable had happened. An East Side idol had fallen. 

XIV

THE BEAUTY PARLOUR

"It seems strange, " remarked Kennedy the following morning when wehad met in his laboratory for our daily conference to plan ourcampaign, "that although we seem to be on the right trail we havenot a word yet about Betty Blackwell herself. Carton has justtelephoned that her mother, poor woman, is worrying her heart outand is a mere shadow of her former self. "

"We must get some word, " asserted Miss Kendall. "This silence isalmost like the silence of death. "

"I'm afraid I shall have to impose on you that task, " said Kennedythoughtfully to her. "There seems to be no course open to us butto transfer our watch from Dr. Harris to this Marie. Of course itis too early to hear from our search by means of the portraitparle. But we have both seen Dr. Harris and Marie enter the beautyparlour of Madame Margot. Now, I don't mean to cast aspersions onyour own good looks, Miss Kendall. They are of the sort with whichno beauty parlour except Nature can compete. "

A girl of another type than Clare would probably have read a halfdozen meanings into his sincere compliment. But then, I reflectedthat a man of another type than Craig could not have made theremark without expecting her to do so. There was a franknessbetween them which, I must confess, considerably relieved me. Iwas not prepared to lose Kennedy, even to Miss Kendall. 

She smiled. "You want me to try a course in artificialbeautification, don't you?"

"Yes. Walter doesn't need it, and as for me, nothing could make mea modern Adonis. Seriously, though, a man couldn't get in there, Isuppose. At least that is one of the many things I want you tofind out. Under the circumstances, you are the only person in whomI have confidence enough to believe that she can get at the factsthere. Find out all you can about the character of the place andthe people who frequent it. And if you can learn anything aboutthat Madame Margot who runs the place, so much the better. "

"I'll try, " she said simply. 

Kennedy resumed his tests of the powder in the packets which Dr. Harris had been distributing, and I endeavoured to make myself aslittle in the way as possible. It was not until the close of theafternoon that a taxicab drove up and deposited Miss Kendall atthe door. 

"What luck?" greeted Kennedy eagerly, as she entered. "Do you feelthoroughly beautified?"

"Don't make me smile, " she replied, as she swept in with an airthat would have done credit to the star in a comic opera. "I'dhate to crack or even crease the enamel on my face. I've beensteamed and frozen, beaten and painted and---"

"I'm sorry to have been the cause of such cruel and unusualpunishment, " apologized Craig. 

"No, indeed. Why, I enjoyed it. Let me tell you about the place. "

She leaned against the laboratory table, certainly an incongruouspicture in her new role as contrasted with the stained and dirtybackground of paraphernalia of medico-legal investigation. I couldnot help feeling that if Clare Kendall ever had decided to go infor such things, Marie herself would have had to look sharp to herlaurels. 

"As you enter the place, " she began, "you feel a delightful warmthand there is an odour of attar of roses in the air. There arethick half-inch carpets that make walking a pleasure and dreamySleepy Hollow rockers that make it an impossibility. It is allvery fascinating. 

"There are dull-green lattices, little gateways with roses, whiteenamel with cute little diamond panes of glass for windows, inviting bowers of artificial flowers and dim yellow lights. Itmakes you feel like a sybarite just to see it. It's a cosmeticArcadia for that fundamental feminine longing for beauty. 

"Well, first there are the little dressing-rooms, each with a bed, a dresser and mirror, and everything in such good taste. After youleave them you go to a white, steamy room and there they bake you. It's a long process of gentle showers, hot and cold, after that, and massage. 

"I thought I was through. But it seems that I had only juststarted. There was a battery of white manicure tables, and thenthe hairdressers and the artists who lay on these complexions--what do you think of mine? I can't begin to tell all the secretsof the curls and puffs, and reinforcements, hygienic rolls, transformations, fluffy puffers, and all that, or of thecomplexions. Why, you can choose a complexion, like wall-paper orupholstery. They can make you as pale as a sickly heroine or theycan make you as yellow as a bathing girl. There is nothing theycan't do. I asked just for fun. I could have come out as dusky asa gipsy. 

"They tried electrolysis on my eyebrows, and one attendantsuggested a hypodermic injection of perfume. Ever hear of that?She thought 'new mown hay' was the best to saturate the skin with. Then another suggested, as long as I had chosen this moonbeammake-up, that perhaps I'd like a couple of dimples. They couldmake them permanent or lasting only a few hours. I declined. Butthere is nothing so wild that they haven't either thought ofthemselves or imported from Paris or somewhere else. I heard themdiscussing someone who wanted odd eyes--made by pouring in certainliquids. They don't seem to care how they affect sight, hearing, skin, or health. It is decoration run mad. "

"How about the people there?" asked Kennedy. 

"Oh, I must tell you about that. There's so much to tell, I hardlyknow where to begin--or stop. I saw some flashy people. You knowone customer attracts her friends and so on. There is every classthere from the demi-monde up to actresses and really trulysociety. And they have things for all prices from thecomparatively cheap to the most extravagant. They're veryaccommodating and, in a way, democratic. "

"Did it seem--straight?" asked Kennedy. 

"On the surface, yes, as far as I could judge. But I'll have to goback again for that. For instance, there was one thing that seemedqueer to me. I had finished the steaming and freezing and wasresting. A maid brought a tray of cigarettes, those dainty littlethin ones with gilt tips. There seemed to be several kinds. Imanaged to try some of them. One at least I know was doped, although I only had a whiff of it. I think after they got to knowyou they'd serve anything from a cocktail in a teacup to thelatest fads. I am sure that I saw one woman taking some veronal inher coffee. "

"Veronal?" commented Craig. "Then that may be where Dr. Harriscomes in. "

"Partly, I think. I've got to find out more about what is hiddenthere. Once I heard a man's voice and I know it was Dr. Harris's. "

"Harris! Why, the elevator boy at the Montmartre said he waspainting the town, " I observed. 

"I don't believe it. I think he has all he can do keeping up withthe beauty shop. You see, it is more than a massage parlour. Theydo real decorative surgery, as it is called. They'll engage togive you a new skin as soft and pink as a baby's. Or they willstraighten a nose, or turn an ear. They have light treatment forcomplexions--the ruby ray, the violet ray, the phosphorescent ray. 

"You would laugh at the fake science that is being handed out tothose gullible fools. They can get rid of freckles and superfluoushair, of course. But they'll even tell you that they can changeyour mouth and chin, your eyes, your cheeks. I should bepositively afraid of some of their electrical appliances there. They sweat down your figure or build it up--just as you please. 

"Oh, no one need be plain in these days, not as long as MadameMargot's exists. That is where I think Dr. Harris comes in. He canpose as a full-fledged, blown-in-the-bottle cosmetic surgeon. I'llbet there is no limit to the agonized beautification that they canput you through if they think they can play you for a sucker. "

"By the way, did you see Madame Margot herself?" asked Craig. 

"No. I made all sorts of discreet inquiries after her, but theyseemed to know nothing. The nearest I could get was a hint fromone of the girls that she was away. But I'll tell you whom I thinkI heard, talking to the man whose voice sounded like Dr. Harris's, and that was Marie. Of course I couldn't see, but in the part ofthe shop that looks like a fake hospital I heard two voices and Iwould wager that Marie is going through some of thisbeautification herself. Of course she is. You remember howartificial she looked?"

"Did you see anyone else?"

"Oh, yes. You know the place is two doors from the Montmartre. Well, I think they have some connection with that place betweenthem and the Montmartre. Anyhow it looks as if they did, for afterI had been there a little while a girl came in, apparently fromnowhere. She was the girl we saw paying money to Ike the Dropper, you remember--the one none of us recognized? There's something inthat next house, and she seems to have charge of it. "

"Well, you have done a good day's work, " complimented Kennedy. 

"I feel that I have made a start, anyhow, " she admitted. "There isa lot yet to be learned of Margot's. You remember it was early inthe day that I was there. I want to go back sometime in theafternoon or evening. "

"Dr. Harris is apparently the oracle on beauty, " mused Kennedy. 

"Yes. He must make a lot of money there. "

"They must have some graft, though, besides the beauty parlour, "went on Kennedy. "They wouldn't be giving up money to Ike theDropper if that was all there was. "

"No, and that is where the doped cigarette comes in. That is why Iwant to go again. I imagine it's like the Montmartre. They have toknow you and think you are all right before you get the realinside of the place. "

"I don't doubt it. " "I can't go around looking like a chorusgirl, " remarked Miss Kendall finally, with a glance at a littlemirror she carried in her bag. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuseme until I get rid of this beautification. "

The telephone rang sharply. 

As Kennedy answered, we gathered that it was Carton. A few minutesof conversation, mostly on Carton's part, followed. Kennedy hungup the receiver with an exclamation of vexation. 

"I'm afraid I did wrong to start anything with the portrait parleyet, " he said. "Why, this thing we are investigating has so manyqueer turns that you hardly know whom to trust. "

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know who could have given the thing away, but Carton saysit wasn't an hour after the inquiries began about Marie that itbecame known in the underworld that she was being looked for inthis way. Oh, they are clever, those grafters. They have all sortsof ways of keeping in touch. I suppose they remember they had oneexperience with the portrait parle and it has made them as wary asa burglar is over finger-prints. Carton tells me that Marie hasdisappeared. "

"I could swear I heard her or someone at Margot's, " said Clare. 

"And Harris has disappeared. Of course you thought you overheardhim, too. But you may have been mistaken. "

"Why?"

"As nearly as Carton can find out, " said Kennedy quickly, "Marieis Madame Margot herself. "

XV

THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT

"I want to go to Margot's again to-day, " volunteered Miss Kendallthe following morning, adding with a smile, "You see, I've got thehabit. Really, though, there is a mystery about that place thatfascinates me. I want to find out more about this Marie, orMargot, or whoever it was that I thought I heard there. And thenthose doped cigarettes interest me. You see, I haven't forgottenwhat you said about dope the first time we talked about Dr. Harris. They will be more free with me, too, now that I am nolonger a stranger. "

"That is a good idea, " agreed Kennedy, who was now chafing underthe enforced inaction of the case. "I hope that this time theywill let you into some of the secrets. There is one thing, though, I wish you'd look out for especially. "

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I should like to know what ways there are of communicating withthe outside. You realize, of course, that it is very easy forthem, if they come to suspect you, to frame up something in aplace like that. There are strong-arm women as well as men, andI'm not at all sure that there may not be some men besides Dr. Harris who are acquainted with that place. At any rate Dr. Harrisis unscrupulous enough himself. "

"I shall make it a point to observe that, " she said as she leftus. "I hope I'll have something to tell you when I come back. "

"Walter, " remarked Craig as the door closed, "that is one of thegamest girls I ever knew. "

I looked across at him inquiringly. 

"Don't worry, my boy, " he added, reading my expression. "She's notof the marrying kind, any more than I am. "

The morning passed and half of the afternoon without any word fromMiss Kendall. Kennedy was plainly becoming uneasy, when a hurriedfootstep in the hall was followed by a more hurried opening of thedoor. 

"Let me sit down, just a minute, to collect myself, " panted MissKendall, pressing her hands to her temples where the blue veinsstood out and literally throbbed. "I'm all in. "

"Why, what is the matter?" asked Kennedy, placing a chair andswitching on an electric fan, while he quickly found a bottle ofrestorative salts which was always handy for emergencies in thelaboratory. 

"Oh--such a time as I've had! Wait--let me see whether I canrecollect it in order. "

A few minutes later she resumed. "I went in, as before. Thereseemed to be quite a change in the way they treated me. I musthave made a good impression the first time. A second visit seemedto have opened the way for everything. Evidently they think I amall right. 

"Well, I went through much the same thing as I did before, only Itried to make it not quite so elaborate, down to the point whereseveral of us were sitting in loose robes in the lounging-room. That was the part, you know, that interested me before. 

"The maid came in with the cigarettes and I smoked one of thedoped ones. They watch everything that you do so closely there, and the moment I smoked one they offered me another. I don't knowwhat was in them, but I fancy there must be just a trace of opium. They made me feel exhilarated, then just a bit drowsy. I managedto make away with the second without inhaling much of the smoke, for my head was in a whirl by this time. It wasn't so much that Iwas afraid I couldn't take care of myself as it was that I wasafraid that it would blunt the keenness of my observation and Imight miss something. "

"Besides the cigarettes, was there anything else?" asked Craig. 

"Yes, indeed. I didn't see anyone there I recognized, but I heardsome of them talk. One was taking a little veronal; another saidsomething about heroin. It was high-toned hitting the pipe, if youcall it that--a Turkish bath, followed by massage, and then a safecomplement of anything you wanted, taken leisurely by thesearistocratic dope fiends. 

"There was one woman there who I am sure was snuffing cocaine. Shehad a little gold and enamelled box like a snuff box beside herfrom which she would take from time to time a pinch of some whitecrystals and inhale it vigorously, now and then taking a littlesip of a liqueur that was brought in to her. "

"That's the way, " observed Kennedy. "There are always aconsiderable number of inhuman beings who are willing to makecapital out of the weaknesses of others. This illicit sale ofcocaine is one example. Such conditions have existed with theopium products a long time. Now it seems to be the 'coke fiend. '"

"I was glad I did just as I did, " resumed Clare, "because itwasn't long before I saw that the thing to do was to feigndrowsiness. A maid came over to me and in a most plausible andinsinuating way hinted that perhaps I might feel like resting andthat if the noise in the beauty parlour annoyed me, they had theentire next house--the one next to the Montmartre, you know--whichhad been fitted up as a dormitory. "

"You didn't go?" cut in Craig immediately. 

"I did not. I pleaded an engagement. Why, the place is a regulardope joint. "

"Exactly. I suspected as much as you went along. Everything seemsto have moved uptown lately, to have been veneered over to meetthe fastidious second decade of the twentieth century. Butunderneath it all are the same old vices. I'm glad you didn'tattempt to go into the next house. Anyhow, now we are certainabout the character of the place. Did you notice anything aboutthe means of communicating with the outside--the telephones, forinstance?"

Miss Kendall was evidently feeling much better now. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered. "I took particular care to observe that. They have a telephone, but there is a girl who attends to it, although they don't really need one. She listens to everything. Then, too, in the other house--You remember I spoke about the girlwhom we saw paying Ike the Dropper? It seems that she has asimilar position at the telephone over there. "

"So they have two telephones, " repeated Craig. 

"Yes. "

"Good. There are always likely to be some desperate characters inplaces like that. If we ever have anyone go into that dope jointwe must have some way of keeping in touch and protecting theperson. "

Miss Kendall had gone home for a few hours of rest after herexciting experience. Craig was idly tapping with his fingers onthe broad arm of his chair. 

Suddenly he jumped up. "I'm going up there to look that joint overfrom the outside, " he announced. 

We walked past the front of it without seeing anything inparticular, then turned the corner and were on the Avenue. Kennedypaused and looked at a cheap apartment house on which was a sign, "Flats to Let. "

"I think I'll get the janitor to show me one of them, " he said. 

One was on the first floor in the rear. Kennedy did not seem to bevery much interested in the rent. A glance out of the windowsufficed to show him that he could see the back of the Montmartreand some of the houses. It took only a minute to hire it, at leastconditionally, and a bill to the janitor gave us a key. 

"What are you going to do?"

"We can't do anything just yet, but it will be dark by the time Iget over to the laboratory and back and then we can do something. "

That night we started prowling over the back fences down thestreet. Fortunately it was a very black night and Craig wascareful not to use even the electric bull's-eye which he hadbrought over from the laboratory together with some wire andtelephone instruments. 

As we crouched in the shadow of one of the fences, he remarked:"Just as I expected; the telephone wires run along the tops of thefences. Here's where they run into 72--that's the beauty parlour. These run into 70--that's the dope joint. Then next comes theMontmartre itself, reaching all the way back as far as the lotextends. "

We had come up close to the backs of the houses by this time. Theshades were all drawn and the blinds were closed in both of them, so that we had really nothing to fear provided we kept quiet. Besides the back yards looked unkempt, as if no one cared muchabout them. 

Kennedy flashed the electric bull's-eye momentarily on the wires. They branched off from the back fence down the party fence to thehouses, both sets on one fence. 

"Good!" he exclaimed. "It is better than I hoped. The two sets goon up to the first floor together, then separate. One set goesinto the beauty parlour; the other into the dope joint. "

Craig had quietly climbed up on a shed over the basements of boththe houses. He was working quickly with all the dexterity of alineman. To two of the four wires he had attached one other. Thento two others he attached another, all the connections being madeat exactly corresponding points. 

The next step was to lead these two newly connected wires to awindow on the first floor of the house next to the Montmartre. Hefastened them lightly to the closed shutter, let himself down tothe yard again and we beat a slow and careful retreat to our flat. 

In one of the yards down near the corner, however, he paused. Herewas an iron box fastened to one of the fences, a switch box orsomething of the sort belonging to the telephone company. To itwere led all the wires from the various houses on the block and toeach wire was fastened a little ticket on which was scrawled inindelible pencil the number of the house to which the wire ran. 

Kennedy found the two pairs that ran to 70 and 72, cut in on themin the same way that he had done before and fastened two otherwires, one to each pair. This pair he led along and into the flat. 

"I've fixed it, " he explained, "so that anyone who can get intothat room on the back of the first floor of the dope joint cancommunicate with the outside very easily over the telephone, without being overheard, either. "

"How?" I asked completely mystified by the apparent simplicity ofthe proceeding. 

"I have left two wires sticking on the outside shutter of thatroom, " he replied. "All that anyone who gets into that room has todo is to open the window softly, reach out and secure them. Withthem fastened to a transmitter which I have, he can talk to me inthe flat around the corner and no one will ever know it. "

There was nothing more that we could do that night and we waitedimpatiently until Clare Kendall came to make her daily report inthe morning. 

"The question is, whom are we going to get whom we can trust to goto that dope joint and explore it?" remarked Kennedy, after we hadfinished telling Miss Kendall about our experiences of the nightbefore. 

"Carton must have someone who can take a course in beauty anddope, " I replied. "Or perhaps Miss Kendall has one of herinvestigators whom she can trust. "

"If the thing gets too rough, " added Craig, "whoever is in therecan telephone to us, if she will only be careful first to get thatback room in the 'dormitory, ' as they call it. Then all we'll haveto do will be to jump in there and---"

"I'll do it, " interrupted Clare. 

"No, Miss Kendall, " denied Kennedy firmly. 

"Let me do it. There is no one whom I can trust more than myself. Besides, I know the places now. "

She said it with an air of quiet determination, as if she had beenthinking it over ever since she returned from her visit of the daybefore. 

Kennedy and Miss Kendall faced each other for a moment. It wasevident that it was against just this that he had been trying toprovide. On her part it was equally evident that she had made upher mind. 

"Miss Kendall, " said Kennedy, meeting her calm eye, "you are themost nervy detective, barring none, that it has ever been mypleasure to meet. I yield under protest. "

I must say that it was with a great deal of misgiving that I sawClare enter Margot's. We had gone as far as the corner with her, had watched her go in, and then hurried into the unfurnishedapartment which Craig had rented on the Avenue. 

As we sat on the rickety chairs which we had borrowed from thejanitor under pretence of wanting to reach something, the minutesthat passed seemed like hours. 

I wondered what had happened to the plucky girl in her devotion tothe cause in which she had enlisted, and several times I could seefrom the expression of Craig's face that he more and moreregretted that he had given in to her and had allowed her to go, instead of adhering to his original plan. From what she had toldus about the two places, I tried to imagine what she was doing, but each time I ended by having an increased feeling ofapprehension. 

Kennedy sat grimly silent with the receiver of the telephone gluedto his ear, straining his hearing to catch even the faintestsound. 

At last his face brightened. 

"She's there all right, " he exclaimed to me. "Managed to make themthink in the beauty parlour that she was a dope fiend and prettyfar gone. Insisted that she must have the back room on the firstfloor because she was afraid of fire. She kept the door open sothat she would not miss anything, but it was a long time beforeshe got a chance to reach out of the window and get the wires andconnect them with the instruments I gave her. But it's all rightnow. 

"Yes, Miss Kendall, right here, listening to everything you get achance to say. Only be careful. There is no use spoiling the gameby trying to talk to me until you have all that you think you canobtain in the way of evidence. Don't let them think you have anymeans of communication with the outside or they'll go to anylength to silence you. We'll be here all the time and the momentyou think there is any danger, call us. "

Kennedy seemed visibly relieved by the message. 

"She says that she has found out a great deal already, but didn'tdare take the time to tell it just yet, " he explained. "By theway, Walter, while we are waiting, I wish you would go out and seewhether there is a policeman on fixed post anywhere around here. "

Five minutes later when I returned, having located the nearest pegpost a long block away on Broadway, Kennedy raised a warning hand. She was telephoning again. 

"She says that attendants come and go in her room so often thatit's hard to get a chance to say anything, but she is sure thatthere is someone hidden there, perhaps Marie or Madame Margot, whoever she is, or it may even be Betty Blackwell. They watch veryclosely. "

"But, " I asked, almost in a whisper, as if someone over theremight hear me, "isn't this a very dangerous proceeding, Craig? Itseems to me you are taking long chances. Suppose one of thetelephone girls in either house, whom she told us keep such sharpwatch over the wires, should happen to be calling up or answeringa call. She would hear someone else talking over the wire and itwouldn't be difficult for her to decide who it was. Then there'dbe a row. "

"Not a chance, " smiled Kennedy. "No one except ourselves, not evenCentral, can hear a word of what is said over these connections Ihave made. This is what is called a phantom circuit. "

"A phantom circuit?" I repeated. "What kind of a weird thing isthat?"

"It is possible to superimpose another circuit over the fourtelephone wires of two existing circuits, making a so-calledphantom line, " he explained, as we waited for the next message. "It seems fantastic at first, but it is really in accordance withthe laws of electricity. You use each pair of wires as if it wereone wire and do not interfere in the least with them, but areperfectly independent of both. The current for the third circuitenters the two wires of one of the first circuits, divides, reunites, so to speak, at the other end, then returns through thewires of the second circuit, dividing and reuniting again, thusjust balancing the two divisions of the current and not causingany effect on either of the two original circuits. Ratherwonderful, isn't it?"

"I should say that it was, " I marvelled. "I am glad I see itactually working rather than have to believe it second hand. "

"It's all due to a special repeating coil of high efficiencyabsolutely balanced as to resistances, number of turns of wire, and so on which I have used--Yes--Miss Kendall--we are here. Nowplease don't let things go on too far. At the first sign ofdanger, call. We can get in all right. You have the evidence nowthat will hold in any court as far as closing up that joint goes, and I'll take a chance of breaking into--well, Hades, to get toyou. Good-bye. 

"I guess it is Hades there, " he resumed to me. "She has justtelephoned that one of the dope fiends upstairs--a man, so thatyou see they admit both men and women there, after all--had becomeviolent and Harris had to be called to quiet him before he ranamuck. She said she was absolutely sure, this time at least, thatit was Harris. As I was saying about this phantom circuit, it isused a good deal now. Sometimes they superimpose a telephoneconversation over the proper arrangement of telegraph messages andvice versa. 

"What's that?" cried Craig, suddenly breaking off. "They heard youtalking that last time, and you have locked the door against them?They are battering it down? Move something heavy, if you can, upagainst it--the bureau, anything to brace it. We'll be theredirectly. Come on, Walter. There isn't time to get around Broadwayfor that fixed post cop. We must do it ourselves. Hurry. "

Craig dashed breathlessly out on the street. I followed closely. 

"Hurry, " he panted. "Those people haven't any use for anyone thatthey think will snitch on them. "

As we turned the corner, we ran squarely into a sergeant slowlygoing his rounds with eyes conveniently closed to what he was paidnot to see. 

Kennedy stopped and grabbed his arm. 

"There's a girl up here in 72 who is being mistreated, " he cried. "Come. You must help us get her out. "

"Aw, g'wan. Whatyer givin' us? 72? That's a residence. "

"Say--look here. I've got your number. You'll be up on the mostserious charges of your whole career if you don't act on theinformation I have. All of Ike the Dropper's money'll go forattorney's fees and someone will land in Sing Sing. Now, come!"

We had gained the steps of the house. Outside all was dark, blank, and bare. There was every evidence of the most excessive outwardorder and decency--not a sign of the conflict that was ragingwithin. 

Before the policeman could pull the bell, which would have been afirst warning of trouble to the inmates, Kennedy had jumped fromthe high stoop to a narrow balcony running along the front windowsof the first story, had smashed the glass into splinters with aheavy object which he had carried concealed under his coat, andwas engaged in a herculean effort to wrench apart some iron barswhich had been carefully concealed behind the discreetly drawnshades. 

As one yielded, he panted, "No use to try the door. The grill workinside guards that too well. There goes another. "

Inside now we could hear cries that told us that the whole housewas roused, that even the worst of the drug fiends had come atleast partly to his senses and begun to realize his peril. FromMargot's beauty parlour a couple of girls and a man staggeredforth in a vain effort to seem to leave quietly. 

"Close that place, too, officer, " cried Kennedy to the nowastounded policeman. "We'll attend to this house. "

The sergeant slowly lumbered across in time to let two morecouples escape. It was evident that he hated the job; indeed, would have arrested Kennedy in the old days before Carton hadthrown such a scare into the grafters. But Kennedy's assurance hadflabbergasted him and he obeyed. 

Another bar yielded, and another. Together we squeezed in andfound ourselves in a dark front parlour. There was nothing todistinguish it from any ordinary reception room in the blackness. 

Hurried footsteps were heard as if several people were retreatinginto the next house. Down the hall we hastened to the back room. 

A second we listened. All was silent. Was Clare safe? It lookedominous. Still the door, partly battered in, was closed. 

"Miss Kendall!" called Craig, bending down close to the door. 

"Is it you, Professor Kennedy?" came back a faint voice from theother side. 

"Yes. Are you all right?"

There was no answer, but she was evidently tugging at somethingwhich appeared to be a heavy piece of furniture braced against thedoor. At last the bolt was slipped back, and there in the doorwayshe swayed, half exhausted but safe. 

"Yes, all right, " murmured Clare, bracing herself against thechiffonier which she had moved away from the door, "just a littleshaky from the drugs--but all right. Don't bother about me, now. Ican take care of myself. I'll feel better in a minute. Upstairs--that is where I think that woman is. Please, please don't--I'm allright--truly. Upstairs. "

Kennedy had taken her gently by the arm and she sank down in aneasy chair. 

"Please hurry, " she implored. "You may be too late. "

She had risen again in spite of us and was out in the lower hall. We could hear a footstep on the stairs. 

"There she goes, the woman who has been hiding up there, Madame--"

Clare cut the words short. 

A woman had hastily descended the steps, evidently seeing heropportunity to escape while we were in the back of the house. Shehad reached the street door, which now was open, and the flamingarc light in front of the house shone brightly on her. 

I looked, expecting to see our dark-haired, olive-skinned Marie. Istared in amazement. Instead, this woman was fair, her hair wasflaxen, her figure more slim, even her features were different. She was a stranger. I could not recollect ever having seen her. 

Again I strained my eyes, thinking it might be Betty Blackwell atlast, but this woman bore no resemblance apparently to her. Shelooked older, more mature. 

In my haste I noted that she had a bandage about her face, as ifshe had been injured recently, for there seemed to be blood on itwhere it had worked itself loose in her flight. She gave oneglance at us, and quickened her pace at seeing us so close. Thebandage, already loose, slipped off her face and fell to thefloor. Still she did not seem other than a stranger to me, thoughI had a half-formed notion that I had seen that face somewherebefore. She did not stop to pick the bandage up. She had gainedthe door and was down the front step on the sidewalk before wecould stop her. 

Taxicabs in droves seemed to have collected, like buzzards over adead body. They were doing a thriving business carrying away thosewho sought to escape. Into one by which a man was waiting in theshadow the woman hurried. The man looked for all the world likeDr. Harris. An instant later the chauffeur was gone. 

The policeman had the front door of Madame Margot's covered allright, so efficiently that he was neglecting everything else. Fromthe basement now and then a scurrying figure catapulted itself outand was lost in the curious crowd that always collects at any timeof day or night on a New York street when there is any excitement. 

"It is of no use to expect to capture anyone now, " exclaimedCraig, as we hurried back into the dope joint. "I hardly expectedto do it. All I panted was to protect Miss Kendall. But we havethe evidence against this joint that will close it for good. "

He stooped and picked up the bandage. 

"I think I'll keep that, " he remarked thoughtfully. "I wonder whatthat blonde woman wore that for?"

"She MUST be up there, " reiterated Clare, who had followed us. "Iheard them talking, it seemed to me only the moment before I heardyou in the hall. "

The excitement seemed now to have the effect of quieting herunstrung nerves and carrying her through. 

"Let us go upstairs, " said Kennedy. 

From room to room we hurried in the darkness, lighting the lights. They were all empty, yet each one gave its mute testimony to thecharacter of its use and its former occupants. There were opiumlay-outs with pipes, lamps, yen haucks, and other paraphernalia insome. In others had been cocaine snuffers. There seemed to beeverything for drug users of every kind. 

At last in a small room in front on the top floor we came upon agirl, half insensible from a drug. She was vainly trying to makeherself presentable for the street, ramblingly talking to herselfin the meantime. 

Again my hopes rose that we had found either the mysterious MarieMargot or Betty Blackwell. A second glance caused us all to pausein surprise and disappointment. 

It was the Titian-haired girl from the Montmartre office. 

Miss Kendall, recovering from the effects of the drugs which shehad been compelled to take in her heroic attempt to get at thedope joint, was endeavouring to quiet the girl from theMontmartre, who, now vaguely recollecting us, seemed to realizethat something had gone wrong and was trembling and cryingpitifully. 

"What's the matter with her?" I asked. 

"Chloral, " replied Miss Kendall in a low voice aside. "I supposeshe has had a wild night which she has followed by chloral toquiet her nerves, with little effect. Didn't you ever see them?They will go into a drug store in this part of the city where suchthings are sold, weak, shaky, nervous wrecks. The clerk will sellthem the stuff and they will retire for a moment into thetelephone booth. Sometimes they will come out looking as thoughthey had never felt a moment's effect from their wild debauches. But there are other times when they are too weakened to get overit so quickly. That is her case, poor girl. "

The soothing hand which she laid on the girl's throbbing head wasquite in contrast with the manner in which I recalled her to havespoken of the girl when first we saw her at the Montmartre. Shemust have seen the look of surprise on my face. 

"I can't condemn these girls too strongly when I see themthemselves, " she remarked. "It would be so easy for them to stopand lead a decent life, if they only would forget the white lightsand the gay life that allures them. It is when they are so downand out that I long to give them a hand to help them up again andshow them how foolish it is to make slaves of themselves. "

"Call a cab, Walter, " said Kennedy, who had been observing thegirl closely. "There is nothing more that we can expect toaccomplish here. Everybody has escaped by this time. But we mustget this poor girl in a private hospital or sanitarium where shecan recover. "

Clare had disappeared. A moment later she returned from the roomshe had had downstairs with her hat on. 

"I'm going with her, " she announced simply. 

"What--you, Miss Kendall?"

"Yes. If a girl ever needed a friend, it is this girl now. Thereis nothing I can do for the moment. I will take care of her in myapartment until she is herself again. "

The girl seemed to half understand, and to be grateful to Clare. Kennedy watched her hovering over the drug victim withoutattempting to express the admiration which he felt. 

Just as the cab was announced, he drew Miss Kendall aside. "You'rea trump, " he said frankly. "Most people would pass by on the otherside from such as she is. "

They talked for a moment as to the best place to go, then decidedon a quiet little place uptown where convalescents were taken in. 

"I think you can still be working on the case, if you care to doso, " suggested Craig as Miss Kendall and her charge were leaving. 

"How?" she asked. 

"When you get her to this sanitarium, try to be with her as muchas you can. I think if anyone can get anything out of her, youcan. Remember it is more than this girl's rescue that is at stake. If she can be got to talk she may prove an important link towardpiecing together the solution of the mystery of Betty Blackwell. She must know many of the inside secrets of the Montmartre, " headded significantly. 

They had gone, and Craig and I had started to go also when we cameacross a negro caretaker who seemed to have stuck by the placeduring all the excitement. 

"Do you know that girl who just went out?" asked Craig. 

"No, sah, " she replied glibly. 

"Look here, " demanded Craig, facing her. "You know better thanthat. She has been here before, and you know it. I've a good mindto have you held for being in charge of this place. If I do, allthe Marie Margots and Ike the Droppers can't get you out again. "

The negress seemed to understand that this was no ordinary raid. 

"Who is she?" demanded Craig. 

"I dunno, sah. She come from next door. "

"I know she did. She's the girl in the office of the Montmartre. Now, you know her. What is her name?"

The negress seemed to consider a moment, then quickly answered, "Dey always calls her Miss Sybil here, sah, Sybil Seymour, sah. "

"Thank you. I knew you had some name for her. Come, Walter. Thisis over for the present. A raid without arrests, too! It will beall over town in half an hour. If we are going to do anything itmust be done quickly. "

We called on Carton and lost no time in having the men he couldspare placed in watching the railroads and steamship lines toprevent if we could any of the gang from getting out of the citythat way. It was a night of hard work with no results. I began towonder whether they might not have escaped finally after all. There seemed to be no trace. Harris had disappeared, there was noclue to Marie Margot, no trace of the new blonde woman, not asyllable yet about Betty Blackwell. 

XVI

THE SANITARIUM

"It seems as if the forces of Dorgan are demoralized, " I remarkedthe afternoon after the raid on Margot's. 

"We have them on the run--that's true, " agreed Kennedy, "butthere's plenty of fight in them, yet. We're not through, by anymeans. "

Still, the lightning swiftness of Carton's attack had taken theirbreath away, temporarily, at least. Already he had startedproceedings to disbar Kahn, as well as to prosecute him in thecourts. According to the reports that came to us Murtha himselfseemed dazed at the blow that had fallen. Some of our informantsasserted that he was drinking heavily; others denied it. Whateverit was, however, Murtha was changed. 

As for Dorgan, he was never much in the limelight anyhow and wasless so now than ever. He preferred to work through others, whilehe himself kept in the background. He had never held any but aminor office, and that in the beginning of his career. Interviewsand photographs he eschewed as if forbidden by his politicalreligion. Since the discovery of the detectaphone in his suite atGastron's he had had his rooms thoroughly overhauled, lest by anychance there might be another of the magic little instrumentsconcealed in the very walls, and having satisfied himself thatthere was not, he instituted a watch of private detectives toprevent a repetition of the unfortunate incident. 

Whoever it was who had obtained the Black Book was keeping veryquiet about it, and I imagined that it was being held up as a sortof sword of Damocles, dangling over his head, until such time asits possessor chose to strike the final blow. Of course, we didnot and could not know what was going on behind the scenes withthe Silent Boss, what drama was being enacted between Dorgan andthe Wall Street group, headed by Langhorne. Langhorne himself wasinscrutable. I had heard that Dorgan had once in an unguardedmoment expressed a derogatory opinion of the social leanings ofLanghorne. But that was in the days before Dorgan had acquired acountry place on Long Island and a taste for golf and expensivemotors. Now, in his way, Dorgan was quite as fastidious as any ofthose he had once affected to despise. It amused Langhorne. But ithad not furthered his ambitions of being taken into the innercircle of Dorgan's confidence. Hence, I inferred, this bitterinternecine strife within the organization itself. 

Whatever was brewing inside the organization, I felt that weshould soon know, for this was the day on which Justice Pomeroyhad announced he would sentence Dopey Jack. 

It was a very different sort of crowd that overflowed thecourtroom that morning from that which had so boldly flocked tothe trial as if it were to make a Roman holiday of justice. 

The very tone was different. There was a tense look on many aface, as if the owner were asking himself the question, "What arewe coming to? If this can happen to Dopey Jack, what might nothappen to me?"

Even the lawyers were changed. Kahn, as a result of theproceedings that Carton had instituted, had yielded the case toanother, perhaps no better than himself, but wiser, after thefact. Instead of demanding anything, as a sort of prescriptiveright, the new attorney actually adopted the unheard of measure ofappealing to the clemency of the court. The shades of all theprevious bosses and gangsters must have turned in disgust at theunwonted sight. But certain it was that no one could see therelaxation of a muscle on the face of Justice Pomeroy as thelawyer proceeded with his specious plea. He heard Carton, also, inthe same impassive manner, as in a few brief and pointed sentenceshe ripped apart the sophistries of his opponent. 

The spectators fairly held their breath as the prisoner now stoodbefore the tribune of justice. 

"Jack Rubano, " he began impressively, "you have been convicted bytwelve of your peers--so the law looks on them, although the factis that any honest man is immeasurably your superior. Even beforethat, Rubano, the District Attorney having looked into all thefacts surrounding this charge had come to the conclusion that theevidence was sufficiently strong to convict you. You wereconvicted in his mind. In my mind, of course, there could be noprejudgment. But now that a jury has found you guilty, I may saythat you have a record that is more than enough to disgrace a mantwice your age. True, you have never been punished. But this isnot the time or place for me to criticise my colleagues on thebench for letting you off. Others of your associates have servedterms in prison for things no whit worse than you have donerepeatedly. I shall be glad to meet some of them at this bar inthe near future. "

The justice paused, then extended a long, lean accusatory fingerout from the rostrum at the gangster. "Rubano, " he concluded, "your crime is particularly heinous--debauching the veryfoundations of the state--the elections. I sentence you to notless than three nor more than five years in State's prison, athard labour. "

There was an audible gasp in the big courtroom, as the judgesnapped shut his square jaw, bull-dog fashion. It was as though hehad snapped the backbone of the System. 

The prisoner was hurried from the room before there was a chancefor a demonstration. It was unnecessary, however. It seemed as ifall the jaunty bravado of the underworld was gone out of it. Slowly the crowd filed out, whispering. 

Dopey Jack, Murtha's right-hand man, had been sentenced to State'sprison!

Outside the courtroom Carton received an ovation. As quickly as hecould, he escaped from the newspapermen, and Kennedy was the firstto grasp his hand. 

But the most pleasing congratulation came from Miss Ashton, whohad dropped in with two or three friends from the Reform League. 

"I'm so glad, Mr. Carton--for your sake, " she added very prettily, with just a trace of heightened colour in her cheeks and eyes thatshowed her sincere pleasure at the outcome of the case. "And then, too, " she went on, "it may have some bearing on the case of thatgirl who has disappeared. So far, no one seems to have been ableto find a trace of her. She just seems to have dropped out as ifshe had been spirited away. "

"We must find her, " returned Carton, thanking her for her goodwishes in a manner which he had done to none of the rest of us, and in fact forgetful now that any of us were about. "I shallstart right in on Dopey Jack to see if I can get anything out ofhim, although I don't think he is one that will prove a squealerin any way. I hope we can have something to report soon. "

Others were pressing around him and Miss Ashton moved away, although I thought his handshakes were perhaps a little lesscordial after she had gone. 

I turned once to survey the crowd and down the gallery, near apillar I saw Langhorne, his eyes turned fixedly in our direction, and a deep scowl on his face. Evidently he had no relish for theproceedings, at least that part in which Carton had just figured, whatever his personal feelings may have been toward the culprit. Amoment later he saw me looking at him, turned abruptly and walkedtoward the stone staircase that led down to the main floor. But Icould not get that scowl out of my mind as I watched his tall, erect figure stalking away. 

Neither Murtha, nor, of course, Dorgan, were there, though I knewthat they had many emissaries present who would report to themevery detail of what had happened, down perhaps to thecongratulations of Miss Ashton. Somehow, I could not get out of myhead a feeling that she would afford them, in some way, a point ofattack on Carton and that the unscrupulous organization would stopat nothing in order to save its own life and ruin his. 

Carton had not only his work at the District Attorney's office todirect, but some things to clear up at the Reform Leagueheadquarters, as well as a campaign speech to make. 

"I'm afraid I shan't be able to see much of you, to-day, " heapologized to Kennedy, "but you're going to Miss Ashton's suffrageevening and dance, aren't you?"

"I should like to go, " temporized Kennedy. 

Carton glanced about to see whether there was anyone in earshot. "I think you had better go, " he added. "She has secured a promisefrom Langhorne to be there, as well as several of the organizationleaders. It is a thoroughly non-partisan affair--and she can getthem all together. You know the organization is being educated. When people of the prominence of the Ashtons take up suffrage andmake special requests to have certain persons come to a thing likethat, they can hardly refuse. In fact, no one commits himself toanything by being present, whereas, absence might mean hostility, and there are lots of the women in the organization that believein suffrage, now. Yes, we'd better go. It will be a chance toobserve some people we want to watch. "

"We'll go, " agreed Kennedy. "Can't we all go together?"

"Surely, " replied Carton, gratified, I could see, by havingsucceeded in swelling the crowd that would be present and thusadding to the success of Miss Ashton's affair. "Drop into theoffice here, and I'll be ready. Good-bye--and thanks for your aid, both of you. "

We left the Criminal Courts Building with the crowd that wasslowly dispersing, still talking over the unexpected andunprecedented end of the trial. 

As we paused on the broad flight of steps that led down to thestreet on this side, Kennedy jogged my elbow, and, following hiseyes, I saw a woman, apparently alone, just stepping into a towncar at the curb. 

There was something familiar about her, but her face was turnedfrom me and I could not quite place her. 

"Mrs. Ogleby, " Kennedy remarked. "I didn't see her in thecourtroom. She must have been there, though, or perhaps outside inthe corridor. Evidently she felt some interest in the outcome ofthe case. "

He had caught just a glimpse of her face and now that hepronounced her name I recognized her, though I should not haveotherwise. 

The car drove off with the rattle of the changing gears into highspeed, before we had a chance to determine whether it wasotherwise empty or not. 

"Why was she here?" I asked. 

Kennedy shook his head, but did not venture a reply to thequestion that was in his own mind. I felt that it must havesomething to do with her fears regarding the Black Book. Had she, too, surmised that Murtha had employed his henchman, Dopey Jack, to recover the book from Langhorne? Had she feared that Dopey Jackmight in some moment of heat, for revenge, drop some hint of therobbery--whether it had been really successful or not?

It was my turn to call Kennedy's attention to something, now, forstanding sidewise as I was, I could see the angles of the buildingback of him. 

"Don't turn--yet, " I cautioned, "but just around the corner backof you, Langhorne is standing. Evidently he has been watching Mrs. Ogleby, too. "

Kennedy drew a cigarette from his case, tried to light it, let thematch go out, and then as if to shield himself from the wind, stepped back and turned. 

Langhorne, however, had seen us, and an instant later haddisappeared. 

Without a word further Kennedy led the way around the corner tothe subway and we started uptown, I knew this time, for thelaboratory. 

He made no comment on the case, but I knew he had in mind someplan or other for the next move and that it would probably involvesomething at the suffrage meeting at Miss Ashton's that evening. 

During the rest of the day, Craig was busy testing and re-testinga peculiar piece of apparatus, while now and then he woulddespatch me on various errands which I knew were more as an outletfor my excitement than of any practical importance. 

The apparatus, as far as I could make it out, consisted of asimple little oaken box, oblong in shape, in the face of whichwere two square little holes with side walls of cedar, convergingpyramid-like in the interior of the box and ending in what lookedto be little round black discs. 

I had just returned with a hundred feet or so of the best silk-covered flexible wire, when he had evidently completed his work. Two of the boxes were already wrapped up. I started to show himthe wire, but after a glance he accepted it as exactly what he hadwanted and made it into a smaller package, which he handed to me. 

"I think we might be journeying down to Carton's office, " headded, looking impatiently at his watch. 

It was still early and we did not hurry. 

Carton, however, was waiting for us anxiously. "I've called you atthe laboratory and the apartment--all over, " he cried. "Where haveyou been?"

"Just on the way down, " returned Kennedy. "Why, what hashappened?"

"Then you haven't heard it?" asked Carton excitedly, withoutwaiting for Craig's answer. "Murtha has been committed to asanitarium. "

Kennedy and I stared at him. 

"Pat Murtha, " ejaculated Craig, "in a sanitarium?"

"Exactly. Paresis--they say--absolutely irresponsible. "

Coming as it did as a climax to the quick and unexpectedsuccession of events of the past few days, it was no wonder thatit seemed impossible. 

What did it mean? Was it merely a sham? Or was it a result of hisexcesses? Or had Carton's relentless pursuit, the raid ofMargot's, and the conviction of Dopey Jack, driven the SmilingBoss really insane?

XVII

THE SOCIETY SCANDAL

Nothing else was talked about at the suffrage reception at MissAshton's that evening, not even suffrage, as much as the strangefate that seemed to have befallen Murtha. 

And, as usual with an event like that, stories of all sorts, eventhe wildest improbabilities, were current. Some even went so faras to insinuate that Dorgan had purposely quickened the pace oflife for Murtha by the dinners at Gastron's in order to get himout of the way, fearing that with his power within theorganization Murtha might become a serious rival to himself. 

Whether there was any truth in the rumour or not, it was certainthat Dorgan was of the stamp that could brook no rivals. In fact, that had been at the bottom of the warfare between himself andLanghorne. Certain also was it that the dinners and conferences atthe now famous suite of the Silent Boss were reputed to have beenoften verging on, if not actually crossing, the line of thescandalous. 

Miss Ashton's guests assembled in force, coming from all classesof society, all parties in politics, and all religions. Her objecthad been to show that, although she personally was working withthe Reform League, suffrage itself was a broad general issue. Thetwo or three hundred guests of the evening surely demonstrated itand testified to the popularity of Miss Ashton personally, aswell. 

She had planned to hold the meeting in the big drawing-room of theAshton mansion, but the audience overflowed into the library andother rooms. As the people assembled, it was interesting to seehow for the moment at least they threw off the bitterness of thepolitical campaign and met each other on what might be calledneutral ground. Dorgan himself had been invited, but, inaccordance with his custom of never appearing in public if hecould help it, did not come. Langhorne was present, however, and Isaw him once talking to a group of labour union leaders and laterto Justice Pomeroy, an evidence of how successful the meeting wasin hiding, if not burying, the hatchet. 

Carton, naturally, was the lion of the evening, though he triedhard to keep in the background. I was amused to see his efforts. In fleeing from the congratulations of some of his own and MissAshton's society friends, he would run into a group of newspapermen and women who were lying in wait for him. Shaking himselfloose from them would result in finding himself the centre of anenthusiastic crowd of Reform Leaguers. 

Mrs. Ogleby was there, also, and both Kennedy and I watched hercuriously. I wondered whether she might not feel just a littlerelieved to think that Murtha was seemingly out of the way for thepresent. Her knowledge of the Black Book which had first given thetip to Carton had always been a mystery to Kennedy and was one ofthe problems which I knew he would like to solve to-night. She waskeenly observant of Carton, which led us to suppose that she hadnot yet got out of her mind the idea that somehow it was he whohad been responsible for the detectaphone record which so many ofthose present were struggling to obtain. Though Langhornestudiously avoided her, I noticed that each kept an eye on theother, and I felt that there was something common to both of them. 

It was with an unexpressed air of relief to several members of theparty that Miss Ashton at last rapped for order and after a short, pithy, pointed speech of introduction presented the severalspeakers of the evening. It was, like the audience, a well-balanced programme, which showed the tactfulness and politicalacumen of Miss Ashton. I shall pass over the speeches, however, asthey had no direct bearing on the mystery which Kennedy and Ifound so engrossing. 

The meeting had been cleverly planned so that in spite of itsaccomplishing much for the propaganda work of the "cause, " it didnot become tiresome and the speaking was followed by the entranceof one of the best little orchestras for dance music in the city. 

Instantly, the scene transformed itself from a suffrage meeting toa social function that was unique. Leaders of the smart set rubbedelbows, and seemed to enjoy it, with working girls and agitators. Conservative and radical, millionaire and muckraker succumbed tothe spell of the Ashton hospitality and the lure of the newdances. It was a novel experience for all, a levelling-up ofsociety, as contrasted to some of the levelling-down that we hadrecently seen. 

Kennedy and I, having no mood as things stood for the festivities, drew aside and watched the kaleidoscopic whirl of the dancers. Across from us was a wide doorway that opened into a spaciousconservatory, a nook of tropical and temperate beauty. Severalcouples had wandered in there to rest and, as the orchestra struckup something new that seemed to have the "punch" to its timefulmeasures, they gradually rejoined the dancers. 

It had evidently suggested an idea to Kennedy, for a moment laterhe led me toward the coat room and uncovered the package which hehad brought consisting of the two oaken boxes I had seen himadjusting in the laboratory. 

We managed to reach the conservatory and found in a corner averitable bower with a wide rustic seat under some palms. QuicklyKennedy deposited in the shadow of one of them an oaken box, sticking into it the plugs on the ends of the wires that I hadbrought. It was an easy matter here in the dim half light toconceal the wire behind the plants and a moment later he tossedthe end through a swinging window in the glass and closed thewindow. 

Casually we edged our way out among the dancers and around to theroom into which he had thrown the wire. It was a breakfast room, Ithink, but at any rate we could not remain there for it was quiteeasy to see into it through the crystal walls of the conservatory. There was, however, what seemed to be a little pantry at the otherend, and to this Kennedy deftly led the wires and then pluggedthem in on the other oaken box. 

He turned a lever. Instantly from the wizard-like little boxissued forth the strains of the dance music of the orchestra andthe rhythmic shuffle of feet. Now and then a merry laugh or asnatch of gay conversation floated in to us. Though we wereeffectually cut off from both sight and hearing in the pantry, itwas as though we had been sitting on the rustic bench in theconservatory. 

"What is it?" I asked in amazement, gazing at the wonderful littleinstrument before us. 

"A vocaphone, " he explained, moving the switch and cutting off thesound instantly, "an improved detectaphone--something that can beused both in practical business, professional, and home affairs asa loud speaking telephone, and, as I expect to use it here, forspecial cases of detective work. You remember the detectaphoneinstruments which we have used?"

Indeed I did. It had helped us out of several very tightsituations--and seemed now to have been used to get theorganization into a very tight political place. 

"Well, the vocaphone, " went on Kennedy, "does even more than thedetectaphone. You see, it talks right out. Those little aperturesin the face act like megaphone horns increasing the volume ofsound. " He indicated the switch with his finger and then anotherpoint to which it could be moved. "Besides, " he went onenthusiastically, "this machine talks both ways. I have only toturn the switch to that point and a voice will speak out in theconservatory just as if we were there instead of talking here. "

He turned the switch so that it carried the sounds only in ourdirection. The last strains of the dance music were being followedby the hearty applause of the dancers. 

As the encore struck up again, a voice, almost as if it were inthe little room alongside us, said, "Why, hello, Maty, why aren'tyou dancing?"

There was an unmistakable air of familiarity about it and aboutthe reply, "Why aren't you, Hartley?"

"Because I've been looking for a chance to have a quiet word withyou, " the man rejoined. 

"Langhorne and Mrs. Ogleby, " cried Craig excitedly. 

"Sh!" I cautioned, "they might hear us. "

He laughed. "Not unless I turn the switch further. "

"I saw you down at the Criminal Courts Building this morning, "went on the man, "but you didn't see me. What did you think ofCarton?"

I fancied there was a trace of sarcasm or jealousy in his tone. Atany rate, woman-like, she did not answer that question, but wenton to the one which it implied. 

"I didn't go to see Carton. He is nothing to me, has not been formonths. I was only amusing myself when I knew him--leading him on, playing with him, then. " She paused, then turned the attack onhim. "What did you think of Miss Ashton? You thought I didn't seeyou, but you hardly took your eyes off her while I was in thehallway waiting to hear the verdict. "

It was Langhorne's turn to defend himself. "It wasn't so muchMargaret Ashton as that fellow Carton I was watching, " he answeredhastily. 

"Then you--you haven't forgotten poor little me?" she inquiredwith a sincere plaintiveness in her voice. 

"Mary, " he said, lowering his voice, "I have tried to forget you--tried, because I had no right to remember you in the old way--notwhile you and Martin remained together. Margaret and I had alwaysbeen friends--but I think Carton and this sort of thing, "--hewaved his hand I imagined at the suffrage dancers--"have broughtus to the parting of the ways. Perhaps it is better. I'm not sosure that it isn't best. "

"And yet, " she said slowly, "you are piqued--piqued that anothershould have won where you failed--even if the prize isn't justwhat you might wish. "

Langhorne assented by silence. "Hartley, " she went on at length, "you said a moment ago you had tried to forget me--"

"But can't, " he cut in with almost passionate fierceness. "Thatwas what hurt me when I--er--heard that you had gone with Murthato that dinner of Dorgan's. I couldn't help trying to warn you ofit. I know Martin neglects you. But I was mad--mad clean throughwhen I saw you playing with Carton a few months ago. I don't knowanything about it--don't want to. Maybe he was innocent and youwere tempting him. I don't care. It angered me--angered me worsethan ever when I saw later that he was winning with MargaretAshton. Everywhere, he seemed to be crossing my trail, to be mynemesis. I--I wish I was Dorgan--I wish I could fight. "

Langhorne checked himself before he said too much. As it was I sawthat it had been he who had told Mrs. Ogleby that the Black Bookexisted. He had not told her that he had made it, if in fact hehad, and she had let the thing out, never thinking Langhorne hadbeen the eavesdropper, but supposing it must be Carton. 

"Why--why did you go to that dinner with Murtha?" he askedfinally, with a trace of reproach in his tone. 

"Why? Why not?" she answered defiantly. "What do I care aboutMartin? Why should I not have my--my freedom, too? I went becauseit was wild, unconventional, perhaps wrong. I felt that way. If--if I had felt that you cared--perhaps--I could have been--morediscreet. "

"I do care, " he blurted out. "I--I only wish I had known you aswell as I do now--before you married--that's all. "

"Is there no way to correct the mistake?" she asked softly. "Mustmarriage end all--all happiness?"

Langhorne said nothing, but I could almost hear his breathing overthe vocaphone, which picked up and magnified even whispers. 

"Mary, " he said in a deep, passionate voice, "I--I will defendyou--from this Murtha thing--if it ever gets out. I know it isalways on your mind--that you couldn't keep away from that trialfor fear that Carton, or Murtha, or SOMEBODY might say somethingby chance or drop some hint about it. Trust me. "

"Then we can be--friends?"

"Lovers!" he cried fiercely. 

There was a half-smothered exclamation over the faithful littlevocaphone, a little flurried rustle of silk and a long, passionatesigh. 

"Hartley, " she whispered. 

"What is it, Mary?" he asked tensely. 

"We must be careful. Carton MUST be defeated. He must not have thepower--to use that--record. "

"No, " ground out Langhorne. "Wait--he shall not. By the way, aren't those orchids gorgeous?"

The encore had ceased and over the vocaphone we could hear gailychatting couples wandering into the conservatory. The twoconspirators rose and parted silently, without exciting suspicion. 

For several minutes we listened to snatches of the usual vapidchatter that dancing seems to induce. Then the orchestra blaredforth with another of the seductive popular pieces. 

Kennedy and I looked at each other, amazed. From the underworld upto the smart set, the trail of graft was the same, debauching andblunting all that it touched. Here we saw the making of a full-fledged scandal in one of the highest circles. 

We had scarcely recovered from our surprise at the startlingdisclosures of the vocaphone, when we heard two voices again abovethe music, two men this time. 

"What--you here?" inquired a voice which we recognized immediatelyas that of Langhorne. 

"Yes, " replied the other voice, evidently of a young man. "I camein with the swells to keep my eye peeled on what was going on. "

The voice itself was unfamiliar, yet it had a tough accent whichdenoted infallibly the section of the city where it was acquired. It was one of the gangsters. 

"What's up, Ike?" demanded Langhorne suspiciously. 

Craig looked at me significantly. It was Ike the Dropper!

The other lowered his voice. "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Langhorne. You're in the organization and we ain't got no grudgeagainst you. It's Carton. "

"Carton?" repeated Langhorne, and one could feel the expectantcatch in his breath, as he added quickly: "You mean you fellowsare going to try to get him right?"

"Bet your life, " swaggered Ike, believing himself safe. "How?"

The gangster hesitated, then reassured by Langhorne, said: "He'sordered a taxicab. We got it for him--a driver who is a right guyand'll drive him down where there's a bunch of the fellows. Theyain't goner do nothing serious--but--well, he won't campaign muchfrom a hospital cot, " he added sagely. "Say--here he comes nowwith that girl. I better beat it. "

Langhorne also managed to get away apparently, or else Carton andMiss Ashton were too engrossed in one another to notice him, forwe heard no word of greeting. 

A moment later Carton's and Miss Ashton's voices were audible. 

"Must you go?" she was saying. 

"I'm afraid so, " he apologized. "I've a speech to prepare for to-morrow and I've had several hard days. It's been a splendidevening, Miss Ashton--splendid. I've enjoyed it ever so much and Ithink it has accomplished more than a hundred meetings--besidesthe publicity it will get for the cause. Shall I see you to-morrowat headquarters?"

"I shall make it a point to drop in, " she answered in a tone asunmistakable. 

"Mr. Carton--your cab is waiting, sir, " announced a servant withan apology for intruding. "At the side entrance, sir, so that youcan get away quietly, sir. "

Carton thanked him. 

I looked at Kennedy anxiously. If Carton slipped away in thisfashion before we could warn him, what might not happen? We couldhardly expect to get around and through the press of the dancersin time. 

"I hate to go, Miss Ashton, " he was adding. "I'd stay--if I sawany prospect of the others going. But--you see--this is the firsttime to-night--that I've had a word with you--alone. "

It was not only an emergency, but there were limits to Kennedy'seavesdropping propensities, and spying on Carton's love affairswas quite another thing from Langhorne's. 

Quickly Craig turned the lever all the way over. 

"Carton--Miss Ashton--this is Kennedy, " he called. "Back of thebig palm you'll find a vocaphone. Don't take that cab! They aregoing to stick you up. Wait--I'll explain all in a moment!"

XVIII

THE WALL STREET WOLF

It was a startled couple that we found when we reached theconservatory. As we made our hasty explanation, Carton overwhelmedus with thanks for the prompt and effective manner in whichKennedy had saved him from the machinations of the defeatedgangsters. 

Miss Ashton, who would have kept her nerves under controlthroughout any emergency, actually turned pale as she learned ofthe danger that had been so narrowly averted. I am sure that herfeelings, which she made no effort to conceal, must have been suchas to reassure Carton if he had still any doubt on that score. 

The delay in his coming out, however, had been just enough toarouse suspicion, and by the time that we reached the sideentrance to the house both Ike and the night-hawk taxicab whichhad evidently been drafted into service had disappeared, leavingno clue. 

The result of the discovery over the vocaphone was that none of usleft Miss Ashton's until much later than we had expected. 

Langhorne, apparently, had gone shortly after he left theconservatory the last time, and Mrs. Ogleby had preceded him. Whenat last we managed to convince Miss Ashton that it was perfectlysafe for Carton to go, nothing would suffice except that we shouldaccompany him as a sort of bodyguard to his home. We did so, without encountering any adventure more thrilling than seeing anargument between a policeman and a late reveller. 

"I can't thank you fellows too much, " complimented Carton as weleft him. "I was hunting around for you, but I thought you hadfound a suffrage meeting too slow and had gone. "

"On the contrary, " returned Kennedy, equivocally, "we found it farfrom slow. "

Carton did not appreciate the tenor of the remark and Craig wasnot disposed to enlighten him. 

"What do you suppose Mrs. Ogleby meant in her references toCarton?" mused Kennedy when we reached our own apartment. 

"I can't say, " I replied, "unless before he came to really knowMiss Ashton, they were intimate. "

Kennedy shook his head. "Why will men in a public capacity getmixed up with women of the adventuress type like that, eveninnocently?" he ruminated. "Mark my words, she or someone elsewill make trouble for him before we get through. "

It was a thought that had lately been in my own mind, for we hadhad several hints of that nature. 

Kennedy said no more, but he had started my mind on a train ofspeculative thought. I could not imagine that a woman of Mrs. Ogleby's type could ever have really appealed to Carton, but thatdid not preclude the possibility that some unscrupulous personmight make use of the intimacy for base purposes. Then, too, therewas the threat that I had heard agreed on by both Langhorne andherself over the vocaphone. 

What would be the next step of the organization now in its swornwarfare on Carton, I could not imagine. But we did not have longto wait. Early the following forenoon an urgent message came toKennedy from Carton to meet him at his office. 

"Kennedy, " he said, "I don't know how to thank you for the manytimes you have pulled me through, and I'm almost ashamed to keepon calling on you. "

"It's a big fight, " hastened Craig. "You have opponents who knowthe game in its every crooked turn. If I can be only a small cogon a wheel that crushes them, I shall be only too glad. Your facetells me that something particularly unpleasant has happened. "

"It has, " admitted Carton, smoothing out some of the wrinkles atthe mere sight of Craig. 

He paused a moment, as if he were himself in doubt as to just whatthe trouble was. 

"Someone has been impersonating me over the telephone, " he began. "All day long there have been reports coming into my office askingme whether it was true that I had agreed to accept the offer ofDorgan that Murtha made, you know, --that is, practically to let upon the organization if they would let up on me. "

"Yes, " prompted Kennedy, "but, impersonation--what do you mean bythat?"

"Why, early to-day someone called me up, said he was Dorgan, andasked if I would have any objection to meeting him. I said I wouldmeet him--only it would do no good. Then, apparently, the sameperson called up Dorgan and said he was myself, asking if he hadany objection to meeting me. Dorgan said he'd see. Whoever it was, he almost succeeded in bringing about the fool thing--would havedone it, if I hadn't got wise to the fact that there was somethingfunny about it. I called up Dorgan. He said he'd meet me, as longas I had approached him first. I said I hadn't. We swore a littleand called the fake meeting off. But it was too late. It got intothe papers. Now, you'd think it wouldn't make any difference toeither of us. It doesn't to him. People will think he tried toslip one over on ME. But it does make a difference to me. Peoplewill think I'm trying to sell out. "

Carton showed plainly his vexation at the affair. 

"The old scheme!" exclaimed Kennedy. "That's the plan that hasbeen used by a man down in Wall Street that they call, 'the Wolf. 'He is a star impersonator--will call up two sworn enemies and putover something on them that double-crosses both. "

"Wall Street, " mused Carton. "That reminds me of another batch ofrumours that have been flying around. They were that I had made adeal with Langhorne by which I agreed to support him in his fightto get something in the contracts of the new city planning schemein return for his support of the part of the organization he couldswing to me in the election, --another lie. "

"It might have been Langhorne himself, playing the wolf, " Isuggested. 

Kennedy had reached for the telephone book. "Also, it might havebeen Kahn, " he added. "I see he has an office in Wall Street, too. He has been the legal beneficiary of several shady transactionsdown there. "

"Oh, " put in Carton, "it might have been any of them--they're allcapable of it from Dorgan down. If Murtha was only out, I'd beinclined to suspect him. "

He tossed over a typewritten sheet of paper. "That's the statementI gave out to the press, " he explained. 

It read: "My attention has been called to the alleged activitiesof some person or persons who through telephone calls andunderground methods are seeking to undermine confidence in myintegrity. A more despicable method of attempting to arousedistrust I cannot imagine. It is criminal and if anyone can assistme in placing the responsibility where it belongs I shall be gladto prosecute to the limit. "

"That's all right, " assented Kennedy, "but I don't think it willhave any effect. You see, this sort of thing is too easy foranyone to be scared off from. All he has to do is to go to a paystation and call up there. You couldn't very well trace that. "

He stopped abruptly and his face puckered with thought. 

"There ought to be some way, though, " I murmured, without knowingjust what the way might be, "to tell whether it is Dorgan and theorganization crowd, or Langhorne and his pool, or Kahn and theother shysters. "

"There IS a way, " cried Kennedy at last. "You fellows wait herewhile I make a flying trip up to the laboratory. If anyone callsus, just put him off--tell him to call up later. "

Carton continued to direct the work of his office, of which therehad been no interruptions even during the stress of the campaign. Now and then the telephone rang and each time Carton would motionto me, and say, "You take it, Jameson. If it seems perfectlyregular then pass it over to me. "

Several routine calls came in, this way, followed by one from MissAshton, which Carton prolonged much beyond the mere time needed todiscuss a phase of the Reform League campaign. 

He had scarcely hung up the receiver, when the bell tinkledinsistently, as though central had had an urgent call which thelast conversation had held up. 

I took down the receiver, and almost before I could answer theinquiry, a voice began, "This is the editor of the Wall StreetRecord, Mr. Carton. Have you heard anything of the rumours aboutHartley Langhorne and his pool being insolvent? The Street hasbeen flooded with stories--"

"One moment, " I managed to interrupt. "This is not Mr. Carton, although this is his office. No--he's out. Yes, he'll certainly beback in half an hour. Ring up then. "

I repeated the scrap of gossip that had filtered through to me, which Carton received in quite as much perplexity as I had. 

"Seems as if everybody was getting knocked, " he commented. 

"That may be a blind, though, " I suggested. 

He nodded. I think we both realized how helpless we were whenKennedy was away. In fact we made even our guesses with a sort oflack of confidence. 

It was therefore with a sense of relief that we welcomed him a fewminutes later as he hurried into the office, almost breathlessfrom his trip uptown and back. 

"Has anyone called up?" he inquired unceremoniously, unwrapping asmall parcel which he carried. 

I told him as briefly as I could what had happened. He nodded, without making any audible comment, but in a manner that seemed toshow no surprise. 

"I want to get this thing installed before anyone else calls, " heexplained, setting to work immediately. 

"What is it?" I asked, regarding the affair, which includedsomething that looked like a phonograph cylinder. 

"An invention that has just been perfected, " he replied withoutdelaying his preparations, "by which it is possible for messagesto be sent over the telephone and automatically registered, evenin the absence of anyone at the receiving end. Up to the presentit has been practicable to take phonograph records only by thedirect action of the human voice upon the diaphragm of theinstrument. Not long ago there was submitted to the French Academyof Sciences an apparatus by which the receiver of the telephonecan be put into communication with a phonograph and a perfectrecord obtained of the voice of the speaker at the other end ofthe wire, his message being reproduced at will by merely pressinga button. "

"Wouldn't the telegraphone do?" I asked, remembering our use ofthat instrument in other cases. 

"It would record, " he replied, "but I want a phonograph record. Nothing else will do in this case. You'll see why, before I getthrough. Besides, this apparatus isn't complicated. Between thediaphragm of the telephone receiver and that of the phonographicmicrophone is fitted an air chamber of adjustable size, open tothe outer atmosphere by a small hole to prevent compression. Ithink, " he added with a smile, "it will afford a pretty good meansof collecting souvenirs of friends by preserving the sound oftheir voices through the telephone. " For several minutes wewaited. 

"I don't think I ever heard of such effrontery, such open, bare-faced chicanery, " fumed Carton impatiently. 

"We'll catch the fellow yet, " replied Kennedy confidently. "And Ithink we'll find him a bad lot. "

XIX

THE ESCAPE

At last the telephone rang and Carton answered it eagerly. As hedid so, he quickly motioned to us to go to the outside officewhere we, too, could listen on extensions. 

"Yes, this is Mr. Carton, " we heard him say. 

"This is the editor of the Wall Street Record, " came back thereply in a tone that showed no hesitation or compunction if it waslying. "I suppose you have heard the rumours that are currentdowntown that Hartley Langhorne and the people associated with himhave gone broke in the pool they formed to get control of thepublic utilities that would put them in a position to capture thecity betterment contracts?"

"No--I hadn't heard it, " answered Carton, with difficultyrestraining himself from quizzing the informant about himself. Kennedy was motioning to him that that was enough. "I'm sure Ican't express any opinion at all for publication on the subject, "he concluded brusquely, jamming down the receiver on the hookbefore his interlocutor had a chance to ask another question. 

The bell continued to ring, but Craig seized the receiver off itshook again and called back, "Mr. Carton has gone for the day, "hanging it up again with a bang. 

"Call up the Record now, " advised Craig, disconnecting therecording instrument he had brought. "See what the editor has tosay. "

"This is the District Attorney's office, " said Carton a momentlater when he got the number. "You just called me. "

"I called you?" asked the editor, non-plussed. 

"About a rumour current in Wall Street. "

"Rumour? No, sir. It must be some mistake. "

"I guess so. Sorry to have troubled you. Good-bye. "

Carton looked from one to the other of us. "You see, " he said indisgust, "there it is again. That's the sort of thing that hasbeen going on all day. How do I know what that fellow is doingnow--perhaps using my name?"

I had no answer to his implied query as to who was the "wolf" andwhat he might be up to. As for Kennedy, while he showed plainlythat he had his suspicions which he expected to confirmabsolutely, he did not care to say anything about them yet. 

"Two can play at 'wolf, '" he said quietly, calling up theheadquarters of Dorgan's organization. 

I wondered what he would say, but was disappointed to find that itwas a merely trivial conversation about some inconsequentialthing, as though Kennedy had merely wished to get in touch withthe "Silent Boss. " Next he called up the sanitarium to whichMurtha had been committed, and after posing as Murtha's personalphysician managed to have the rules relaxed to the extent ofexchanging a few sentences with him. 

"How did he seem--irrational?" asked Carton with interest, for Idon't think the District Attorney had complete confidence in thecommonly announced cause of Murtha's enforced retirement. 

Kennedy shook his head doubtfully. "Sounded pretty far gone, " wasall he said, turning over the pages of the telephone book as helooked for another number. 

This time it was Kahn whom he called up, and he had somedifficulty locating him, for Kahn had two offices and was busilyengaged in preparing a defence to the charges preferred againsthim for the jury fixing episode. 

Among others whom he called up was Langhorne, and the conversationwith him was as perfunctory as possible, consisting merely inrepeating his name, followed by an apology from Kennedy for"calling the wrong number. "

In each case, Craig was careful to have his little recordinginstrument working, taking down every word that was uttered andwhen he had finished he detached it, looking at the cylinder withunconcealed satisfaction. 

"I'm going up to the laboratory again, " he announced, as Cartonlooked at him inquiringly. "The investigation that I have in mindwill take time, but I shall hurry it along as fast as I possiblycan. I don't want any question about the accuracy of myconclusions. "

We left Carton, who promised to meet us late in the afternoon atthe laboratory, and started uptown. Instead, however, of going updirectly, Craig telephoned first to Clare Kendall to shadow Mrs. Ogleby. 

The rest of the day he spent in making microphotographs of thephonograph cylinder and studying them very attentively under hishigh-powered lens. 

Toward the close of the afternoon the first report of MissKendall, who had been "trailing" Mrs. Ogleby, came in. We were notsurprised to learn that she had met Langhorne in the Futurist TeaRoom in the middle of the afternoon and that they had talked longand earnestly. What did surprise us, though, was her suspicionthat she had crossed the trail of someone else who was shadowingMrs. Ogleby. 

Kennedy made no comment, though I could see that he was vitallyinterested. What was the significance of the added mystery?Someone else had an interest in watching her movements. At once Ithought of Dorgan. Could he have known of the intimacy of hisguest at the Gastron dinner with Langhorne, rather than withMurtha, with whom she had gone? Suddenly another explanationoccurred to me. What was more likely than that Martin Oglebyshould have heard of his wife's escapade? He would certainly learnnow to his surprise of her meeting with Langhorne. What wouldhappen then?

Kennedy had about finished with his microphotographic work and waschecking it over to satisfy himself of the results, when Carton, as he had promised, dropped in on us. 

"What are you doing now?" he asked curiously, looking at theprints and paraphernalia scattered about. "By the way, I've beeninquiring into the commitment of Murtha to that sanitarium for theinsane. On the surface it all seems perfectly regular. It appearsthat, unknown even to many of his most intimate friends, he hasbeen suffering from a complication of diseases, the result of hishigh life, and they have at last affected his brain, as they werebound to do in time. Still, I don't like his 'next friends' in thecase. One is his personal physician--I don't know much about him. But Dorgan is one of the others. "

"We'll have to look into it, " agreed Kennedy. "Meanwhile, wouldyou like to know who your 'wolf' is that has been spreadingrumours about broadcast?"

"I would indeed, " exclaimed Carton eagerly. "You were right aboutthe statement I issued. It had no more effect than so manyunspoken words. The fellow has kept right on. He even had thenerve to call up Miss Ashton in my name and try to find outwhether she had any trace of the missing Betty Blackwell. How doyou suppose they found out that she was interested?"

"Not a very difficult thing, " replied Kennedy. "Miss Ashton musthave told several organizations, and the grafters always watchsuch societies pretty closely. What did she say?"

"Nothing, " answered Carton. "I had thought that they might trysomething of the sort and fortunately I warned her to disregardany telephone messages unless they came certainly from me. Weagreed on a little secret formula, a sort of password, to be used, and I flatter myself that the 'wolf' won't be able to accomplishmuch in that direction. You say you have discovered a clue? Howdid you get it?"

Kennedy picked up one of the microphotographs which showed anenlargement of the marks on the phonograph cylinder. He showed itto us and we gazed curiously at the enigmatic markings, greatlymagnified. To me, it looked like a collection of series of lines. By close scrutiny I was able to make out that the lines were wavyand more or less continuous, being made up of collections of finerlines, --lines within lines, as it were. 

An analysis of their composition showed that the centre of largerlines was composed of three continuous series of markings whichlooked, under the lens, for all the world like the impressions ofan endless straight series of molar teeth. Flanking these threetooth-like impressions were other lines--varying in width and innumber--I should say, about four, both above and below the tooth-like impressions. When highly magnified one could distinguishroughly parallel parts of what at even a low magnification lookedlike a single line. 

"I have been studying voice analysis lately, " explained Kennedy, "particularly with reference to the singing voice. Mr. Edison hasmade thousands and thousands of studies of voices to determinewhich are scientifically perfect for singing. That side of it didnot interest me particularly. I have been seeking to use thediscovery rather for detective purposes. "

He paused and with a fine needle traced out some of the lines onthe photographs before us. 

"That, " he went on, "is a highly magnified photograph of a minutesection of the phonographic record of the voice that called youup, Carton, as editor of the Wall Street Record. The upper andlower lines, with long regular waves, are formed by a voice withno overtones. Those three broader lines in the middle, withrhythmic ripples, show the overtones. "

Carton and I followed, fascinated by the minuteness of hisinvestigation and knowledge. 

"You see, " he explained, "when a voice or a passage of musicsounds or is sung before a phonograph, its modulations receivedupon the diaphragm are written by the needle point upon thesurface of the cylinder or disc in a series of fine waving or zig-zag lines of infinitely varying depth and breadth. 

"Close familiarity with such records for about forty years hastaught Mr. Edison the precise meaning of each slightest variationin the lines. I have taken up and elaborated his idea. Byexamining them under the microscope one can analyze each tone withmathematical accuracy and can almost hear it--just as a musicianreading the score of a song can almost hear the notes. "

"Wonderful, " ejaculated Carton. "And you mean to say that in thatway you can actually identify a voice?"

Kennedy nodded. "By examining the records in the laboratory, looking them over under a microscope--yes. I can count theovertones, say, in a singing voice, and it is on the overtonesthat the richness depends. I can recognize a voice--mathematically. In short, " Craig concluded enthusiastically, "itis what you might call the Bertillon measurement, the finger-print, the portrait parle of the human voice!"

Incredible as it seemed, we were forced to believe, for there onthe table lay the graphic evidence which he had just sopainstakingly interpreted. 

"Who was it?" asked Carton breathlessly. 

Kennedy picked up another microphotograph. "That is the record Itook of one of the calls I made--merely for the purpose ofobtaining samples of voices to compare with this of theimpersonator. The two agree in every essential detail and none ofthe others could be confounded by an expert who studied them. Your'wolf' was your old friend Kahn!"

"Fighting back at me by his usual underhand methods, " exclaimedCarton in profound disgust. 

"Or else trying himself to get control of the Black Book, " addedKennedy. "If you will stop to think a moment, his shafts have beenlevelled quite as much at discrediting Langhorne as yourself. Hemight hope to kill two birds with one stone--and incidentally savehimself. "

"You mean that he wants to lay a foundation now for questioningthe accuracy of the Black Book if it ever comes to light?"

"Perhaps, " assented Kennedy carefully. 

"Surely we should take some steps to protect ourselves from hisimpostures, " hastened Carton. 

"I have no objections to your calling him up and telling him thatwe know what he is up to and can trace it to him--provided youdon't tell him how we did it--yet. "

Carton had seized the telephone and was hastily calling everyplace in which Kahn was likely to be. He was not at either of hisoffices, nor at Farrell's, but at each place successively Cartonleft a message which told the story and which he could hardly failto receive soon. 

As Carton finished, Kennedy seemed to be emerging from a brownstudy. He rose slowly and put on his hat. 

"Your story about Murtha's commitment interests me, " he remarked, "particularly since you mentioned Dorgan's name in connection withit. I've been thinking about Murtha myself a good deal since Iheard about his condition. I want to see him myself. "

Carton hesitated a minute. "I can break an engagement I had tospeak to-night, " he said. "Yes, I'll go with you. It's moreimportant to look to the foundations than to the building justnow. "

A few minutes later we were all on our way in a touring car to theprivate sanitarium up in Westchester, where it had been announcedthat Murtha had been taken. 

I had apprehended that we would have a great deal of difficultyeither in getting admitted at all or in seeing Murtha himself. Wearrived at the sanitarium, a large building enclosed by a highbrick wall, and evidently once a fine country estate, at justabout dusk. To my surprise, as we stopped at the entrance, we hadno difficulty in being admitted. 

For a moment, as we waited in the richly furnished reception room, I listened to the sounds that issued from other parts of thebuilding. Something was clearly afoot, for things were in a stateof disorder. I had not an extensive acquaintance with asylums forthe care and treatment of the insane, but the atmosphere ofexcitement which palpably pervaded the air was not what one wouldhave expected. I began to think of Poe's Dr. Tarr and ProfessorFether, and wonder whether there might not have been a revolutionin the place and the patients have taken charge of their keepers. 

At last one of the attendants passed the door. No one had paid anyattention to us since our admission and this man, too, was goingto pass us without notice. 

"I beg your pardon, " interrupted Kennedy, who had heard hisfootsteps approaching and had placed himself in the hallway sothat the attendant could not pass, "but we have called to see Mr. Murtha. "

The attendant eyed us curiously. I expected him to say that it wasagainst the rules, or to question our right to see the patient. 

"I'm afraid you're too late, " he said briefly, instead. 

"Too late?" queried Kennedy sharply. "What do you mean?"

The man answered promptly as if that were the quickest way to getback to his own errand. 

"Mr. Murtha escaped from his keepers this evening, just afterdinner, and there is no trace of him. "

XX

THE METRIC PHOTOGRAPH

Murtha's escape from the sanitarium had again thrown ourcalculations into chaos. We rode back to the city in silence, andeven Kennedy had no explanation to offer. 

Even at a late hour that night, although a widespread alarm hadbeen sent out for him, no trace of the missing man could be found. The next morning's papers, of course, were full of the strangedisappearance, but gave no hint of his discovery. In fact, all daythe search was continued by the authorities, but without result. 

On the face of it, it seemed incredible that a man who was so wellknown, especially to the thousands of police and others in theofficial and political life of the city, could remain at largeunrecognized. Still, I recalled other cases where prominent menhad disappeared. The facts in Murtha's case spoke for themselves. 

Comparatively little occurred during the day, although thepolitical campaign which had begun with the primaries many weeksbefore was now drawing nearer its close and the campaigners weregetting ready for the final spurt to the finish. 

With Kennedy's unmasking of the unprincipled activities of Kahn, that worthy changed his tactics, or at least dropped out of oursight. Mrs. Ogleby lunched with Langhorne and I began to suspectthat the shadow that had been placed on her could not have beenengaged by Martin Ogleby, for he was not the kind who would takereports of the sort complaisantly. Someone else must beinterested. 

As for the Black Book itself, I wondered more as time went on thatno one made use of it. Even though we gained no hint fromLanghorne after the peculiar robbery of his safe, it wasimpossible to tell whether or not he still retained thedetectaphone record. On the other hand, if Dorgan had obtained itby using the services of someone in the criminal hierarchy thatMurtha had built up, it would not have been likely that we wouldhave heard anything about it. We were in the position of menfighting several adversaries in the dark without knowing exactlywhom we fought. 

We had just finished dinner, that night, Kennedy and I, and, ashad been the case in most of the waking hours of the previoustwenty-four, had been speculating on the possible solution of themysterious dropping out of sight of Murtha. The evening papers hadcontained nothing that the morning papers had not alreadypublished and Kennedy had tossed the last of an armful into thescrap basket when the buzzer on the door of our apartment sounded. 

A young man stood there as I opened the door, and handed me anote, as he touched his hat. "A message for Professor Kennedy fromMr. Carton, sir, " he announced. 

I recognized him as Carton's valet as he stood impatiently waitingfor Craig to read the letter. 

"It's all right--there's no answer--I'll see him immediately, "nodded Kennedy, tossing the hasty scrawl over to me as the valetdisappeared. 

"My study at home has been robbed, probably by sneak thieves, "read the note. "Would you like to look it over? I can't findanything missing except a bundle of old and valueless photographs. Carton. "

"Looks as if someone thought Carton might have got that Black Bookfrom Langhorne, " I commented, following the line on which I hadbeen thinking at the time. 

"And the taking of the photographs was merely a blind, after notfinding it?" Kennedy queried, I cannot say much impressed by mytheory. 

"Perhaps, " I acquiesced weakly, as we went out. 

Instead of turning in the direction of Carton's immediately, Kennedy walked across the campus toward the Chemistry Building. Atthe laboratory we loaded ourselves with a large and heavy oblongcase containing a camera and a tripod. 

The Cartons lived in an old section of the city which stillretained something of its aristocratic air, having been passed by, as it were, like an eddy in the stream of business that swirleduptown, engulfing everything. 

It was an old four-story brownstone house which had been occupiedby his father and grandfather before him, and now was the home ofCarton, his mother, and his sister. 

"I'm glad to see you, " Carton met us at the door. "This isn'tquite as classy a robbery as Langhorne's--but it's just asmysterious. Must have happened while the family were at dinner. That's why I said it was a robbery by a sneak thief. "

He was leading the way to his study, which was in an extension ofthe house, in the rear. 

"I hope you've left things as they were, " ventured Craig. 

"I did, " assured Carton. "I know your penchant for such things andalmost the first thought I had was that you'd prefer it that way. So I shut the door and sent William after you. By the way, whathave you done with him?"

"Nothing, " returned Craig. "Isn't he back yet?"

"No--oh, well I don't need him right away. "

"And nothing was taken except some old photographs?" asked Craig, looking intently at Carton's face. 

"That is all I can find missing, " he returned frankly. 

Kennedy's examination of the looted study was minute, taking inthe window through which the thief had apparently entered, thecabinet he had forced, and the situation in general. Finally heset up his camera with most particular care and took severalflashlight pictures of the window, the cabinet, the doors--including the study--from every angle. Outside he examined theextension and back of the house carefully, noting possible ways ofgetting from the side street across the fences into the Cartonyard. 

With Carton we returned to Craig's splendidly equippedphotographic studio and while Carton and I made the best of ourtime by discussing various phases of the case, Kennedy employedthe interval in developing his plates. 

He had ten or a dozen prints, all of exactly the same size, mounted on stiff cardboard in a space with scales and figures onall four margins. Carton and I puzzled over them. 

"Those are metric photographs, such as Bertillon of Paris used totake, " Craig explained. "By means of the scales and tables andother methods that have been worked out, we can determine fromthose pictures distances and many other things almost as well asif we were on the spot ourselves. Bertillon cleared up many crimeswith this help, such as the mystery of the shooting in the HotelQuai d'Orsay and other cases. The metric photograph, I believe, will in time rank with other devices in the study of crime. "

He was going over the photographs carefully. 

"For instance, " he continued, "in order to solve the riddle of acrime, the detective's first task is to study the scenetopographically. Plans and elevations of a room or house are made. The position of each object is painstakingly noted. In addition, the all-seeing eye of the camera is called into requisition. Theplundered room is photographed, as in this case. I might have doneit by placing a foot rule on a table and taking that in thepicture. But a more scientific and accurate method has beendevised by Bertillon. His camera lens is always used at a fixedheight from the ground and forms its image on the plate at anexact focus. The print made from the negative is mounted on a cardin a space of definite size, along the edges of which a metricscale is printed. In the way he has worked it out, the distancebetween any two points in the picture can be determined. With atopographical plan and a metric photograph one can study a crime, as a general studies the map of a strange country. There wereseveral peculiar things that I observed at your house, Carton, andI have here an indelible record of the scene of the crime. Preserved in this way, it cannot be questioned. You are sure thatthe only thing missing is the photographs?"

Carton nodded, "I never keep anything valuable lying around. "

"Well, " resumed Kennedy, "the photographs were in this cabinet. There are other cabinets, but none of them seems to have beendisturbed. Therefore the thief must have known just what he wasafter. The marks made in breaking the lock were not those of ajimmy, but of a screwdriver. No amazing command of the resourcesof science is needed so far. All that is necessary is a littlescientific common sense. "

Carton glanced at me, and I smiled, for it always did seem soeasy, when Craig did it, and so impossible when we tried to go italone. 

"Now, how did the robber get in?" he continued, thoroughlyengrossed in his study. "All the windows were supposedly locked. Isaw that a pane had been partly cut from this window at the side--and the pieces were there to show it. But consider the outside, amoment. To reach that window even a tall man must have stood on aladder or something. There were no marks of a ladder or even ofany person in the soft soil of the garden under the window. Whatis more, that window was cut from the inside. The marks of thediamond which cut it plainly show that. Scientific common senseagain. "

"Then it must have been someone in the house or at least familiarwith it?" I exclaimed. 

Kennedy shook his head affirmatively. 

I had been wondering who it could be. Certainly this was not thework of Dopey Jack, even if the far cleverer attempt onLanghorne's safe had been. But it might have been one of his gang. I had not got as far as trying to reason out the why of the crime. 

"Call up your house, Carton, " asked Craig. "See if William, yourvalet, has returned. "

Carton did so, and a moment later turned to us with a look ofperplexity on his face. "No, " he reported, "he hasn't come backyet. I can't imagine where he is. "

"He won't come back, " asserted Kennedy positively. "It was aninside job--and he did it. "

Carton gasped astonishment. 

"At any rate, " pursued Kennedy, "one thing we have which thepolice greatly neglect--a record. We have made some progress inreconstructing the crime, as Bertillon used to call it. "

"Strange that he should take only photographs, " I mused. 

"What were they?" asked Kennedy, and again I saw that he waslooking intently at Carton's face. 

"Nothing much, " returned Carton unhesitatingly, "just somepersonal photographs--of no real value except to me. Most of themwere amateur photographs, too, pictures of myself in variousgroups at different times and places that I kept for theassociations. "

"Nothing that might be used by an enemy for any purpose?"suggested Kennedy. 

Carton laughed. "More likely to be used by friends, " he repliedfrankly. 

Still, I felt that there must have been some sinister purpose backof the robbery. In that respect it was like the scientificcracking of Langhorne's safe. Langhorne, too, though he had beenrobbed, had been careful to disclaim the loss of anything ofvalue. I frankly had not believed Langhorne, yet Carton was not ofthe same type and I felt that his open face would surely havedisclosed to us any real loss that he suffered or apprehensionthat he felt over the robbery. 

I was forced to give it up, and I think Kennedy, too, had decidednot to worry over the crossing of any bridges until at least weknew that there were bridges to be crossed. 

Carton was worried more by the discovery that one he had trustedeven as a valet had proved unfaithful. He knew, however, as wellas we did that one of the commonest methods of the underworld whenthey wished to pull off a robbery was to corrupt one of theservants of a house. Still, it looked strange, for the laying ofsuch an elaborate plan usually preceded only big robberies, suchas jewelery or silver. For myself, I was forced back on my firsttheory that someone had concluded that Carton had the Black Book, had concocted this elaborate scheme to get what was really of morevalue than much jewelry, and had found out that Carton did nothave the precious detectaphone record, after all. I knew thatthere were those who would have gone to any length to get it. 

A general alarm was given, through the police, for theapprehension of William, but we had small hope that anything wouldresult from it, for at that time Carton's enemies controlled thepolice and I am not sure but that they would have been just alittle more dilatory in apprehending one who had done Carton aninjury than if it had been someone else. It was too soon, thatnight, of course, to expect to learn anything, anyhow. 

It was quite late, but it had been a confining day for Kennedy whohad spent the hours while not working on Carton's case in some ofthe ceaseless and recondite investigations of his own to which hewas always turning his restless mind. 

"Suppose we walk a little way downtown with Carton?" he suggested. 

I was not averse, and by the time we arrived in the white lightbelt of Broadway the theatres were letting out. 

Above the gaiety of the crowds one could hear the shrill cry ofsome belated newsboys, calling an "Extra Special"--the onlysuperlative left to one of the more enterprising papers whoseevery issue was an "Extra. "

Kennedy bought one, with the laughing remark, "Perhaps it's aboutyour robbery, Carton. "

It was only a second before the smile on his face changed to alook of extreme gravity. We crowded about him. In red ink acrossthe head of the paper were the words:

"BODY OF MURTHA, MISSING, FOUND IN MORGUE"

Down in a lower corner, in a little box into which late news couldbe dropped, also in red ink, was the brief account:

This morning the body of an unknown man was found in The Bronxnear the Westchester Railroad tracks. He had been run over andbadly mutilated. After lying all day in the local morgue, it wastransferred, still unidentified, to the city Morgue downtown. 

Early this evening one of the night attendants recognized theunidentified body as that of Murtha, "the Smiling Boss, " whoseescape day before yesterday from an asylum in Westchester hasremained a mystery until now. 

"Well--what do you--think of that!" ejaculated Carton. "Murtha--dead--and I thought the whole thing was a job they were putting upon me!"

Kennedy crooked his finger at a cabby who was alertly violatingthe new ordinance and soliciting fares away from a public cabstand. 

"The Morgue--quick!" he ordered, not even noticing theflabbergasted look on the jehu's face, who was not accustomed tocarrying people thither from the primrose path of Broadway quiteso rapidly. 

XXI

THE MORGUE

There had come a lull in the activities which never entirelycease, night or day, in the dingy building at the foot of EastTwenty-sixth Street. Across the street in the municipal lodging-house the city's homeless were housed for the night. Even everwakeful Bellevue Hospital nearby was comparatively quiet. 

The last "dead boat" which carries the city's unclaimed corpsesaway for burial had long ago left, when we arrived. The anxiouscallers who pass all day through the portals of the mortuarychamber seeking lost friends and relatives had disappeared. Exceptfor the night keeper and one or two assistants, the Morgue wasempty save of the overcrowded dead. 

Years before, as a cub reporter on the Star, I had had thegruesome assignment once of the Morgue. It was the same old placeafter all these years and it gave me the same creepy sensationsnow as it did then. Even the taxicab driver seemed glad to setdown his fares and speed away. 

It was ghoulish. I felt then and I did still that instead ofcontributing to the amelioration of conditions that could not beotherwise than harrowing, everything about the old Morgue lentitself to the increase of the horror of the surroundings. 

As Kennedy, Carton, and I entered, we found that the principalchamber in the place was circular. Its walls were lined with theends of caskets, which, fitting close into drawer-like apertureswere constantly enveloped in the refrigerated air. 

It seemed, even at that hour, that if these receptacles were evenadequate to contain all of the daily tenants of the Morgue, muchof the anguish and distress inseparable from such a place might bespared those who of necessity must visit the place seeking theirdead. As it was, even for those bound by no blood ties to theunfortunates who found their way to the city Morgue, the room wasa veritable chamber of horror. 

We stood in horrified amazement at what we saw. On the floor, which should be kept clear, lay the overflow of the day's intake. Bodies for which there was no room in the cooling boxes, otherswhich were yet awaiting claimants, and still more awaitingtransfer to the public burying ground, lay about in their roughcoffins, many of them brutally exposed. 

It seemed, too, that if ever there was a time when conditionsmight have been expected to have halfway adjusted themselves tothe pressure which by day brought out all too clearly the hopelessinadequacy of the facilities provided by the city to perform oneof its most important and inevitable functions, it was at thatearly morning hour of our visit. Presumably preparation had beencompleted for the busy day about to open by setting all into somesemblance of respectful order. But such was not the case. It wasimpossible. 

In one group, I recall, which an attendant said had been awaitinghis removal for a couple of days, the rough board coffins, paintedthe uniform brown of the city's institutions, lay open, without somuch as face coverings over the dead. 

They lay as they had been sent in from various hospitals. Most ofthem were bereft of all the decencies usual with the dead, instriking contrast, however, with the bodies from Bellevue, whichwere all closely swathed in bandages and shrouds. 

One body, that of a negro, which had been sent in to the Morguefrom a Harlem hospital, lay just as it came, utterly bare, exposing to public view all the gruesome marks of the autopsy. Iwondered whether anything like that might be found to be the fateof the once jovial and popular Murtha, when we found him. 

I almost forgot our mission in the horror of the place, for, nearby was an even more heartrending sight. Piled in several heapsmuch higher than a man's head and as carelessly as cordwood werethe tiny coffins holding the babies which the authorities arecalled on by the poor of the city to bury in large numbers--fartoo poor to meet the cost of the cheapest decent burial. Atop thestack of regulation coffins were the nondescript receptacles madeuse of by the very poor--the most pathetic a tiny box from thecorner grocery. The bodies, some dozens of them, lay like so muchmerchandise, awaiting shipment. 

"What a barbarity!" I heard Craig mutter, for even he, though nowand then forced to visit the place when one of his cases took himthere, especially when it was concerned with an autopsy, had neverbecome hardened to it. 

Often I had heard him denounce the primitive appointments, especially in the autopsy rooms. The archaic attempts to utilizethe Morgue for scientific investigation were the occasion forpractices that shocked even the initiated. For the lack ofsuitable depositories for the products of autopsies, these objectswere plainly visible in rude profusion when a door was opened todraw out a body for inspection. About and around the slabs whereonthe human bodies lay, in bottles and in plates, this materialwhich had no place except in the cabinets of a laboratory wasinhumanly displayed in profusion, close to corpses for which amorgue is expected to provide some degree of reverential care. 

"You see, " apologized the keeper, not averse to throwing the blameon someone else, for it indeed was not his but the city's fault, "one reason why so many bodies have to remain uncared for is thatI could show you cooling box after cooling box with some subjectwhich figured during the past few months in the police records. Why victims of murders committed long ago should be heldindefinitely, and their growing numbers make it impossible to giveproper places to each day's temporary bodies, I can't say. Sometimes, " he added with a sly dig at Carton, "the onlyexplanation seems to be that the District Attorney's office hasrequested the preservation of the grisly relics. "

I could see that Carton was making a mental note that the practicewould be ended as far as his office was concerned. 

"So--you saw the story in the newspapers about Mr. Murtha, "repeated the keeper, not displeased to see us and at the publicityit gave him. "It was I that discovered him--and yet many's thetimes some of the boys that must have handled the body since itwas picked up beside the tracks must have seen him. It was toolate to get anyone to take the body away to-night, but thearrangements have all been made, and it will be done early in themorning before anyone else sees Pat Murtha here, as he shouldn'tbe. We've done what we could for him ourselves--he was a finegentleman and many's the boy that owes a boost up in life to him. "

Reverentially even the hardened keeper drew out one of the best ofthe drawer-like boxes. On the slab before us lay the body. Cartondrew back, excitedly, shocked. 

"It IS Murtha!" he exclaimed. 

I, too, looked at it quickly. The name as Carton pronounced it, insuch a place, had, to me at least, an unpleasant likeness to"murder. "

Kennedy had bent down and was examining the mutilated bodyminutely. 

"How do you suppose such a thing is possible--that he could lieabout the city, even here until the night keeper came on, --unknown?" asked Carton, aghast. 

"I don't know, " I said, "but I imagine that in connection with theactual inadequacy of the equipment one would find reflected thesame makeshift character in the attitude and actions of those whohandle the city's dead. It used to be the case, at least, that thefacilities for keeping records were often almost totallyneglected, and not through the fault of the Morgue keepers, entirely. But, I understand it is better now. "

"This is terrible, " repeated Carton, averting his face. "Really, Jameson, it makes me feel like a hound, for ever thinking thatMurtha might have been putting up a game on me. Poor old Murtha--Ishould have preferred to remember him as the 'Smiling Boss' aseveryone always called him!"

I called to mind the last time we had seen Murtha, in Carton'soffice as the bearer of an offer which had made Carton almostbeside himself with anger at the thought of the insult that hewould compromise with the organization. What a contrast, this, with the Murtha who, in turn, had been trembling with passion atCarton's refusal!

And yet I could not but reflect on the strangeness of it all--thefact that the organization, of which Murtha was a part, had by itsneglect and failure to care for the human side of government whenthere was graft to be collected, brought about the very conditionswhich had made possible such neglect of the district leader'sbody, as it had been bandied back and forth, unwittingly by manywho owed their very positions to the organization. 

I could not help but think that if he had served humanity withone-half the zeal which he had served graft, this could not havehappened. 

The more I contemplated the case, the more tragic did it seem tome. I longed for the assignment of writing the story for the Star--the chance I would have had in the old days to bring in a storythat would have got me a nod of approval from my superior. Idetermined, as soon as possible, to get the Star on the wire andtry to express some of the thoughts that were surging through mybrain in the face of this awful and unexpected occurrence. 

There he lay, alone, uncared for except by such rude hands asthose of the Morgue attendants. I could not help reflecting on thestrange vicissitudes of human life, and death, which levelled alldistinctions between men of high and low degree. Murtha had almostliterally sprung from the streets. His career had been onepossible only in the social and political conditions of his times. And now he had only by the narrowest chance escaped a burial in apauper's grave at the hands of the city which he had helped Dorganto debauch. 

Carton, too, I could see was overwhelmed. For the moment he didnot even think of how this blow to the System might affect his ownchances. It was only the pitiful wreck of a human being before usthat he saw. 

I was not an expert on study of wounds, such as was Kennedy, whowas examining Murtha's body with minute care, now and thenmuttering under his breath at the rough and careless handling ithad received in its various transfers about the city. But therewere some terrible wounds and disfigurements on the body, whichadded even more to the horror of the case. 

One thing, I felt, was fortunate. Murtha had had no family. Therehad been plenty of scandal about him, but as far as I knew therewas no one except his old cronies in the organization to beshocked by his loss, no living tragedy left in the wake of this. 

"How do you suppose it happened?" I asked the night keeper. 

He shook his head doubtfully. "No one knows, of course, " hereplied slowly. "But I think the big fellow got worse up there inthat asylum. He wasn't used to anything but having his own way, you know. They say he must have waited his chance, after thedinner hour, when things were quiet, and then slipped out while noone was looking. He may have been crazy, but you can bet your lifePat Murtha was the smartest crazy man they ever had up there. THEYcouldn't hold him. "

"I see, " I said, struck by the faith which the man had inspiredeven in those who held the lowest of city positions. "But I meanthow do you suppose he was killed?"

The attendant looked at me thoughtfully a while. "Young man, " heanswered, "I ain't saying nothing and it may have been an accidentafter all. Have you ever been up in that part of town?"

I had not and said so. 

"Well, " he continued, "those electric trains do sneak up on afellow fast. It may have been an accident, all right. The coronerup there said so, and I guess he ought to know. It must have beenlate at night--perhaps he was wandering away from the ordinaryroads for fear of being recaptured. No one knows--I guess no onewill know, ever. But it's a sad day for many of the boys. Hehelped a lot of 'em. And Mr. Dorgan--he knows what a loss it is, too. I hear that it's hit the Chief hard. "

The attendant, rough though he was and hardened by the dailysuccession of tragedies, could not restrain an honest catch in hisvoice over the passing of the "big fellow, " as some of them calledthe "Smiling Boss. " It was a pretty good object lesson on thepower of the system which the organization had built up, howMurtha, and even the more distant Dorgan himself, had endearedhimself to his followers and henchmen. Perhaps it was corrupt, butit was at least human, and that was a great deal in a world fullof inhumanities. In the face of what had happened, one felt thatmuch might be forgiven Murtha for his shortcomings, especially asthe era of the Murthas and Dorgans was plainly passing. 

"Here at least, " whispered Carton, as we withdrew to a corner toescape the palling atmosphere, "is one who won't worry about whathappens to that Black Book any more. I wonder what he really knewabout it--what secrets he carried away with him?"

"I can't say, " I returned. "But, one thing it does. It mustrelieve Mrs. Ogleby's fears a bit. With Murtha out of the waythere is one less to gossip about what went on at Gastron's thatnight of the dinner. "

He said nothing and just then Kennedy straightened up, as thoughhe had finished his examination. We hurried over to him. I thoughtthe look on Craig's face was peculiar. 

"What is it--what did you find?" both Carton and I asked. 

Kennedy did not answer immediately. 

"I--I can't say, " he answered slowly at length, as we thanked theMorgue keeper for his courtesy and left the place. "In fact I'drather not say--until I know. "

I knew from previous experiences that it was of no use to try toquiz Kennedy. He was a veritable Gradgrind for facts, facts, facts. As for myself, I could not help wondering whether, afterall, Murtha might not have been the victim of foul play--and, ifso, by whom?

XXII

THE CANARD

We did not have to wait long for the secret of the robbery ofCarton to come out. It was not in any "extras, " or in the morningpapers the next day, but it came through a secret source ofinformation to the Reform League. 

"A clerk in the employ of the organization who is really adetective employed by the Reform League, " groaned Carton, as hetold us the story himself the next morning at his office, "hasjust given us the information that they have prepared a long andcircumstantial story about me--about my intimacy with Mrs. Oglebyand Murtha and some others. The story of the robbery of my studyis in the papers this morning. To-morrow they plan to publish somephotographs--alleged to have been stolen. "

"Photographs--Mrs. Ogleby, " repeated Kennedy. "Real ones?"

"No, " exclaimed Carton quickly, "of course not--fakes. Don't yousee the scheme? First they lay a foundation in the robbery, knowing that the public is satisfied with sensations, and thatthey will be sure to believe that the robbery was put up by somemuckrakers to obtain material for an expose. I wasn't worried lastnight. I knew I had nothing to conceal. "

"Then what of it?" I asked naively. 

"A good deal of it, " returned Carton excitedly, "The story is tobe, as I understand it, that the fake pictures were among thosestolen from me and that in a roundabout way they came into thepossession of someone in the organization, without their knowingwho the thief was. Of course they don't know who took them and theoriginal plates or films are destroyed, but they've concocted somemeans of putting a date on them early in the spring. "

"What are they that they should take such pains with them?"persisted Kennedy, looking fixedly at Carton. 

Carton met his look without flinching. "They are supposed to bephotographs of myself, " he repeated. "One purports to represent mein a group composed of Mrs. Ogleby, Murtha, another woman whom Ido not even know, and myself. I am standing between Murtha andMrs. Ogleby and we look very familiar. Another is a picture of thesame four riding in a car, owned by Murtha. Oh, there are severalof them, of that sort. "

He paused as a dozen unspoken questions framed themselves in mymind. "I don't hesitate to admit, " he added, "that a few monthsago I knew Mrs. Ogleby--socially. But there was nothing to it. Inever knew Murtha well, and the other woman I never saw. Atvarious times I have been present at affairs where she was, but Iknow that no pictures were ever taken, and even if there had been, I would not care, provided they told the truth about them. What Ido care about is the sworn allegation that, I understand, is toaccompany these--these fakes. "

His voice broke. "It's a lie from start to finish, but just thinkof it, Kennedy, " he went on. "Here is the story, and here, too, are the pictures--at least they will be, in print, to-morrow. Now, you know nothing could hurt the reform ticket worse than to have ascandal like this raised at this time. There may be just enoughpeople to believe that there is some basis for the suspicion toturn the tide against me. If it were earlier in the campaign, Imight accept the issue, fight it out to a finish, and in the turnof events I should have really the best sort of campaign material. But it is too late now to expose such a knavish trick on theSaturday before election. "

"Can't we buy them off?" I ventured, perplexed beyond measure atthis new and unexpected turn of events. 

"No, I won't, " persisted Carton, shutting his square jaw doggedly. "I won't be held up--even if that is possible. "

"Miss Ashton on the wire, " announced a boy from the outer office. 

The look on Carton's face was a study. I saw directly what was thetrouble--far more important to him than a mere election. 

"Tell her--I'm out--will be back soon, " he muttered, for the firsttime hesitating to speak to her. 

"You see, " he continued blackly, "I'll fight if it takes my lastdollar, but I won't allow myself to be blackmailed out of a cent--no, not a cent, " he thundered, a heightened look of determinationfixing the lines on his face as he brought his fist down with arattling bang on the desk. 

Kennedy was saying nothing. He was letting Carton ease his mind ofthe load which had been suddenly thrust upon it. Carton was nowexcitedly pacing the floor. 

"They believe plainly, " he continued, growing more excited as hepaced up and down, "that the pictures will of course be acceptedby the public as among those stolen from me, and in that, Isuppose, they are right. The public will swallow it. If I say I'llprosecute, they'll laugh and tell me to go ahead, that they didn'tsteal the pictures. Our informant tells us that a hundred copieshave been made of each and that they have them ready to drop intothe mail to the leading hundred papers, not only of this city butof the state, in time for them to appear Sunday. They think thatno amount of denying on our part can destroy the effect. "

"That's it, " I persisted. "The only way is to buy them off. "

"But, Jameson, " argued Carton, "I repeat--they are false. It is aplot of Dorgan's, the last fight of a boss, driven into a corner, for his life. And it is meaner than if he had attempted to forge aletter. Pictures appeal to the eye much more than letters. That'swhat makes the thing so dangerous. Dorgan knows how to make thebest use of such a roorback on the eve of an election and even ifI not only deny but prove that they are a fake, I'm afraid theharm will be done. I can't reach all the voters in time. Ten seesuch a charge to one who sees the denial. "

He looked from one to the other of us helplessly. "If we had aweek or two, it might be all right. But I can't make any move to-day without making a fool of myself, nothing until they arepublished, as the last big thing of the campaign. Monday andTuesday morning do not give me time to reply in the papers andhammer it in. Even if they were out now, it would not give me timeto make of it an asset instead of a liability. And then, too, itmeans that I am diverted by this thing, that I let up in the finalefforts that we have so carefully planned to cap the campaign. That in itself is as much as Dorgan wants, anyway. "

Kennedy had been, so far, little more than an interested listener, but now he asked pointedly, "You have copies of the pictures?"

"No--but I've been promised them this morning. "

"H'm, " mused Craig, turning the crisis over in his mind. "We'vehad alleged stolen and forged letters before, but alleged stolenand forged photographs are new. I'm not surprised that you arealarmed, Carton, --nor that Walter suggests buying them off. But Iagree with you, Carton--it's best to fight, to admit nothing, asyou would imply by any other method. "

"Then you think you can trace down the forger of those picturesbefore it is too late?" urged Carton, leaning forward almost likea prisoner in the dock to catch the words of the foreman of thejury. 

"I haven't said I can do that--yet, " measured Craig with provokingslowness. 

"Say, Kennedy, you're not going to desert me?" reproached Carton. 

Kennedy laughed as he put his hand on Carton's shoulder. 

"I've been afraid of something like this, " he said, "ever since Ibegan to realize that you had once been--er--foolish enough tobecome even slightly acquainted with that adventuress, Mrs. Ogleby. My advice is to fight, not to get in wrong by trying todicker, for that might amount to confession, and suit Dorgan'spurpose just as well. Photographs, " he added sententiously, "arelike statistics. They don't lie unless the people who make themdo. But it's hard to tell what a liar can accomplish with either, in an election. I--I don't know that I'd desert you--if thepictures were true. I'd be sure there was some other explanation. "

"I knew it, " responded Carton heartily. "Your hand on that, Kennedy. Say, I think I've shaken hands with half the malepopulation of this city since I was nominated, but this means morethan any of them. Spare no reasonable expense and--get the goods, no matter whom it hits higher up--Langhorne--anybody. And, forGod's sake get it in time--there's more than an election thathangs on it!"

Carton looked Kennedy squarely in the eye again, and we allunderstood what it was he meant that was at stake. It might bepossible after all to gloss over almost anything and win theelection, but none of us dared to think what it might mean if MissAshton not only suspected that Carton had been fraternizing withthe bosses but also that there had been or by some possibilitycould be anything really in common between him and Mrs. Ogleby. 

That, after all, I saw was the real question. How would MissAshton take it? Could she ever forgive him if it were possible forLanghorne to turn the tables and point with scorn at the man whohad once been his rival for her hand? What might be the effect onher of any disillusionment, of any ridicule that Langhorne mightartfully heap up? As we left Carton, I shared with Kennedy hiseagerness to get at the truth, now, and win the fight--the twofights. 

"I want to see Miss Ashton, first, " remarked Kennedy when we wereoutside. 

Personally I thought that it was a risky business, but felt thatKennedy must know best. 

When we arrived at the Reform League headquarters, the clerks andgirls had already set to work, and the office was a hive ofindustry in the rush of winding up the campaign. Typewriters wereclicking, clippings were being snipped out of a huge stack ofnewspapers and pasted into large scrapbooks, circulars were beingfolded and made ready to mail for the final appeal. 

Carton's office there had been in the centre of the suite. On oneside were the cashier and bookkeeper, the clerical force and thespeakers' bureau, where spellbinders of all degrees were gettinginstructions, final tours were being laid out, and reportsreceived of meetings already held. 

On the other side was the press bureau, with its large and activeforce, in charge of Miss Ashton. 

As we entered we saw Miss Ashton very busy over something. Herback was toward us, but the moment she turned at hearing us wecould see that something was the matter. 

Kennedy wasted no time in coming to the point of his visit. We hadscarcely seated ourselves beside her desk when he leaned over andsaid in a low voice, "Miss Ashton, I think I can trust you. I havecalled to see you about a matter of vital importance to Mr. Carton. "

She did not betray even by a fleeting look on her proud face whatthe true state of her feelings was. 

"I don't know whether you know, but an attempt is being made toslander Mr. Carton, " went on Kennedy. 

Still she said nothing, though it was evident that she wasthinking much. 

"I suppose in a large force like this that it is not impossiblethat your political enemies may have a spy or two, " observedKennedy, glancing about at the score or more clerks busily engagedin getting out the "literature. "

"I have sometimes thought that myself, " she murmured, "but ofcourse I don't know. There isn't anything for them to discover inTHIS office, though. "

Kennedy looked up quickly at the significant stress on the word"this. " She saw that Kennedy was watching. Margaret Ashton mighthave made a good actress, that is, in something in which herpersonal feelings were not involved, as they were in this case. She was now pale and agitated. 

"I--I can't believe it, " she managed to say. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy--Iwould almost rather not have known it at all, --only I suppose Imust have known it sooner or later. "

"Believe me, Miss Ashton, " soothed Kennedy, "you ought to know. Itis on you that I depend for many things. But, tell me, how do youknow already? I didn't think--it was known. "

She was still pale, and replied nervously, "Our detective in theorganization brought the pictures up here--one of the girls openedthem by mistake--it got about the office--I couldn't help butknow. "

"Miss Ashton, " remonstrated Kennedy soothingly, "I beg you to becalm. I had no idea you would take it like this, no idea. Please, please. Remember pictures can lie--just like words. "

"I--I hope you're right, " she managed to reply slowly. "I'm allbroken up by it. I'm ready to resign. My faith in human nature isshaken. No, I won't say anything about Mr. Carton to anyone. Butit cuts me to have to think that Hartley Langhorne may have beenright. He always used to say that every man had his price. I amafraid this will do great harm to the cause of reform and throughit to the woman suffrage cause which made me cast myself in withthe League. I--I can hardly believe--"

Kennedy was still looking earnestly at her. "Miss Ashton, " heimplored, "believe nothing. Remember one of the first rules ofpolitics in the organization you are fighting is loyalty. Waituntil--"

"Wait?" she echoed. "How can I? I hate Mr. Carton for--for evenknowing--" she paused just in time to substitute Mr. Murtha forMrs. Ogleby--"such men as Mr. Murtha--secretly. "

She bit her lip at thus betraying her feelings, but what she hadseen had evidently affected her deeply. It was as though the feetof her idol had turned to clay. 

"Just think it over, " urged Kennedy. "Don't be too harsh. Don't doanything rash. Suspend judgment. You won't regret it. "

Kennedy was apparently doing some rapid thinking. "Let me have thephotographs, " he asked at length. 

"They are in Mr. Carton's office, " she answered, as if she wouldnot soil her hands by touching the filthy things. 

We excused ourselves and went into Carton's office. 

There they were wrapped up, and across the package was written byone of the clerks, "Opened by mistake. "

Kennedy opened the package again. Sure enough, there were thephotographs--as plain as they could be, the group includingCarton, Mrs. Ogleby, Murtha, and another woman, standing on theporch of a gabled building in the sunshine, again the fourspeeding in a touring car, of which the number could be readfaintly, and other less interesting snapshots. 

As I looked at them I said nothing, but I must admit that thewhole thing began to assume a suspicious look in my mind inconnection with various hints I had heard dropped by organizationmen about probing into the past, and other insinuations. I feltthat far from aiding Carton, things were now getting darker. Therewas nothing but his unsupported word that he had not been in suchgroups to counterbalance the existence of the actual picturesthemselves, on the surface a graphic clincher to Dorgan's story. Kennedy, however, after an examination of the photographs clung noless tenaciously to a purpose he already had in mind, and insteadof leaving them for Carton, took them himself, leaving a noteinstead. 

He stopped again to speak to Margaret Ashton. I did not hear allof the conversation, but one phrase struck me, "And the worst ofit is that he called me up a little while ago and tried to acttoward me in the same old way--and that after I know what I know. I--I could detect it in his voice. He knew he was concealingsomething from me. "

What Kennedy said to her, I do not know, but I don't think it hadmuch effect. 

"That's the most difficult and unfortunate part of the wholeaffair, " he sighed as we left. "She believes it. "

I had no comment that was worth while. What was to be done? Ifpeople believed it generally, Carton was ruined. 

XXIII

THE CONFESSION

Dorgan was putting up a bold fight, at any rate. Everyone, andmost of all his opponents who had once thought they had him on therun, was forced to admit that. Moreover, one could not helpwondering at his audacity, whatever might be the opinion of hisdishonesty. 

But I was quite as much struck by the nerve of Carton. In the faceof gathering misfortunes many a man of less stern mettle mighthave gone to pieces. Not so with the fighting District Attorney. It seemed to spur him on to greater efforts. 

It was a titanic struggle, this between Carton and Dorgan, and hadreached the point where quarter was given or asked by neither. 

Kennedy had retired to his laboratory with the photographs and wasstudying them with an increasing interest. 

It was toward the close of the afternoon when the telephone rangand Kennedy motioned to me to answer it. 

"If it's Carton, " he said quickly, "tell him I'm not here. I'm notready for him yet and I can't be interrupted. "

I took down the receiver, prepared to perjure my immortal soul. Itwas indeed Carton, bursting with news and demanding to see Kennedyimmediately. 

Almost before I had finished with the carefully framed, glibexcuse that I was to make, he shouted to me over the wire, "Whatdo you think, Jameson? Tell him to come down right away. Theimpossible has happened. I have got under Dopey Jack's guard--hehas confessed. It's big. Tell Kennedy I'll wait here at my officeuntil he comes. "

He had hung up the receiver before I could question him further. Ithink it cured Kennedy, temporarily of asking me to fib for himover the telephone. He was as anxious as I to see Carton, now, andplunged into the remaining work on the photographs eagerly. 

He finished much sooner than he would, otherwise, and only topreserve the decency of the excuse that I had made did not hastendown to the Criminal Courts Building before a reasonable time hadelapsed. As we entered Carton's office we could tell from the veryatmosphere of the halls that something was happening. Thereporters in their little room outside were on the qui vive and Iheard a whisper and a busy scratching of pencils as we passed inand the presence of someone else in the District Attorney's officewas noted. 

Carton met us in a little ante-room. He was all excitementhimself, but I could see that it was a clouded triumph. His mindwas really elsewhere than on the confession that he was getting. Although he did not ask us, I knew that he was thinking only ofMargaret Ashton and how to regain the ground that he hadapparently lost with her. Still, he said nothing about thephotographs. I wondered whether it was because of his confidencethat Kennedy would pull him through. 

"You know, " he whispered, "I have been working with my assistantson Dopey Jack ever since the conviction, hoping to get aconfession from him, holding out all sorts of promises if he wouldturn state's evidence and threats if he didn't. It all had noeffect. But Murtha's death seems to have changed all that. I don'tknow why--whether he thinks it was due to foul play or not, for hewon't say anything about that and evidently doesn't know--but itseems to have changed him. "

Carton said it as though at last a ray of light had struck in onan otherwise black situation, and that was indeed the case. 

"I suppose, " suggested Craig, "that as long as Murtha was alive hewould rather have died than say anything that would incriminatehim. That's the law of the gang world. But with Murtha no longerto be shielded, perhaps he feels released. Besides, it must beginto look to him as though the organization had abandoned him andwas letting him shift pretty much for himself. "

"That's it, " agreed Carton. "He has never got it out of his headthat Kahn swung the case against him and I've been careful not todwell on the truth of that Kahn episode. "

Carton led us into his main office, where Rubano was seated withtwo of Carton's assistants who were quizzing him industriously andobtaining an amazing amount of information about gang life andpolitical corruption. In fact, like most criminals when they doconfess, Dopey Jack was in danger of confessing too much, in sheerpride at his own prowess as a bad man. 

Outside, I knew that it was being well noised abroad, in fact Ihad nodded to an old friend on the Star who had whispered to methat the editor had already called him up and offered to giveRubano any sum for a series of articles for the Sunday supplementon life in the underworld. I knew, then, that the organization hadheard of it, by this time--too late. 

Most of the confession was completed by the time we arrived, butas it had all been carefully taken down we knew we had missednothing. 

"You see, Mr. Carton, " Rubano was saying as we three entered andhe turned from the assistant who was quizzing him, "it's likethis. I can't tell you all about the System. No one can. Youunderstand that. All any of us know is the men next to us--aboveand below. We may have opinions, hear gossip, but that's no goodas evidence. "

"I understand, " reassured Carton. "I don't expect that. You musttell me the gossip and rumours, but all I am bartering a pardonfor is what you really know, and you've got to make good, or thedeal is off, see?"

He said it in a tone that Dopey Jack could understand and thegangster protested. "Well, Mr. Carton, haven't I made good?"

"You have so far, " grudgingly admitted Carton who was greedy foreverything down to the uttermost scrap that might lead to otherthings. "Now, who was the man above you, to whom you reported?"

"Mr. Murtha, of course, " replied Jack, surprised that anyoneshould ask so simple a question. 

"That's all right, " explained Carton. "I knew it, but I wanted youon record as saying it. And above Murtha?"

"Why, you know it is Dorgan, " replied Dopey, "only, as I say, Ican't prove that for you any better than you can. "

"He has already told about his associates and those he had workingunder him, " explained Carton, turning to us. "Now Langhorne--whatdo you know about him?"

"Know about Langhorne--the fellow that was--that I robbed?"repeated Jack. 

"You robbed?" cut in Kennedy. "So you knew about thermit, then?"

Dopey smiled with a sort of pride in his work, much as if he hadreceived a splendid recommendation. 

"Yes, " he replied. "I knew about it--got it from a peterman whohas studied safes and all that sort of thing. I heard he had somesecret, so one night I takes him up to Farrell's and gets himstewed and he tells me. Then when I wants to use it, bingo! thereI am with the goods. "

"And the girl--Betty Blackwell--what did she have to do with it?"pursued Craig. "Did you get into the office, learn Langhorne'shabits, and so on, from her?"

Dopey Jack looked at us in disgust. "Say, " he replied, "if Iwanted a skirt to help me in such a job, believe me I know plentythat could put it all over that girl. Naw, I did it all myself. Ipicked the lock, burnt the safe with that powder the guy give me, and took out something in soft leather, a lot of typewriting. "

We were all on our feet in unrestrained excitement. It was theBlack Book at last!

"Yes, " prompted Carton, "and what then--what did you do with it?"

"Gave it to Mr. Murtha, of course, " came back the matter-of-factanswer of the young tough. 

"What did he do with it?" demanded Carton. 

Dopey Jack shook his head dubiously. "It ain't no use trying tokid you, Mr. Carton. If I told you a fake you'd find it out. I'dtell you what he did, if I knew, but I don't--on the level. Hejust took it. Maybe he burnt it--I don't know. I did my work. "

Unprincipled as the young man was, I could not help the feelingthat in this case he was telling only the truth as he knew it. 

We looked at each other aghast. What if Murtha had got it and haddestroyed it before his death? That was an end of the dreams wehad built on its capture. On the other hand, if he had hidden itthere was small likelihood now of finding it. The only chance, asfar as I could see, was that he had passed it along to someoneelse. And of that Dopey Jack obviously knew nothing. 

Still, his information was quite valuable enough. He had given usthe first definite information we had received of it. 

Carton, his assistants, and Kennedy now vigorously proceeded in asort of kid glove third degree, without getting any further thanconvincing themselves that Rubano genuinely did not know. 

"But the stenographer, " reiterated Carton, returning to the lineof attack which he had temporarily abandoned. "Something became ofher. She disappeared and even her family haven't a trace of her, nor any other institutions in the city. We've got something onyou, there, Rubano. "

Jack laughed. "Mr. Carton, " he answered easily, "the police put methrough the mill on that without finding anything, and I don'tbelieve you have anything. But just to show you that I'm on thesquare with you, I don't mind telling you that I got her away. "

It was dramatic, the off-hand way in which the gangster told ofthis mystery that had perplexed us. 

"Got her away--how--where?" demanded Carton fiercely. 

"Mr Murtha gave me some money--a wad. I don't know who gave it tohim, but it wasn't his money. It was to pay her to stay away tillthis all blew over. Oh, they made it worth her while. So I dolledup and saw her--and she fell for it--a pretty good sized wad, " herepeated, as though he wished some of it had stuck to his ownhands. 

We fairly gasped at the ease and simplicity with which the fellowbandied facts that had been beyond our discovery for days. Herewas another link in our chain. We could not prove it, but in allprobability it was Dorgan who furnished the money. Even if theBlack Book were lost, it was possible that in the retentive memoryof this girl there might be much that would take its place. Shehad seen a chance for providing for the future of herself and herfamily. All she had to do was to take it and keep quiet. 

"You know where she is, then?" shot out Kennedy suddenly. 

"No--not now, " returned Dopey. "She was told to meet me at theLittle Montmartre. She did. I don't think she knew what kind ofplace it was, or she wouldn't have come. "

He paused, as though he had something on his mind. 

"Go on, " urged Kennedy. "Tell all. You must tell all. "

"I was just thinking, " he hesitated. "I remember I saw Ike theDropper and Marie Margot there that day, too, with Martin Ogleby--"

"Martin Ogleby!" interrupted Carton in surprise. 

"Yes, Martin Ogleby. He hangs about the Montmartre and theFuturist, all those joints. Say--I've been thinking a heap sincethis case of mine came up. I wonder whether it was all on thelevel--with me. I gave the money. But was that a stall? Perhapsthey tried to get back. Perhaps she played into their hands--I sawher watching the sports, there, and believe me, there are someswell lookers. Oh well, _I_ don't know. All I know is my part. Idon't know anything that happened after that. I can't tell what Idon't know, can I, Mr. Carton?"

"Not very well, " smiled the prosecutor. "But you can tell usanything you suspect. "

"I don't know what I suspect. I was only a part of the machine. Only after I read that she disappeared, I began to think theremight have been some funny business--I don't know. "

Eager as we were, we could only accept this unsatisfactoryexplanation of the whereabouts of Betty. 

"After all, I was only a part, " reiterated Jack. "You better askIke--that's all. "

Just then the telephone buzzed. Carton was busy and Kennedy, whohappened to be nearest, answered it. I fancied that there was apuzzled expression on his face, as he placed his hand over thetransmitter and said to Carton, "Here--it's for you. Take it. Bythe way, where's that thing I left down here for recordingvoices?"

"Here in my desk. But you took the cylinder with you. "

"Haven't you got another? Don't you ever use them for dictatingletters?"

Carton nodded and sent his stenographer to get a new one. 

"Just a minute, please, " cut in Kennedy. "Mr. Carton will be herein a few moments, now. "

Carton took the telephone and placed his hand over it, until, witha nod from Kennedy as he affixed the machine, he answered. 

"Yes--this is the District Attorney, " we heard him answer. "What?Rubano? Why you can't talk to him. He's a convicted man. Here? Howdo you know he's here? No--I wouldn't let you talk to him if hewas. Who are you, anyway? What's that--you threaten him--youthreaten me? You'll get us both, will you? Well, I want to tellyou, you can go plumb--the deuce! The fellow's cut himself off!"

As Carton finished, a peculiar smile played about Rubano'sfeatures. "I expected that, but not so soon, " he said quietly. "New York'll be no place for me, Mr. Carton, after this. You'vegot to keep your word and smuggle me out. South Africa, you know--you promised. "

"I'll keep my word, Rubano, too, " assured Carton. "The nerve ofthat fellow. Where's Kennedy?"

We looked about. Craig had slipped out quietly during thetelephone conversation. Before we could start a search for him, hereturned. 

"I thought there was something peculiar about the voice, " heexplained. "That was why I wanted a record of it. While you weretalking I got your switchboard operator to connect me with centralon another wire. The call was from a pay station on the west side. There wasn't a chance to get the fellow, of course--but I have thevoice record, anyhow. "

Dopey Jack's confession occupied most of the evening and it waslate when we got away. Carton was overjoyed at the result of hispressure, and eager to know, on the other hand, whether Kennedyhad made any progress yet with his study of the photographs. 

I could have told him beforehand, however, that Craig would saynothing and he did not. Besides, he had the added mystery of thenew phonograph cylinder to engross him, with the result that weparted from Carton, a little piqued at being left out of Craig'sconfidence, but helpless. 

As for me, I knew it was useless to trail after Kennedy and whenhe announced that he was going back to the laboratory, I balkedand, in spite of my interest in the case, went home to ourapartment to bed, while Kennedy made a night of it. 

What he discovered I knew no better in the morning than when Ileft him, except that he seemed highly elated. 

Leisurely he dressed, none the worse for his late work and afterdevouring the papers as if there were nothing else in the world soimportant, he waited until the middle of the morning before doinganything further. 

"I merely wanted to give Dorgan a chance to get to his office, " hesurprised me with, finally. "Come, Walter, I think he must bethere now. "

Amazed at his temerity in bearding Dorgan in his very den, I coulddo nothing but accompany him, though I much feared it was almostlike inviting homicide. 

The Boss's office was full of politicians, for it was nowapproaching "dough day, " when the purse strings of theorganization were loosed and a flood of potent argument pouredforth to turn the tide of election by the force of the only thingthat talks loud enough for some men to hear. Somehow, Kennedymanaged to see the Boss. 

"Mr. Dorgan, " began Kennedy quietly, when we were seated alone inthe little Sanctum of the Boss, "you will pardon me if I seem tobe a little slow in coming to the business that has brought mehere this morning. First of all I may say that you probably sharethe idea that ever since the days of Daguerre photography has beenregarded as the one infallible means of portraying faithfully anyobject, scene, or action. Indeed, a photograph is admitted incourt as irrefutable evidence. For, when everything else fails, apicture made through the photographic lens almost invariably turnsthe tide. However, such a picture upon which the fate of animportant case may rest should be subjected to criticalexamination, for it is an established fact that a photograph maybe made as untruthful as it may be reliable. "

He paused. Dorgan was regarding him keenly, but saying nothing. Kennedy did not mind, as he resumed. 

"Combination photographs change entirely the character of theinitial negative and have been made for the past fifty years. Theearliest, simplest, and most harmless photographic deception isthe printing of clouds in a bare sky. But the retoucher with hispencil and etching tool to-day is very skilful. A workman ofordinary ability can introduce a person taken in a studio into anopen-air scene well blended and in complete harmony without avisible trace of falsity. "

Dorgan was growing interested. 

"I need say nothing of how one head can be put on another body ina picture, " pursued Craig, "nor need I say what a double exposurewill do. There is almost no limit to the changes that may bewrought in form and feature. It is possible to represent a personcrossing Broadway or walking on Riverside Drive, places he maynever have visited. Thus a person charged with an offence may beable to prove an alibi by the aid of a skilfully preparedcombination photograph. 

"Where, then, " asked Kennedy, "can photography be considered asirrefutable evidence? The realism may convince all, except theexpert and the initiated after careful study. A shrewd judge willbe careful to insist that in every case the negative be submittedand examined for possible alterations by a clever manipulator. "

Kennedy bent his gaze on Dorgan. "Now, I do not accuse you, sir, of anything. But a photograph has come into my possession in whichMr. Carton is represented as standing in a group on a porch, withMr. Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and an unknown woman. The first three arein poses that show the utmost friendliness. I do not hesitate tosay that was originally a photograph of yourself, Mr. Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and a woman whom you know well. It is a pretty raw deal, afake in which Carton has been substituted by very excellentphotographic forgery. "

"A fake--huh!" repeated Dorgan, contemptuously. "How about thestory of them? There's no negative. You've got to show me that theoriginal print stolen from Carton, we'll say, is a fake. You can'tdo it. No, sir, those pictures were taken this summer. "

Kennedy quietly laid down the bundle of photographs copied fromthose alleged to have been stolen from Carton. He was pointing toa shadow of a gable on the house. 

"You see that shadow of the gable, Dorgan?" he asked. "Perhaps younever heard of it, but it is possible to tell the exact time atwhich a photograph was taken from a study of the shadows. It ispossible in theory and practice, and it can be trusted absolutely. Almost any scientist, Dorgan, may be called in to bear testimonyin court nowadays, but you probably think the astronomer is one ofthe least likely. 

"Well, the shadow in this picture can be made to prove an alibifor someone. Notice. It is seen prominently to the right, and itsexact location on the house is an easy matter. The identificationof the gable casting the shadow ought to be easy. To be exact, Ihave figured it out as 19. 62 feet high. The shadow is 14. 23 feetdown, 13. 10 feet east, and 3. 43 feet north. You see, I am exact. Ihave to be. In one minute it moves 0. 080 feet upward, 0. 053 feetto the right, and 0. 096 feet in its apparent path. It passes thewidth of a weatherboard, 0. 37 foot, in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. "

Kennedy was talking rapidly of data which he had derived from thestudy of the photograph as from plumb line, level, compass, andtape, astronomical triangle, vertices, zenith, pole, and sun, declination, azimuth, solar time, parallactic angles, refraction, and a dozen other bewildering terms. 

"In spherical trigonometry, " he concluded, "to solve the problemthree elements must be known. I know four. Therefore, I can takeeach of the known, treat it as unknown, and have four ways tocheck my result. I find that the time might have been either threeo'clock, twenty-one minutes and twelve seconds in the afternoon, or 3:21:31 or 3:21:29, or 3:21:33. The average is 3: 21:26 andthere can be no appreciable error except for a few seconds. I tellyou that to show you how close I can come. The important thing, however, is that the date must have been one of two days, eitherMay 22 or July 22. Between these two dates we must decide onevidence other than the shadow. It must have been in May, as theimmature condition of the foliage shows. But even if it had beenin July, that would be far from the date you allege. Why, I couldeven tell you the year. Then, too, I could look up the weatherrecords and tell something from them. I can really answer, with anassurance and accuracy superior to the photographer himself, ifyou could produce him and he were honest, as to the real date. Theoriginal picture, aside from being doctored, was actually takenlast May. Science is not fallible, but exact in this matter. "

Kennedy felt that he had scored a palpable hit. Dorgan wasspeechless. Still, Craig hurried on. 

"But, you may ask, how about the automobile picture? That also isan unblushing fake. Of course I must prove that. In the firstplace you know that the general public has come to recognize thedistortion of a photograph as denoting speed. A picture of a carin a race that doesn't lean is rejected. People demand to seespeed, speed, more speed, even in pictures. Distortion does indeedshow speed, but that, too, can be faked. 

"Almost everyone knows that the image is projected upside down bythe lens on the plate, and that the bottom of the picture is takenbefore the top. The camera mechanism admits light, which makes thepicture, in the manner of a roller blind curtain. The slit travelsfrom the top to the bottom and, the image on the plate beingprojected upside down, the bottom of the object appears on the topof the plate. For instance, the wheels are taken before the headof the driver. If the car is moving quickly, the image moves onthe plate and each successive part is taken a little in advance ofthe last. The whole leans forward. By widening the slit andslowing the speed of the shutter, there is more distortion. 

"Now, that is just what has been done. A picture has been taken ofa car owned once by Murtha, probably at rest, with perhapsyourself, Murtha, Mrs. Ogleby, and your friend in it. The matterof faking Carton or anyone else is simple. If, with an enlarginglantern, the image of this faked picture is thrown on the printingpaper like a lantern slide, and if the right-hand side is moved alittle further away than the left, the top further away than thebottom, you can in that way print a fraudulent high-speed pictureahead. 

"True, everything else in the picture, even if motionless, isdistorted, and the difference between this faking and thedistortion of the shutter can be seen by an expert. But it willpass with most people. In this case, however, " added Kennedysuddenly, "the faker was so sure of it that he was careless. Instead of getting the plate further from the paper on the right, he did so on the left. It was further away on the bottom than onthe top. He got the distortion, all right, enough to satisfyanyone. But it is distortion in the wrong direction! The top ofthe wheel, which goes fastest and ought to be most indistinct, is, in the fake, as sharp as any other part. It is a small mistakethat was made, but fatal. Your picture is not of a joy ride atall. It is really high speed--backwards! It is too raw, too raw. "

"You don't think people are going to swallow all that stuff, doyou?" asked Dorgan coolly, in spite of the exposures. "What of itall?" he asked surlily. "I have nothing to do with it, anyhow. Whydo you come to me? Take it to the proper authorities. "

"Shall I?" asked Kennedy quietly, leaning over and whispering afew words in Dorgan's ear. I could not hear what he said, butDorgan appeared to be fairly staggered. 

When Kennedy passed out of the Boss's office there was a look ofquiet satisfaction on his face which I could not fathom. Not aword could I extract from him on the subject, either. I was stillin the dark as to the result of his visit. 

XXIV

THE DEBACLE OF DORGAN

Sunday morning came and with it the huge batch of papers which wealways took. I looked at them eagerly, though Kennedy did not seemto evince much interest, to see whether the Carton photographs hadbeen used. There were none. 

Kennedy employed the time in directing some work of his own andhad disappeared, I knew not where, though I surmised it was on oneof his periodic excursions into the underworld in which he oftenknocked about, collecting all sorts of valuable and interestingbits of information to fit together in the mosaic of a case. 

Monday came, also, the last day before the election, with its lullin the heart-breaking activities of the campaign. There were stillno pictures published, but Kennedy was working in the laboratoryover a peculiar piece of apparatus. 

"I've been helping out my own shadows, " was all the explanation hevouchsafed of his disappearances, as he continued to work. 

"Watching Mrs. Ogleby?" I hinted. 

"No, I didn't interfere any more with Miss Kendall. This wassomeone else--in another part of the city. "

He said it with an air that seemed to imply that I would learn allabout it shortly and I did not pursue the subject. 

Meanwhile, he was arranging something on the top of a large, flattable. It seemed to be an instrument in two parts, composed ofmany levers and discs and magnets, each part with a roll of paperabout five inches wide. 

On one was a sort of stylus with two silk cords attached at rightangles to each other near the point. On the other was a capillaryglass tube at the junction of two aluminum arms, also at rightangles to each other. 

It was quite like old times to see Kennedy at work in hislaboratory again, and I watched him curiously. Two sets of wireswere attached to each of the instruments, and they lead out of thewindow to some other wires which had been strung by telephonelinemen only a few hours before. 

Craig had scarcely completed his preparations when Carton arrived. Things were going all right in the campaign again, I knew, atleast as far as appeared on the surface. But his face showed thatCarton was clearly dissatisfied with what Craig had apparentlyaccomplished, for, as yet, he had not told Carton about hisdiscovery after studying the photographs, and matters betweenCarton and Margaret Ashton stood in the same strained conditionthat they had when last we saw her. 

I must say that I, too, was keenly disappointed by the lack ofdevelopments in this phase of the case. Aside from the fact thatthe photographs had not actually been published, the whole thingseemed to me to be a mess. What had Craig said to Dorgan? Aboveall, what was his game? Was he playing to spare the girl'sfeelings merely by allowing the election to go on without ascandal to Carton? I knew the result of the election was now theleast of Carton's worries. 

Carton did not say much, but he showed that he thought it hightime for Kennedy to do something. 

We were seated about the flat table, wondering when Kennedy wouldbreak his silence, when suddenly, as if by a spirit hand, thestylus before us began to move across one of the rolls of paper. 

We watched it uncomprehendingly. 

At last I saw that it was actually writing the words. "How is itworking?"

Quickly Craig seized the stylus on the lower part of theinstrument and wrote in his characteristic scrawl, "All right, goahead. "

"What is the thing?" asked Carton, momentarily forgetting his ownworries at the new marvel before us. 

"An instrument that was invented many years ago, but has onlyrecently been perfected for practical, every-day use, thetelautograph, the long-distance writer, " replied Kennedy, as wewaited. "You see, with what amounts to an ordinary pencil I havewritten on the paper of the transmitter. The silk cord attached tothe pencil regulates the current which controls another capillaryglass tube-pen at the other end of the line. The receiving penmoves simultaneously with my stylus. It is the same principle asthe pantagraph, cut in half as it were, one half here, the otherhalf at the other end of the line, two telephone wires in thiscase connecting the halves. Ah, --that's it. The pencil of thereceiving instrument is writing again. Just a moment. Let us seewhat it is. "

I almost gasped in astonishment at the words that I saw. I lookedagain, for I could not believe my eyes. Still, there it was. Myfirst glance had been correct, impossible as it was. 

"I, Patrick Murtha, " wrote the pen. 

"What is it?" asked Carton, awestruck. "A dead hand?"

"Stop a minute, " wrote Kennedy hastily. 

We bent over him closely. Craig had drawn from a packet severalletters, which he had evidently secured in some way from theeffects of Murtha. Carefully, minutely, he compared the wordsbefore us with the signatures at the bottom of the letters. 

"It is genuine!" he cried excitedly. 

"Genuine!" Carton and I echoed. 

What did he mean? Was this some kind of spiritism? Had Kennedyturned medium and sought a message from the other world to solvethe inexplicable problems of this? It was weird, uncanny, unthinkable. We turned to him blankly for an explanation of themystery. 

"That wasn't Murtha at all whose body we saw at the Morgue, " hehurried to explain. "That was all a frame-up. I thought as soon asI saw it that there was something queer. "

I recalled now the peculiar look on his face which I hadinterpreted as indicating that he thought Murtha had been thevictim of foul play. 

"And the other night, when we were in Carton's office and someonecalled up threatening you, Carton, and Dopey Jack, I saw at oncethat the voice was concealed. Yet there was something about itthat was familiar, though I couldn't quite place it. I had heardthat voice before, perhaps while we were getting the records todiscover the 'wolf. ' It occurred to me that if I had a record ofit I might identify it by comparing it with those we had alreadytaken. I got the record. I studied it. I compared it with what Ialready had, line, and wave, and overtone. You can imagine how Ifelt when I found there was only one voice with which itcorresponded, and that man was supposed to be dead. Something morethan intuition as I looked at the body that night had roused mysuspicions. Now they were confirmed. Fancy how that informationmust have burned in my mind, during these days while I knew thatMurtha was alive, but could say nothing!"

Neither Carton nor I could say a word as we thought of this voicefrom the dead, as it almost seemed. 

"I hadn't found him, " continued Craig, "but I knew he had used apay station on the West Side. I began shadowing everyone who mighthave helped him, Dorgan, Kahn, Langhorne, all. I didn't find him. They were too clever. He was hiding somewhere in the city, achanged personality, waiting for the thing to blow over. He knewthat of all places a city is the best to hide in, and of allcities New York is safest. 

"But, though I didn't actually find his hiding place, I had enoughon some of his friends so that I could get word to him that hissecret was known to me, at least. I made him an offer of safety. He need not come out of his hiding place and I would agree to lethim go where and when he pleased without further pursuit from me, if he would let me install a telautograph in a neutral place whichhe could select and the other end in this laboratory. I myself donot know where the other place is. Only a mechanic sworn tosecrecy knows and neither Murtha nor myself know him. If Murthacomes across, I have given my word of honour that before the worldhe shall remain a dead man, free to go where he pleases and enjoysuch of his fortune as he was able to fix so that he could carryit with him into his new life. "

Carton and I were entranced by the romance of the thing. 

Murtha was alive!

The commitment to the asylum, the escape, the search, the findingof a substitute body, mutilated beyond ordinary recognition, themysterious transfers, and finally the identification in theMorgue--all had been part of an elaborately staged play!

We saw it all, now. Carton had got too close to him in theconviction of Dopey Jack and the proceedings against Kahn. He hadseen the handwriting on the wall for himself. In Carton's gradualclimbing, step by step, for the man higher up, he would have beenthe next to go. 

Murtha had decided that it was time to get out, to save himself. 

Suddenly, I saw another aspect of it. By dropping out as thoughdead, he destroyed a link in the chain that would reach Dorgan. There was no way of repairing that link if he were dead. It wasmissing and missing for good. 

Dorgan had known it. Had it been a hint as to that which hadfinally clinched whatever it was that Kennedy had whispered to theSilent Boss that morning when we had seen him in his office?

All these thoughts and more flashed through my head withlightning-like rapidity. 

The telautograph was writing again, obedient to Kennedy's signalthat he was satisfied with the signature. 

". .. In consideration of Craig Kennedy's agreement to destroy eventhis record, agree to give him such information as he has askedfor, after which no further demands are to be made and the factsas already publicly recorded are to stand. "

"Just witness it, " asked Kennedy of us. "It is a gentleman'sagreement among us all. "

Nervously we set our names to the thing, only too eager to keepthe secret if we could further the case on which we had beenalmost literally sweating blood so long. 

Prepared though we were for some startling disclosures, it was, nevertheless, with a feeling almost of faintness that we saw thestylus above moving again. 

"The Black Book, as you call it, " it wrote, "has been sent bymessenger to be deposited in escrow with the Gotham Trust Companyto be delivered, Tuesday, the third of November, on the writtenorder of Craig Kennedy and John Carton. An officer of the trustcompany will notify you of its receipt immediately, which willclose the entire transaction as far as I am concerned. "

Kennedy could not wait. He had already seized his own telephoneand was calling a number. 

"They have it, " he announced a moment later, scrawling theinformation on the transmitter of the telautograph. 

A moment it was still, then it wrote again. 

"Good-bye and good luck, " it traced. "Murtha!"

The Smiling Boss could not resist his little joke at the end, evennow. 

"Can--we--get it?" asked Carton, almost stunned at the unexpectedturn of events. 

"No, " cautioned Kennedy, "not yet. To-morrow. I made the samepromise to Murtha that I made to Dorgan, when I went to him withWalter, although Walter did not hear it. This is to be a fairfight, for the election, now. "

"Then, " said Carton earnestly, "I may as well tell you that Ishall not sleep to-night. I can't, even if I can use the book onlyafter election in the clean-up of the city!"

Kennedy laughed. 

"Perhaps I can entertain you with some other things, " he saidgleefully, adding, "About those photographs. "

Carton was as good as his word. He did not sleep, and the greaterpart of the night we spent in telling him about what Craig haddiscovered by his scientific analysis of the faked pictures. 

At last morning came. Though Kennedy and I had slept soundly inour apartment, Carton had in reality only dozed in a chair, afterwe closed the laboratory. 

Slowly the hours slipped away until the trust company opened. 

We were the first to be admitted, with our order ready signed andpersonally delivered. 

As the officer handed over the package, Craig tore the wrapper offeagerly. 

There, at last, was the Black Book!

Carton almost seized it from Kennedy, turning the pages, skimmingover it, gloating like a veritable miser. 

It was the debacle of Dorgan--the end of the man highest up!

XXV

THE BLOOD CRYSTALS

Much as we had accomplished, we had not found Betty Blackwell. Except for her shadowing of Mrs. Ogleby, Clare Kendall had devotedher time to winning the confidence of the poor girl, SybilSeymour, whom we had rescued from Margot's. Meanwhile, theestrangement of Carton and Margaret Ashton threw a cloud over evenour success. 

During the rest of the morning Craig was at work again in thelaboratory. He was busily engaged in testing something through hispowerful microscopes and had a large number of curiousmicrophotographs spread out on the table. As I watched him, apparently there was nothing but the blood-stained gauze bandagewhich had been fastened to the face of the strange, light-hairedwoman, and on the stains on this bandage he was concentrating hisattention. I could not imagine what he expected to discover fromit. 

I waited for Kennedy to speak, but he was too busy more than tonotice that I had come in. I fell to thinking of that woman. Andthe more I thought of the fair face, the more I was puzzled by it. I felt somehow or other that I had seen it somewhere before, yetcould not place it. 

A second time I examined the unpublished photograph of BettyBlackwell as well as the pictures that had been published. Theonly conclusion that I could come to was that it could not be she, for although she was light-haired and of fair complexion, the faceas I remembered it was that of a mature woman who was much largerthan the slight Betty. I was sure of that. 

Every time I reasoned it out I came to the same contradictoryconclusion that I had seen her, and I hadn't. I gave it up, and asKennedy seemed indisposed to enlighten me, I went for a strollabout the campus, returning as if drawn back to him by alodestone. 

About him was still the litter of test tubes, the photographs, themicroscopes; and he was more absorbed in his delicate work thanever. 

He looked up from his examination of a little glass slide and Icould see by the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes that hewas not looking so much at me as through me at a very puzzlingproblem. 

"Walter, " he remarked at length, "did you notice anything inparticular about that blonde woman who dashed down the steps intothe taxicab and escaped from the dope joint?"

"I should say that I did, " I returned, glad to ease my mind ofwhat had been perplexing me ever since. "I don't want to appear tobe foolish, but, frankly, I thought I had seen her before, andthen when I tried to place her I found that I could not recognizeher at all. She seemed to be familiar, and yet when I tried toplace her I could think of no one with just those features. It wasa foolish impression, I suppose. "

"That's exactly it, " he exclaimed. "I thought at first it was justa foolish impression, too, an intuition which my later judgmentrejected. But often those first impressions put you on the trackof the truth. I reconsidered. You remember she had dropped thatbandage from her face with the blood-stain on it. I picked it upand it occurred to me to try a little experiment with these blood-stains which might show something. "

He paused a moment and fingered some of the microphotographs. 

"What would you say, " he went on, "if I should tell you that apronounced blonde, with a fair complexion and thin, almost hooked, nose, was in reality a negress?"

"If it were anyone but you, Craig, " I replied frankly, "I'd betempted to call him something. But you--well, what's the answer?How do you know?"

"I wonder if you have ever heard of the Reichert blood test? Well, the Carnegie Institution has recently published an account of it. Professor Edward Reichert of the University of Pennsylvania hasdiscovered that the blood crystals of all animals and men showcharacteristic differences. 

"It has even been suggested that before the studies are overphotographs of blood corpuscles may be used to identify criminals, almost like fingerprints. There is much that can be discoveredalready by the use of these hemoglobin clues. That hemoglobin, orred colouring matter of the blood, forms crystals has been knownfor a long time. These crystals vary in different animals, as theyare studied under the polarizing microscope, both in form andmolecular structure. That is of immense importance for thescientific criminologist. 

"A man's blood is not like the blood of any other living creature, either fish, flesh, or fowl. Further, it is said that the blood ofa woman or a man and of different individuals shows differencesthat will reveal themselves under certain tests. You can takeblood from any number of animals and the scientists to-day cantell that it is not human blood, but the blood, say, of an animal. 

"The scientists now can go further. They even hope soon to be ableto tell the difference between individuals so closely that theycan trace parentage by these tests. Already they can actuallydistinguish among the races of men, whether a certain sample ofblood, by its crystals, is from a Chinaman, a Caucasian, or anegro. Each gives its own characteristic crystal. The Caucasianshows that he is more closely related to one group of primates;the negro to another. It is scientific proof of evolution. 

"It is all the more wonderful, Walter, when you consider thatthese crystals are only 1-2250th of an inch in length and 1-9000thof an inch in width. "

"How do you study them?" I asked. 

"The method I employed was to take a little of the blood and addsome oxalate of ammonium to it, then shake it up thoroughly withether to free the hemoglobin from the corpuscles. I then separatedthe ether carefully from the rest of the blood mixture and put afew drops of it on a slide, covered them with a cover slip andsealed the edges with balsam. Gradually the crystals appear andthey can be studied and photographed in the usual way--not onlythe shapes of the crystals, but also the relation that theirangles bear to each other. So it is impossible to mistake theblood of one animal for another or of one race, like the whiterace, for that of another, like the black. In fact the physicalcharacteristics by which some physicians profess to detect thepresence of negro blood are held by other authorities to bevalueless. But not so with this test. "

"And you have discovered in this case?" I asked. 

"That the blood on the bandage from the face of that woman whoescaped was not the blood of a pure Caucasian. She shows traces ofnegro blood, in fact exactly what would have been expected of amulatto. "

It dawned on me that the woman must have been Marie, after all; atleast that that was what he meant. 

"But, " I objected, "one look at her face was enough to show thatshe was not the dark-skinned Marie with her straight nose, herdark hair and other features. This woman was fair, had a nose thatwas almost hooked and hair that was almost flaxen. Remember theportrait parle. "

"Just so--the portrait parle. That is what I am remembering. Yourecall Carton discovered that in some way these people found outthat we were using it? What would they do? Why, they have thoughtout the only possible way in which to beat it, don't you see?

"Marie, Madame Margot, whatever you call her, had a beautyparlour. Oh, they are clever, these people. They reasoned it allout. What was a beauty parlour, a cosmetic surgery, for, if itcould not be used to save them? They knew we had her scientificdescription. What was the thing to do, then? Why, change it, ofcourse, change her!"

Kennedy was quite excited now. 

"You know what Miss Kendall said of decorative surgery, there?They change noses, ears, foreheads, chins, even eyes. They put thething up to Dr. Harris with his knives and bandages and lotions. He must work quickly. It would take all his time. So hedisappeared into Margot's and stayed there. Marie also stayedthere until such time as she might be able to walk out, anotherperson entirely. Harris must have had charge of her features. Theattendants in Margot's had charge of her complexion and hair--those were the things in which they specialized. 

"Don't you see it all now? She could retire a few days into thedope joint next door and she would emerge literally a new womanready to face us, even with Bertillon's portrait parle againsther. "

It was amazing how quickly Kennedy pieced the facts together intoan explanation. 

"Yes, " he concluded triumphantly, "that blonde woman was our dark-skinned mulatto made over--Marie. But they can't escape the powerof science, even by using science themselves. She might change heridentity to our eyes, but she could not before the Reichert testand the microscope. No, the Ethiopian could not change her skinbefore the eye of science. "

It was late in the afternoon that Kennedy received a hurriedtelephone call from Miss Kendall. I could tell by the scraps ofconversation which I overheard that it was most important. 

"That girl, Sybil Seymour, has broken down, " was all he said as heturned from the instrument. "She will he here to-day with MissKendall. You must see Carton immediately. Tell him not to fail tobe here, at the laboratory, this afternoon at three, sharp. "

He was gone before I could question him further and there wasnothing for me to do but to execute the commission he had laid onme. 

I met Carton at his club, relating to him all that I could aboutthe progress of the case. He seemed interested but I could seethat his mind was really not on it. The estrangement between himand Margaret Ashton outweighed success in this case and even inthe election. 

Half an hour before the appointed time, however, we arrived at thelaboratory in Carton's car, to find Kennedy already there, puttingthe finishing touches on the preparations he was making to receivehis "guests. "

"Dorgan will be here, " he answered, evading Carton's question asto what he had discovered. 

"Dorgan?" we repeated in surprise. 

"Yes. I have made arrangements to have Martin Ogleby, too. Theywon't dare stay away. Ike the Dropper, Dr. Harris, and MarieMargot have not been found yet, but Miss Kendall will bring SybilSeymour. Then we shall see. "

The door opened. It was Ogleby. He bowed stiffly, but before hecould say anything, a noise outside heralded the arrival ofsomeone else. 

It proved to be Dorgan, who had come from an opposite direction. Dorgan seemed to treat the whole affair with contempt, which hetook pleasure in showing. He was cool and calm, master of himself, in any situation no matter how hostile. 

As we waited, the strained silence, broken only by an occasionalwhisper between Carton and Kennedy, was relieved even by thearrival of Miss Kendall and Sybil Seymour in a cab. As theyentered I fancied that a friendship had sprung up between the two, that Miss Kendall had won her fight for the girl. Indeed, Isuspect that it was the first time in years that the girl had hada really disinterested friend of either sex. 

I thought Ogleby visibly winced as he caught sight of MissSeymour. He evidently had not expected her, and I thought thatperhaps he had no relish for the recollection of the Montmartrewhich her presence suggested. 

Miss Seymour, now like herself as she had appeared first behindthe desk at the hotel, only subdued and serious, seemed ill atease. Dorgan, on the other hand, bowed to her brazenly andmockingly. He was evidently preparing against any surprises whichCraig might have in store, and maintained his usual surly silence. 

"Perhaps, " hemmed Ogleby, clearing his throat and looking at hiswatch ostentatiously, "Professor Kennedy can inform us regardingthe purpose of this extra-legal proceeding? Some of us, I know, have other engagements. I would suggest that you begin, Professor. "

He placed a sarcastic emphasis on the word "professor, " as the twomen faced each other--Craig tall, clean-cut, earnest; Oglebypolished, smooth, keen. 

"Very well, " replied Craig with that steel-trap snap of his jawswhich I knew boded ill for someone. 

"It is not necessary for me to repeat what has happened at theMontmartre and the beauty parlour adjoining it, " began Kennedydeliberately. "One thing, however, I want to say. Twice, now, Ihave seen Dr. Harris handing out packets of drugs--once to Ike theDropper, agent for the police and a corrupt politician, and onceto a mulatto woman, almost white, who conducted the beauty parlourand dope joint which I have mentioned, a friend and associate ofIke the Dropper, a constant go-between from Ike to the corruptperson higher up. 

"This woman, whom I have just mentioned, we have been seeking byuse of Bertillon's new system of the portrait parle. She hasescaped, for the time, by a very clever ruse, by changing her veryface in the beauty parlour. She is Madame Margot herself!"

Not a word was breathed by any of the little audience as they hungon Kennedy's words. 

"Why was it necessary to get Betty Blackwell out of the way?" heasked suddenly, then without waiting for an answer, "You know andDistrict Attorney Carton knows. Someone was afraid of Carton andhis crusade. Someone wanted to destroy the value of that BlackBook, which I now have. The only safety lay in removing the personwhose evidence would be required in court to establish it--BettyBlackwell. And the manner? What more natural than to use the dopefiends and the degenerates of the Montmartre gang?"

"That's silly, " interrupted Ogleby contemptuously. 

"Silly? You can say that--you, the tool of that--that monster?"

It was a woman's voice that interrupted. I turned. Sybil Seymour, her face blazing with resentment, had risen and was facing Oglebysquarely. 

"You lie!" exclaimed the Silent Boss, forgetting both his silenceand his superciliousness. 

The situation was tense as the girl faced him. 

"Go on, Sybil, " urged Clare. 

"Be careful, woman, " cried Dorgan roughly. 

Sybil Seymour turned quickly to her new assailant. "You are theman for whom we were all coined into dollars, " she scorned, "Dorgan--politician, man higher up! You reaped the profits throughyour dirty agent, Ike the Dropper, and those over him, even thepolice you controlled. Dr. Harris, Marie Margot, all are yourtools--and the worst of them all is this man Martin Ogleby!"

Dorgan's face was livid. For once in his life he was speechlessrather than silent, as the girl poured out the inside gossip ofthe Montmartre which Kennedy had now stamped with the earmarks oflegal proof. 

She had turned from Dorgan, as if from an unclean animal and wasnow facing Ogleby. 

"As for you, Martin Ogleby, they call you a club-man and societyleader. Do you want to know what club I think you really belongto--you who have involved one girl after another in the meshes ofthis devilish System? You belong to the Abduction Club--that iswhat I would call it--you--you libertine!"

XXVI

THE WHITE SLAVE

Carton had sprung to his feet at the direct charge and was facingOgleby. 

"Is that true--about the Montmartre?" he demanded. 

Ogleby fairly sputtered. "She lies, " he almost hissed. 

"Just a moment, " interrupted Dorgan. "What has that to do withMiss Blackwell, anyhow?"

Sybil Seymour did not pause. 

"It is true, " she reiterated. "This is what it has to do withBetty Blackwell. Listen. He is the man who led me on, who wouldhave done the same to Betty Blackwell. I yielded, but she fought. They could not conquer her--neither by drugs nor drink, nor byclothes, nor a good time, nor force. I saw it all in theMontmartre and the beauty parlour--all. "

"Lies--all lies, " hissed Ogleby, beside himself with anger. 

"No, no, " cried Sybil. "I do not lie. Mr. Carton and this goodwoman, Miss Kendall, who is working for him, are the first peopleI have seen since you, Martin Ogleby, brought me to theMontmartre, who have ever given me a chance to become again what Iwas before you and your friends got me. "

"Have a care, young woman, " interrupted Dorgan, recovering himselfas she proceeded. "There are laws and--"

"I don't care a rap about laws such as yours. As for gangs--thatwas what you were going to say--I'd snap my fingers in the face ofIke the Dropper himself if he were here. You could kill me, but Iwould tell the truth. 

"Let me tell you my case, " she continued, turning in appeal to therest of us, "the case of a poor girl in a small city near NewYork, who liked a good time, liked pretty clothes, a ride in anautomobile, theatres, excitement, bright lights, night life. Iliked them. He knew that. He led me on, made me like him. And whenI began to show the strain of the pace--we all show it more thanthe men--he cast me aside, like a squeezed-out lemon. "

Sybil Seymour was talking rapidly, but she was not hysterical. 

"Already you know Betty Blackwell's story--part of it, " shehurried on. "Miss Kendall has told me--how she was bribed todisappear. But beyond that--what?"

For a moment she paused. No one said a word. Here at last was theone person who held the key to the mystery. 

"She did disappear. She kept her word. At last she had money, theone thing she had longed for. At last she was able to gratifythose desires to play the fashionable lady which her family hadalways felt. What more natural, then, than while she must keep inhiding to make one visit to the beauty parlour to which so manysociety women went--Margot's? It was there that she went on theday that she disappeared. "

We were hanging breathlessly now on the words of the girl as sheuntangled the sordid story. 

"And then?" prompted Kennedy. 

"Then came into play another arm of the System, " she replied. "They tried to make sure that she would disappear. They tried thesame arts on her that they had on me--this man and the gang abouthim. He played on her love of beauty and Madame Margot helped him. He used the Montmartre and the Futurist to fascinate her, butstill she was not his. She let herself drift along, perhapsbecause she knew that her family was every bit the equal sociallyof his own. Madame Margot tried drugs; first the doped cigarette, then drugs that had to be forced on her. She kept her in thatjoint for days by force; and there where I went for relief dayafter day from my own bitter thoughts I saw her, in that hellwhich Miss Kendall now by her evidence will close forever. Stillshe would not yield. 

"I saw it all. Maybe you will say I was jealous because I had losthim. I was not. I hated him. You do not know how close hate can beto love in the heart of a woman. I could not help it. I had towrite a letter that might save her. 

"Miss Kendall has told me about the typewritten letters; how you, Professor Kennedy, traced them to the Montmartre. I wrote them, Iadmit, for these people. I wrote that stuff about drugs for Dr. Harris. And I wrote the first letter of all to the DistrictAttorney. I wrote it for myself and signed it as I am--God forgiveme--'An Outcast. '"

The poor girl, overwrought by the strain of the confession thatlaid bare her very soul, sank back in her chair and cried, as MissKendall gently tried to soothe her. 

Dorgan and Ogleby listened sullenly. Never in their lives had theydreamed of such a situation as this. 

There was no air of triumph about Kennedy now over the confession, which with the aid of Miss Kendall, he had staged so effectively. Rather it was a spirit of earnestness, of retribution, justice. 

"You know all this?" he inquired gently of the girl. 

"I saw it, " she said simply, raising her bowed head. 

Dorgan had been doing some quick thinking. He leaned over andwhispered quickly to Ogleby. 

"Why was she not discovered then when these detectives broke intothe private house--an act which they themselves will have toanswer for when the time comes?" demanded Ogleby. 

It seemed as if the mere sound of his voice roused the girl. 

"Because it was dangerous to keep her there any longer, " shereplied. "I heard the talk about the hotel, the rumour thatsomeone was using this new French detective scheme. I heard themblame the District Attorney--who was clever enough to have othersworking on the case whom you did not know. While you were watchinghis officers, Mr. Kennedy and Miss Kendall were gathering evidencealmost under your very eyes. 

"But you were panic-stricken. You and your agents wanted to removethe danger of discovery. Dr. Harris and Marie Margot had a planwhich you grasped at eagerly. There was Ike the Dropper, thatscoundrel who lives on women. Between them you would spirit heraway. You were glad to have them do it, little realizing that, with every step, they had you involved deeper and worse. Youforgot everything, all honour and manhood in your panic; you wereready to consent, to urge any course that would relieve you--andyou have taken the course that involves you worse than any other. "

"Who will believe a story like that?" demanded Ogleby. "What areyou--according to your own confession? Am I to be charged witheverything this gang, as you call it, does? You are their agent, perhaps working for this blackmailing crew. But I tell you, I willfight, I will not be blackened by--"

Sybil laughed, half hysterically. 

"Blackened?" she repeated. "You who would put this thing all offon others who worked for you, who played on your vices andpassions, not because you were weak, but because you thought youwere above the law!

"You did not care what became of that girl, so long as she waswhere she could not accuse you. You left her to that gang, to Ike, to Marie, to Harris. " She paused a moment, and flashed a quickglance of scorn at him. "Do you want to know what has become ofher, what you are responsible for?

"I will tell you. They had other ideas than just getting her outof the way of your selfish career. They are in this life formoney. Betty Blackwell to them was a marketable article, a pieceof merchandise in the terrible traffic which they carry on. If shehad been yielding, like the rest of us, she might now beapparently free, yet held by a bondage as powerful and unescapableas if it were of iron, a life from which she could not escape. Butshe was not yielding. They would break her. Perhaps you have triedto ease your conscience, if you have any, by the thought that itis they, not you, who have her hidden away somewhere now. Youcannot escape that way; it was you who made her, who made othersof us, what we are. "

"Let her rave, Ogleby, " sneered Dorgan. 

"Yes--raving, that's it, " echoed Ogleby. But his expression beliedhim. 

"There it is, " she continued. "You have not even an opinion ofyour own. You repeat even the remarks of others. They have you intheir power. You have put yourself there. "

"All very pretty, " remarked Dorgan with biting sarcasm. "All verycleverly thought out. So nice here! Wait until you have to tellthat story in court. You know the first rule of equity? Do you gointo court with clean hands? There is a day of reckoning coming toyou, young woman, and to these other meddlers here--whether theyare playing politics or meddling just because they are old-maidishbusy-bodies. "

She was facing the politician with burning cheeks. 

"You, " she scorned, "belong to an age that is passing away. Youcannot understand these people like Miss Kendall, like Mr. Carton, who cannot be bought and controlled like your other creatures. Youdo not know how the underworld can turn on the upperworld. Youwould not pull us up--you shoved us down deeper, in your greed. But if we go down, we shall drag you, too. What have we to lose?You and your creatures, like Martin Ogleby, have taken everythingfrom us. We--"

"Come, Ogleby, " interposed Dorgan, deliberately turning his backon her and slowly placing his hat on his half-bald head. "We areindebted to Professor Kennedy for a pleasant entertainment. Whenhe has another show equally original we trust he will not forgetthe first-nighters who have enjoyed this farce. "

Dorgan had reached the door and had his hand on the knob. I hadexpected Kennedy to reply. But he said nothing. Instead his handstole along the edge of the table beside which he was standing. 

"Good-night, " bowed Dorgan with mock solemnity. "Thank you forlaying the cards on the table. We shall know how to play--"

Dorgan cut the words short. 

Kennedy had touched the button of an electric attachment which wasunder the table by which he could lock every door and window ofthe laboratory instantly and silently. 

"Well?" demanded Dorgan fiercely, though there was a tremble inhis voice that had never been heard before. 

"Where is Betty Blackwell?" demanded Craig, turning to SybilSeymour. "Where did they take her?"

We hung breathlessly on the answer. Was she being held as a whiteslave in some obscure den? I knew that that did not mean that shewas necessarily imprisoned behind locked doors and barred windows, although even that might be the case. I knew that the restraintmight be just as effective, even though it was not actually orwholly physical. 

An ordinary girl, I reasoned, with little knowledge of her rightsor of the powers which she might call to her aid if she knew howto summon them, might she not be so hemmed in by the forces intowhose hands she had fallen as to be practically held in bondswhich she could not break?

Here was Sybil herself! Once she had been like Betty Blackwell. Indeed, when she seemed to have every chance to escape she didnot. She knew how she could be pursued, hounded at every turn, forced back, and her only course was to sink deeper into the life. The thought of what might be accomplished by drugs startled me. 

Clare bent over the poor girl reassuringly. What was it thatseemed to freeze her tongue now? Was it still some vestige of theold fear under which she had been held so long? Clare strove, although we could not hear what she was saying, to calm her. 

At last Sybil raised her head, with a wild cry, as if she weresealing her own doom. 

"It was Ike. He kept us all in terror. Oh, if he hears he willkill me, " she blurted out. 

"Where did he take her?" asked Clare. 

She had broken down the girl's last fear. 

"To that place on the West Side--that black and tan joint, whereMarie Margot came from before the gang took her in. "

"Carton, " called Kennedy. "You and Walter will take Miss Kendalland Miss Seymour. Let me see. Dorgan, Ogleby, and myself will ridein the taxicab. "

Carton was toying ostentatiously with a police whistle as Dorganhesitated, then entered the cab. 

I think at the joint, as we pulled up with a rush after our wildride downtown, they must have thought that a party of revellershad dropped in to see the sights. It was perhaps just as well thatthey did, for there was no alarm at first. 

As we entered the black and tan joint, I took another long look atits forbidding exterior. Below, it was a saloon and dance hall;above, it was a "hotel. " It was weatherbeaten, dirty, andunsightly, without, except for the entrance; unsanitary, ramshackle, within, except for the tawdry decorations. At everywindow were awnings and all were down, although it was on theshady side of the street in the daytime and it was now gettinglate. That was the mute sign post to the initiated of thecharacter of the place. 

Instead of turning downstairs where we had gone on our othervisit, Kennedy led the way up through a door that read, "HotelEntrance--Office. "

A clerk at a desk in a little alcove on the second floormechanically pushed out a register at us, then seeming to sensetrouble, pulled it back quickly and with his foot gave a sharpkick at the door of a little safe, locking the combination. 

"I'm looking for someone, " was all Kennedy said. "This is theDistrict Attorney. We'll go through--"

"Yes, you will!"

It was Ike the Dropper. He had heard the commotion, and, seeingladies, came to the conclusion that it was not a policeplainclothes raid, but some new game of the reformers. 

He stopped short in amazement at the sight of Dorgan and Ogleby. 

"Well--I'll be--"

"Carton! Walter!" shouted Kennedy. "Take care of him. Watch outfor a knife or gun. He's soft, though. Carton--the whistle!"

Our struggle with the redoubtable Ike was short and quickly over. Sullen, and with torn clothes and bleeding face, we held him untilthe policeman arrived, and turned him over to the law. 

At a room on the same floor Craig knocked. 

"Come in, " answered a woman's voice. 

He pushed open the door. There was the woman who had fled soprecipitately from the dope joint. 

Evidently she did not recognize us. "You are under arrest, "announced Kennedy. 

The blonde woman laughed mockingly. 

"Under arrest? For what?"

"You are Marie Margot. Never mind about your alias. All the artsof your employees and Dr. Harris himself cannot change you so thatI cannot recognize you. You may feel safe from the portrait parle, but there are other means of detection that you never dreamed of. Where is Betty Blackwell? Marie, it's all off!"

All the brazen assurance with which she had met us was gone. Shelooked from one to the other and read that it was the end. With ashriek, she suddenly darted past us, out of the door. Down thehall was Ike the Dropper with the policeman and Carton. Beside herwas a stairway leading to the upper floors. She chose the stairs. 

Following Kennedy we hurried through the hotel, from one dirtyroom to another, with their loose and creaking floors, rotten andfilthy, sagging as we walked, covered with matting that wasrotting away. Damp and unventilated, the air was heavy and filledwith foul odours of tobacco, perfumery, and cheap disinfectants. There seemed to have been no attempt to keep the place clean. 

The rooms were small and separated by thin partitions throughwhich conversations in even low tones could be heard. Thefurniture was cheap and worn with constant use. 

Downstairs we could hear the uproar as the news spread that theDistrict Attorney was raiding the place. As fast as they could thesordid crowd in the dance hall and cabaret was disappearing. Nowand then we could hear a door bang, a hasty conference, and thensilence as some of the inmates realized that upstairs all escapewas cut off. 

On the top floor we came to a door, locked and bolted. With allthe force that he could gather in the narrow hall, Kennedycatapulted himself against it. It yielded in its rottenness with acrash. 

A woman, in all her finery, lay across the foot of a bed, aformless heap. Kennedy turned her over. It was Marie, motionless, but still breathing faintly. In an armchair, with his handshanging limply down almost to the floor, his head sagging forwardon his chest, sprawled Harris. 

Kennedy picked up a little silver receptacle on the floor where itlay near his right hand. It was nearly empty, but as he lookedfrom it quickly to the two insensible figures before us hemuttered: "Morphine. They have robbed the law of its punishment. "

He bent over the suicides, but it was too late to do anything forthem. They had paid the price. 

"My heavens!" he exclaimed suddenly, as a thought flashed over hismind. "I hope they have not carried the secret of Betty Blackwellwith them to the grave. Where is Miss Kendall?"

Down the hall, cut off from the rest of the hotel into a sort ofprivate suite, Clare had entered one of the rooms and was bendingover a pale, wan shadow of a girl, tossing restlessly on a bed. The room was scantily furnished with a dilapidated bureau in onecorner and a rickety washstand equipped with a dirty washbowl andpitcher. A few cheap chromos on the walls were the onlydecorations, and a small badly soiled rug covered a floor innocentfor many years of soap. 

I looked sharply at the girl lying before us. Somehow it did notoccur to me who she was. She was so worn that anyone might safelyhave transported her through the streets and never have beenquestioned, in spite of the fact that every paper in the countrywhich prints pictures had published her photograph, not once butmany times. 

It was Betty Blackwell at last, struggling against the drugs thathad been forced on her, half conscious, but with one firm andacute feeling left--resistance to the end. 

Kennedy had dropped on his knees before her and was examining herclosely. 

"Open the windows--more air, " he ordered. "Walter, see if you canfind some ice water and a little stimulant. "

While Craig was taking such restorative measures as were possibleon the spur of the moment, Miss Kendall gently massaged her headand hands. 

She seemed to understand that she was in the hands of friends, andthough she did not know us her mute look of thanks was touching. 

"Don't get excited, my dear, " breathed Miss Kendall into her ear. "You will be all right soon. "

As the wronged girl relaxed from her constant tension of watching, it seemed as if she fell into a stupor. Now and then she moanedfeebly, and words, half-formed, seemed to come to her lips only todie away. 

Suddenly she seemed to have a vision more vivid than the rest. 

"No--no--Mr. Ogleby--leave me. Where--my mother--oh, where ismother?" she cried hysterically, sitting bolt upright and staringat us without seeing us. 

Kennedy passed the broad palm of his hand over her forehead andmurmured, "There, there, you are all right now. " Then he added tous: "I did not send for her mother because I wasn't sure that wemight find her even as well as this. Will someone find Carton? Getthe address and send a messenger for Mrs. Blackwell. "

Sybil was on her knees by the bedside of the giri, holding Betty'shand in both of her own. 

"You poor, poor girl, " she cried softly. "It is--dreadful. "

She had sunk her head into the worn and dirty covers of the bed. Kennedy reached over and took hold of her arm. "She will be allright, soon, " he said reassuringly. "Miss Kendall will take goodcare of her. "

As we descended the stairs, we could see Carton at the foot. Apatrol wagon had been backed up to the curb in front and theinmates of the place were being taken out, protesting violently atbeing detained. 

Further down the hall, by the "office, " Dorgan and Ogleby werestorming, protesting that "influence" would "break" everyoneconcerned, from Carton down to the innocent patrolmen. 

Kennedy listened a moment, then turned to Clare Kendall. 

"I will leave Miss Blackwell in your care, " he said quietly. "Itis on her we must rely to prove the contents of the Black Book. "

Clare nodded, as, with a clang, Carton drove off with hisprisoners to see them safely entered on the "blotter. "

"Our work is over, " remarked Kennedy, turning again to MissKendall, in a tone as if he might have said more, but refrained. 

Looking Craig frankly in the eye, she extended her hand in thatsame cordial straight-arm shake with which she had first greetedus, and added, "But not the memory of this fight we have won. "

XXVII

THE ELECTION NIGHT

It was election night. Kennedy and Carton had arranged betweenthem that we were all to receive the returns at the headquartersof the Reform League, where one of the papers which wasparticularly interested, had installed several special wires. 

The polls had scarcely closed when Kennedy and I, who had votedearly, if not often, in spite of our strenuous day, hastened up tothe headquarters. Already it was a scene of activity. 

The first election district had come in, one on the lower EastSide, which was a stronghold of Dorgan, where the count could bemade quickly, for there were no split tickets there. Dorgan haddrawn first blood. 

"I hope it isn't an omen, " smiled Carton, like a good sport. 

Kennedy smiled quietly. 

We looked about, but Miss Ashton was not there. I wondered why notand where she was. 

The first returns had scarcely begun to filter in, though, whenCraig leaned over and whispered to me to go out and find her, either at her home, or if not there, at a woman's club of whichshe was one of the leading members. 

I found her at home and sent up my card. She had apparently lostinterest in the election and it was with difficulty that I couldpersuade her to accompany me to the League headquarters. However, I argued the case with what ability I had and finally sheconsented. 

The other members of the Ashton family had monopolized the carsand we were obliged to take a taxicab. As our driver threaded hisway slowly and carefully through the thronged streets it gave us asplendid chance to see some of the enthusiasm. I think it didMargaret Ashton good, too, to get out, instead of brooding overthe events of the past few days, as she had seen them. Herheightened colour made her more attractive than ever. 

The excitement of any other night in the year paled toinsignificance before this. 

Distracted crowds everywhere were cheering and blowing horns. Nowa series of wild shouts broke forth from the dense mass of peoplebefore a newspaper bulletin board. Now came sullen groans, hisses, and catcalls, or all together, with cheers, as the returns swungin another direction. Not even baseball could call out such acrowd as this. 

Enterprising newspapers had established places at which theyflashed out the returns on huge sheets on every prominent corner. Some of them had bands, and moving pictures, and elaborate formsof entertainment for the crowds. 

Now and then, where the crowd was more than usually dense, we hadto make a wide detour. Even the quieter streets seemed alive. Onsome boys had built huge bonfires from barrels and boxes that hadbeen saved religiously for weeks or surreptitiously purloined fromthe grocer or the patient house-holder. About the fires, they keptan ever watchful eye for the descent of their two sworn enemies--the policeman and the rival gang privateering in the name of ahostile candidate. 

Boys with armfuls of newspapers were everywhere, selling news thatin the rapid-fire change of the statistics seemed almostarcheologically old. 

Lights blazed on every side. Automobiles honked and ground theirgears. The lobster palaces, where for weeks, Francois, Carl, andWilliam had been taking small treasury notes for tables reservedagainst the occasion, were thronged. In theatres people squirmeduneasily until the ends of acts, in order to listen to returnsread from the stage before the curtain. Police were everywhere. People with horns, and bells, and all manner of noise-makingdevices, with confetti and "ticklers" pushed up on one side ofBroadway and down on the other. 

At every square they congested foot and vehicle traffic, as theypaused ravenously to feed on the meagre bulletins of news. 

Yet back of all the noise and human energy, as a newspaperman, Icould think only of the silent, systematic gathering and editingof the news, of the busy scenes that each journal's officepresented, the haste, the excitement, the thrill in the very smellof the printer's ink. 

Miss Ashton, I was glad to note, as we proceeded downtown, fellmore and more into the spirit of the adventure. 

High up in the League headquarters in the tower, when we arrived, it was almost like a newspaper office, to me. A corps of clerkswas tabulating returns, comparing official and semi-officialreports. As first the city swung one way, then another, our hopesrose and fell. 

I could not help noticing, however, after a while that Miss Ashtonseemed cold and ill at ease. There was such a crowd there ofLeaguers and their friends that it was easily possible for her notto meet Carton. But as I circulated about in the throng, I cameupon him. Carton looked worried and was paying less attention tothe returns than seemed natural. It was evident that, in spite ofthe crowd, she had avoided him and he hesitated to seek her out. 

There were so many things to think of thrusting themselves intoone's attention that I could follow none consistently. First Ifound myself wondering about Carton and Miss Ashton. Before I knewit I was delivering a snap judgment on whether the uptownresidence district returns would be large enough to overcome thehostile downtown vote. I was frankly amazed, now, to see howstrongly the city as a whole was turning to the Reform League. 

A boy, pushing through the crowd, came upon Kennedy and myself, talking to Miss Ashton. He shoved a message quickly into Craig'shand and disappeared. 

"For heaven's sake!" he exclaimed as he tore open the envelope andread. "What do you think of that? My shadows report that MartinOgleby has been arrested and his confession will be enough, withthe Black Book and Betty Blackwell, to indict Dorgan. Kahn hascommitted suicide! Hartley Langhorne has sailed for Paris on theFrench line, with Mrs. Ogleby!"

"Mary Ogleby--eloped?" repeated Miss Ashton, aghast. 

The very name seemed to call up unpleasant associations and herface plainly showed it. Kennedy had said nothing to her since theday when he had pleaded with her to suspend judgment. 

"By the way, " he said in a low voice, leaning over toward her, "have you heard that those pictures of her were faked? It wasreally Dorgan, and some crook photographer cut out his face andsubstituted Carton's. We got the Black Book, this morning, too, and it tells the story of Mrs. Ogleby's misadventures--as well asa lot of much more important things. We got it from Mr. Murthaand---"

"Mr. Murtha?" she inquired, in surprise. 

"It is a secret, but I think I can violate it to a certain extentfor Mr. Carton is a party to it and--"

Kennedy paused. He was speaking with the assurance of one whoassumed that John Carton and Margaret Ashton had no secrets. Shesaw it, and coloured deeply. 

Then he lowered his voice further to a whisper and when hefinished, her face was even a deeper scarlet. But her eyes had abrightness they had lacked for days. And I could see the emotionshe felt as her slight form quivered with excitement. 

Kennedy excused himself and we worked our way through the presstoward Carton. 

"Dorgan has lost his nerve!" ejaculated Craig as we came up withhim, watching district after district which showed that the Boss'susual pluralities were being seriously reduced. 

"Lost his nerve?" repeated Carton. 

"Yes. I told him I would publish the whole affair of thephotographs just as I knew it, not caring whom it hit. I advisedhim to read his revised statutes again about money in electionsand I added the threat, 'There will be no "dough day" or it willbe carried to the limit, Dorgan, and I will resurrect Murtha in anhour!' You should have seen his face! There was no dough day. That's what I meant when I said it was to be a fair fight. You seethe effect on the returns. "

Carton was absolutely speechless. The tears stood in his eyes ashe grasped Kennedy's hand, then swung around to me. 

A terrific cheer broke out among the clerks in the outer office. One of them rushed in with a still unblotted report. 

Kennedy seized it and read:

"Dorgan concedes the city by a safe plurality to Carton, fifty-twoelection districts estimated. This clinches the Reform Leaguevictory. "

I turned to Carton. 

Behind us, through the crowd, had followed a young lady and nowCarton had no ears for anything except the pretty apology ofMargaret Ashton. 

Kennedy pulled me toward the door. 

"We might as well concede Miss Ashton to Carton, " he beamed. "Let's go out and watch the crowd. "

THE END