The unknown seven A detective story
He is a small man, physically and mentally, with a sharp, but narrow,
intellect, and he is deficient in the qualities required to direct an
enterprise of this sort. Knowing his shortcomings, he was willing to
put the management of the project into stronger hands than his own.”
“Latham’s, for instance?” asked Cole.
“Or Ballinger’s. Both are very shrewd and energetic men, though I
hadn’t thought of Ballinger in that connection until to-night. It is
your job to find the master mind that is directing the operations of
this gold-mad crowd, Mr. Cole. We know that they are already producing
gold, or a substitute for gold, on a very large scale.”
“Where?” inquired Cole quickly.
“That’s another thing for you to find out. In some secluded spot in New
York City or its environs there is a large and fully equipped plant.
From snatches of conversation which we have overheard we know that it
exists, but we haven’t been able to locate it. We also know that the
conspirators feel confident that their product will stand every test,
that it resembles natural gold in every respect. In order to eliminate
all risk, however, they have decided to hold the gold in storage until
the desired quantity has been manufactured. You can imagine what will
happen when a golden flood is suddenly released and poured out over the
country.”
“A few men will become enormously rich over night, and the monetary
system will be utterly disorganized. I suppose the ultimate result will
be the worst panic the world has ever seen.”
“That’s exactly what Mr. Carlin and the others think,” declared Miss
Brownell.
They sat silent for a time, neither looking at the other. Their minds
were stunned by the contemplation of the golden havoc which their
imagination pictured. Cole recalled the look of insane ecstasy which
he had seen in Malcolm Reeves’ face. The words, “Pretty yellow,” which
the insane man mumbled, suddenly assumed a vivid significance. He shook
himself a little.
“I suppose Reeves had a falling out with the others,” he remarked.
“That’s why they first destroyed his mind and afterward killed him.”
“Presumably.” Her eyes looked a little dim, as if they had gazed too
long upon a dazzling vision. “It was about Reeves I was thinking
just before I walked in here and disturbed you. I was wondering why
Ballinger didn’t commit the murder. He had free access to the place and
nobody had any suspicions against him. Why was it necessary to have the
hunchback sneak in here and do it?”
“I think the answer to that question is fairly clear.” Cole’s smile
seemed to say that women, even the cleverest of them, were rather
simple-minded at times. “The job had to be done by an outsider in
order to conceal the fact that the conspirators had an associate in
your midst.”
“But they didn’t conceal it. The ease with which the hunchback got in
and out proved clearly that he was assisted by some one on the inside.”
“That’s so,” admitted Cole, somewhat abashed. “Well, then it’s quite
likely that Ballinger balked at the job. Murder is pretty nasty
business. It is a coarser crime than depriving a man of his reason.
Many criminals of the intellectual type shrink from it.”
“Maybe that was the way of it. There’s another thing that has been
troubling me lately. Who do you think performed the operation on
Reeves?”
Cole stared at her for an instant. “It seems to be pretty well
established that Doctor Latham was the man.”
“Yes, I know that’s what they all seem to think. Their reason is that
Reeves seemed to recognize Ballinger when he was made up to resemble
Latham.”
“It was more than recognition. The sight of Ballinger made up as Latham
fairly terrified the poor man. I’ll never forget how he looked.”
“But isn’t that a flimsy reason for supposing that Latham performed the
operation?”
Cole leaned out of his chair and regarded her closely, as if wondering
whether her intuition was once more at work. “Can you imagine any other
explanation for the way Reeves acted that night?”
“Yes; can’t you?”
Cole shook his head ponderously.
“Just think about it,” she said, smiling faintly; then she rose and
walked out of the room.
For a long time Cole sat very still, with a thoughtful pucker across
his forehead. Once, from force of habit, he reached for his pipe,
frowning when he realized it wasn’t there. Now and then he bent a
quizzical gaze on the chair which Miss Brownell had vacated.
“What the deuce did she mean?” he mumbled. “What else is there to——”
With a jerky motion he sat erect in his chair. He gave the desk in
front of him a vigorous thump.
“By Jove, she wins!” he declared. “There is another explanation. It’s
beginning to look as though——” He checked himself, scowling. “But that
only muddles the situation. What’s the good of an explanation that
doesn’t explain. But I suppose a woman can’t see it that way. They’re
all alike, from Toots down.”
He shrugged as if to banish unprofitable speculations. He suddenly
remembered that there had been weighty things on his mind when Miss
Brownell interrupted his thoughts. He had given several orders to the
men, and he had been studying what to do with the body of Reeves, and
how he might make the most of his discovery that Doctor Ballinger was
the traitor. He jumped from the chair as the physician’s name ran
through his mind. For half an hour or more he had given not a single
thought to Ballinger. He hurried from the office and crossed the
corridor, but a glance into the smoking room reassured him. Ballinger
was sprawled out leisurely in an armchair, evidently in the midst of
an anecdote which he seemed to be relating with great gusto to his
companion.
Cole went farther down the corridor and rapped on the door to Miss
Brownell’s private room. “Wish you would keep an eye on Ballinger for a
while,” he whispered when she opened. She lifted her brows in a knowing
way and nodded. In the main office he found Carlin bent over a stack of
papers. The man seemed a veritable dynamo of energy.
“I’ve been thinking about Reeves,” he said.
Carlin looked up and took an obese cigar from his mouth. “What do you
suggest?”
“That we obey the spirit of the law and blink the letter. The ends of
justice will be met if the murderer is convicted and punished. It won’t
be necessary to drag all the embarrassing details into light.”
“How can it be avoided?”
“I have a plan, but, before I go any farther, I would like to see the
body.”
The lawyer got up. “I would have shown it to you when I took you over
the place, but Miss Brownell was with us then, and you know how women
are about such things.”
He led the way from the room, and they went to the end of the corridor.
There Carlin opened a door, and they stepped in. It was dark, and Cole
could see nothing. He heard a slight scraping sound, as the lawyer ran
his hand over the wall in search of a switch. Then a light flashed on.
Carlin raised an arm and pointed.
“There,” he said a trifle thickly, indicating a shape spread out on a
cot at the farther side of the room.
Cole walked up to the cot and looked down at the dead man. He jerked
back a little as his glance fell on the lifeless face. Then he bent
over the body and gazed fixedly into the rigid features. Finally he
stood up and turned to Carlin, who had remained behind.
“When did you last see the body?” he inquired, and his voice sounded a
trifle husky.
“Why, I think it was this morning. Yes, that was it, about ten o’clock
this morning. Why do you ask?”
“Because—— But see for yourself.”
With a wondering glance at the detective, Carlin crossed the floor. He
looked down at the motionless figure, and suddenly he shrank back a
step. A husky exclamation sounded in his throat, then he slowly raised
his eyes, and for a long moment the two men stared blankly at each
other.
“It—it isn’t Reeves!” stammered the lawyer.
“No—it isn’t Reeves!” echoed Cole.
CHAPTER XVII
IN ROOM 2512
Cole had recognized the dead man at a glance.
It was McKendrick, the young operative whom he had instructed to trace
down the dictaphone wire. That had been only an hour ago, and already
death had blotted out the whimsical expression about the mouth that had
attracted Cole to him from the first.
“Shot through the head,” muttered Cole, noticing a crimson stain just
above the left temple. “He hasn’t been dead more than fifteen or twenty
minutes.”
He turned and looked out through the crack of the open door. A laugh
sounded in the direction of the smoking room. Perhaps Doctor Ballinger
had just told another funny story. Cole closed the door.
“This shows there are no limits to the rascality of those blackguards,”
said the lawyer. “But I don’t see why they should kill McKendrick.”
Cole explained the errand on which he had dispatched the young
detective. “No doubt McKendrick made an important discovery of some
kind,” he added. “That’s probably why he was killed. He must have been
overpowered, either while getting his facts or on his way back here to
report. Probably the latter; that would explain why the body was taken
here. The murderer wanted to conceal his crime as long as possible, and
for a temporary hiding place this room served as well as any other. We
must find out whether Ballinger has been absent from the smoking room
during the last hour or so.”
The lawyer seemed dazed. “But the other body? What happened to it?”
“You are sure it was here this morning?”
“Positive.”
“Could any one have taken it down the private elevator without being
seen?”
“Impossible. Even if such a thing could be done, which is unthinkable,
it is a ticklish job to transport a body through the streets. It is not
yet midnight.”
“Is there any other exit?”
“Only the stairs leading to the roof.”
“Then it is a safe bet that the body of Reeves was taken out that way.
From the roof it could have been slipped down a fire escape in the
rear, and from there—Heaven only knows!”
“But why should such a thing be done? What object could any one have in
doing it?”
“I don’t know, Carlin. I can only make a hazy guess. Being a lawyer
you know better than I do that, with the body missing, it will be
hard to prove the murder of Reeves. I believe the law covering murder
cases provides that, when the _corpus delicti_ cannot be proven,
the commission of the crime must be established by direct, not
circumstantial, evidence. Isn’t that correct?”
“Substantially, yes.”
“And, as I understand it, nobody saw the crime committed. Consequently
there can be no direct testimony in regard to the murder. It appears
that the men we are fighting are playing a very shrewd game.”
The lawyer tried to pull himself together. “But isn’t it your idea that
the men who instigated the murder of Reeves are also responsible for
McKendrick’s death?”
“Presumably?”
“Then why, after going to all that trouble to cover up the first crime,
did they leave the evidence of the second murder in plain sight?”
“Looks a bit contradictory, doesn’t it?” Cole squinted abstractedly at
the form on the cot. It seemed as though the murderers of McKendrick,
in placing the body in the identical spot where that of Reeves had
lain, had gone out of their way to add a spectacular touch to their
crime. “But you may be sure of one thing,” he added. “They had good
reasons for doing what they did. There isn’t any doubt——”
He stopped short, and Carlin gave him a puzzled look.
“Yes, that must be it,” Cole went on in an undertone. “The reason for
what they did is to be found in the one thing that differentiates the
murder of Reeves from that of McKendrick.”
“And what’s that?”
“Reeves was operated upon before he was murdered; McKendrick was not.”
Carlin seemed unable to follow this line of reasoning.