The unknown seven A detective story
“If there should be an autopsy,” Cole explained, “it might be
discovered that an atrocious operation had been performed on Reeves
before his death. Such an operation could have been performed only by a
skilled surgeon. It would be deduced that the operation and the murder
were perpetrated by the same parties. That would reduce the range of
suspicion down to one class of individuals, surgeons. So, you see, the
body of Reeves constituted a clew to the identity of his murderers.”
Carlin gave him an admiring glance. “First rate!” he applauded. “I’m
glad you are doing the heavy thinking for us.”
“You would have seen it yourself if you hadn’t been upset to-night,”
said Cole modestly. “By the way, it’s just as well not to let the news
of this fresh outrage get out among the men at present. Wish you would
show me the stairs to the roof.”
They left the room, and the lawyer locked the door. A short distance
down the corridor they met Miss Brownell, and Cole recalled that he had
asked her to keep an eye on the physician. Her lips tightened as he
briefly whispered what had happened.
“Do you know whether Ballinger was absent from the smoking room for any
length of time during the last hour and a half?” he added.
“He went out for cigars,” said Miss Brownell. “He explained that his
case was empty, and he smokes only his special brand. When he returned
he accounted for his long absence by saying that most of the cigar
stores in the neighborhood were closed.”
“That explanation is worthy of the doctor,” said Cole. “It’s plausible
and yet simple. A more involved one might have got him into
difficulties, if he should have been checked up on it afterward. Please
watch him, Miss Brownell. If by any chance he should leave, have one of
the men follow him. Now, Carlin.”
The lawyer and Cole stepped into the main office. Suddenly Cole seemed
to recall something. He went to the ventilator shaft which contained
the dictaphone that had cost McKendrick his life. He touched the disk,
and a low mutter escaped him as he found that the wire had been cut.
About a foot and a half of it was dangling from the disk. He turned and
told Carlin what he had discovered.
“Something made them suspicious,” he added. “They cut the wire so we
wouldn’t be able to trace it.”
“They did that after murdering McKendrick,” suggested the lawyer.
“Without a doubt. McKendrick, if he were alive, could probably tell us
where the wire terminated. Now we will have a look at the roof.”
But the door opened just then, and the man who entered was the
operative whom Cole had instructed to search the establishment for
hidden dictaphones. He reported that he had found four in as many
different rooms, but in each instance the wires had been cut. Cole
thanked him and dismissed him.
“It’s a safe bet that all those wires were cut within the last hour or
so,” he told the lawyer.
Carlin led him to the farther end of the office. There he opened a door
and indicated a steep flight of stairs. He was about to proceed up the
stairs, but Cole held him back.
“Wait, Carlin.” Cole took an electric flash light from his pocket and
turned the gleam on the steps. They looked as if they had not been
swept in a long while. He stooped low to examine a number of marks in
the thick layer of dust. Drawing a magnifying lens from his pocket
and slowly moving the electric torch up and down, he made a careful
inspection of the lower steps.
“Two sets of footprints,” he declared. “One set is fairly large and
broad-toed, a number nine and a half shoe, I should say. The other
is a size and a half smaller, also narrower. This tends to show that
McKendrick was followed when he came down from the roof.”
“Why do you suppose he was permitted to leave the roof?” inquired the
lawyer.
“Because the murderer couldn’t aim in the dark. He wanted to make a
sure job of it. Probably McKendrick didn’t know he was followed down
the stairs. Likely as not the shot wasn’t fired until he got down to
the main office. It’s even possible the murder wasn’t committed until
he was out in the corridor. That would explain why the murderer chose
the room at the end of the hall as a temporary hiding place for the
body. If the shooting took place in the corridor, he had to drag or
carry it only a few steps.”
Cole pocketed his flash and lens, and they started up the stairs.
“But wouldn’t the shot have been heard?” asked Carlin.
“Not if the weapon was equipped with a silencer. The smell of the
burned powder was probably sucked up very quickly by the automatic
ventilators.”
Carlin opened a trapdoor overhead, and they stepped out on the roof. Up
there all was wind and gloom. Their footsteps creaked dismally against
the gritty surface. All around them loomed the ghostly shapes of tall
buildings. Masses of clouds hung scowling over their heads, and there
was a suspicion of moisture in the air.
Cole stepped to the fire escape in the rear, the lawyer following. They
looked down over the parapet into a wide court flanked by murky walls.
“Yes,” said Carlin, more to himself than to his companion, “the body of
Reeves was probably carried down this fire escape. It could have been
done.”
Cole nodded. “I wonder,” he said abstractedly, “how far down it was
carried?”
“Have you any reason for supposing that it wasn’t carried clear down to
the ground?”
“No, only a hunch, and most hunches are ridiculous. They go contrary to
facts and logic. But just now I am more interested in what happened to
McKendrick. He must have discovered something very important to warrant
the scoundrels killing him. I wonder what it could have been.”
“The other end of the wire, of course.”
“Something more than that, I think.” Cole gazed down the long stretch
of flights and landings that composed the fire escape. “Criminals of
that type never kill without good cause. Not because they shrink from
murder on moral or humanitarian grounds, but because it is dangerous
and inexpedient. McKendrick must have discovered something that—— By
the way, Carlin, I suppose The Unknown Seven controls the renting of
offices in this building? You told me once that it is property of the
organization.”
“It is, but the members individually have nothing to do with the
management of the building. That is handled through a separate
corporation. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. Those infernal hunches are bothering me more
than usual to-night. Suppose you wait here while I investigate.”
Before the lawyer could answer, Cole had flung himself over the parapet
and was gliding down the fire escape with the agility of a chimpanzee.
On the first landing he stopped and once more took out his electric
flash and magnifying lens. Then he turned to the window and carefully
examined the frame in the neighborhood of the fastenings. Tiny marks,
that had a fresh appearance, told him they had been tampered with not
so long ago. McKendrick, following the winding course of the dictaphone
wire, had probably passed through this same window.
In a few moments Cole was inside. Before him stretched a long hall with
doors on either side; but the one to his left was the only one that
interested him. He looked for a moment at the numerals 2512 and the
lettering on the frosted pane. Once before in the past twelve hours the
same sign had confronted him. While tracing Englebreth’s movements in
the early afternoon Cole had come to this same door, and then he had
turned back in the belief that nothing could be gained by going farther.
“Bureau of Civic Research,” he read, wondering whether McKendrick had
followed the course of the wire through this same door. Cole had no
particular reason for thinking so, for at least twenty other doors
opened into the same hall. Yet, in view of Englebreth’s apparent
familiarity with Cole’s movements during the past few days, he could
not help wondering. If the dictaphone wire had extended into suite
2512, then the source of Englebreth’s information was clear.
But the theory explained nothing else, and Cole had no proof that the
wire had entered the office of the Bureau of Civic Research. His only
clew was the scratches on the window frame, and they merely indicated
that McKendrick had been on this floor. For all Cole knew, the young
operative might have continued his search farther down.
Yet the door continued to tantalize him. With a glance over his
shoulder to see if perchance a watchman was near, he tried the knob.
As he had expected, the door was locked, but he stooped and looked
closely at the little circle of brass that formed the outer portion
of the spring lock. The hall light was dim, so he once more took out
his electric flash. Close to the center of the circle, just beside
the keyhole, he saw a slight scratch. It was almost certain now that
McKendrick had picked the lock and passed through the door.
From his pocket Cole drew a bunch of carefully selected keys. Soon the
door was open, and he walked in and quickly closed it behind him. Then
he took out his flash, not thinking it safe to turn on the light, and
made a swift inspection of the premises.
There were two rooms, a larger and a smaller one. After a glance over
the floor and walls, Cole’s face fell. The thing which he had vaguely
and without much reason expected to find was not there. It was just
an ordinary suite of offices, containing the ordinary set of office
furniture. A glance into the filing cabinets left him in no doubt as to
the bona-fide character of the Bureau of Civic Research.
On one of the desks in the inner office were several typewritten
letters. At the top of each sheet were printed the name of the concern
and a list of its officers, and he noticed that Englebreth was
mentioned as one of the honorary vice presidents. The letters had, in
fact, been dictated by Englebreth, for in the lower left-hand corner
of each one were the initials HE-MS. No doubt he had dictated them
that afternoon and expected to sign them later. A glance told Cole
that they pertained to political matters and dealt in detail with the
availability of a certain candidate for alderman.
He put the letters down. They confirmed a theory that he had formed
that afternoon that the Bureau of Civic Research was a hobby of
Englebreth’s. Like many another rich man, his former client presumably
felt the need of justifying his existence in some way. Cole felt
satisfied on that point, but there were other doubts in his mind.
It was just possible that the rooms of the bureau were being used
clandestinely by persons who were in the habit of sneaking in there
at night. Being close to the fire escape they were within easy
reach of the headquarters of The Unknown Seven. The guess was rather
far-fetched, but it seemed to explain several things.
Knowing that Carlin was waiting for him on the roof, and seeing that
his quest was unavailing, Cole put out his flash and moved toward the
door. He had advanced only a few steps when something prompted him to
halt. A vague impression that some one had stopped outside the door
came to him. He tiptoed to a corner of the room and waited. Presently
he heard a key grate in the lock, and then the door came open. It was
beginning to look as though his suspicions had been correct, that
persons other than the regular tenants were visiting the offices at
night.
A light appeared in the outer room. Next he heard some one move across
the floor. From his position, in the corner of the inner office, Cole
could not see who the newcomer was, and he did not care to make his own
presence known just yet.
The footsteps were coming toward him, and Cole pressed close to the
corner, as a figure appeared in the doorway. The footfalls gave him a
queer sensation. He thought he recognized the plopping little sounds,