The unknown seven A detective story
for a moment and listened. A heavy silence seemed to hover over the
entire house. He stole up another flight of stairs and turned toward a
door in front. The knob turned noiselessly in his hand, but the door
was locked. He stooped and tried to peep through the keyhole, but he
could see nothing.
A few moments passed; then a slight scratching sound, like that
produced when a match is struck, was heard within. At the same time a
faint glow was visible through the keyhole. It lasted for ten seconds
or so, and then all was darkness again. It was evident now that the
intermittent glow which Cole had seen from the sidewalk had been
produced by some one striking a number of matches.
Suddenly he stood erect, listening. For a moment he thought he had
heard a slight sound, coming from somewhere below, but apparently he
had been mistaken. He had entered so quietly that it did not seem
possible Doctor Latham’s sleep could have been disturbed by his
movements. Again he fixed his attention on the door, for once more
a scrrrrch came from the room. Through the keyhole, just before the
fluttering light went out, he caught a glimpse of the hunchback.
Cole was puzzled. What could the hunchback be doing, and what did
the frequent striking of matches mean? He waited, uncertain what to
do, but strongly tempted to open the door with one of his skeleton
keys. Moments passed, and he listened in vain for further repetitions
of the scratching sounds. Instead, he heard what sounded like a
half-suppressed chuckle. Evidently the hunchback had found something
that pleased him. A faint tinkle came through the keyhole, followed by
a louder sound, like that of a heavy object being dragged across the
floor. Then silence.
Cole felt in his pockets for his bunch of keys, but he quickly withdrew
his hand and cast a glance over his shoulders. This time he knew he
was not mistaken. Some one was moving about on the floor below, but
so softly that Cole’s keen ears detected only a faint suspicion of a
sound. His eyes darted to left and right in search of a hiding place,
but the best he could find was the corner back of the stairway railing.
He pressed against the wall and crouched low.
Some one was coming up the stairs. He was determined to learn as much
as he could before he made his presence known. The meager light from
the little electric bulb in the ceiling revealed a sweep of bald
cranium, by which he easily identified Doctor Latham. Perhaps he had
been awakened by the hunchback’s movements, or perhaps Cole’s entrance
had partly aroused him, and he had just now become fully awake.
The doctor swept past him without a glance in his direction and moved
straight toward the room occupied by the hunchback. There he stopped,
took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He pushed it open
and stood in a listening attitude. Even from his remote position in the
rear of the hall, he could hear a lusty snoring. It was strange, since
he knew that the hunchback had been wide awake only a few minutes ago.
Evidently the fellow was up to a ruse of some kind.
Suddenly Latham turned and walked quickly toward the rear. For a moment
Cole thought he had been discovered, but the doctor took only half a
dozen steps down the hall. Standing on the stairway railing he removed
the electric bulb from its socket in the ceiling, then entered the
hunchback’s room. The hall was now dark, and Cole thought it safe to
come forward. He reached the door just as a light appeared within.
Peeping through the crack between the door and the jamb he saw that the
physician had attached the bulb to a wall fixture. Now he was standing
beside the operating table to which the hunchback had been linked for
the past twenty-four hours, leaning over the motionless figure lying on
it.
He mumbled something beneath his breath, then gave the hunchback’s
shoulder a vigorous shaking. The snoring stopped. The fellow sat up
with difficulty and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
“You needn’t pretend,” said Latham. He was arrayed in the same dressing
gown in which Cole had seen him once before. “I know you haven’t been
sleeping. Where did you find these matches?”
He pointed to a litter of charred stubs on the floor. The hunchback
eyed him stolidly and shrugged his misshapen shoulders.
The doctor’s glance went to an old battered safe in a corner of the
room. He stepped up to it and tried the lock.
“Thought you might be tempted to while away the time by investigating
this old safe of mine,” he declared. “I removed the bulb on purpose, so
you wouldn’t make much headway with it. Not that you would have found
much if you had opened it, only a few papers.”
Again he gazed at the charred fragments scattered over the floor. Cole,
looking through the narrow crack, saw a puzzled frown on his bearded
face. The room was small, and the conglomeration of articles in it
suggested it was used in part for storage purposes. The scattered match
stubs perplexed Cole as much as they did the doctor.
“There might have been a box in one of the bureau drawers,” muttered
the physician. “I suppose that’s where you found them. I don’t see,
though, what pleasure you derive from burning up a lot of matches.”
Cole was watching the hunchback’s face. A look of sly satisfaction
lurked in the sallow features. Once the fellow bent a squinting glance
on some object across the floor, but all Cole could see at that
particular point was a dilapidated trunk. His bewilderment grew. The
scene between the physician and the hunchback was not exactly what he
might have suspected. He sensed a hidden element in it. He was aware of
a curious strain and tension in the air.
“I thought I heard you drag the table over the floor,” remarked the
doctor. “You were not doing it just for exercise. What was your idea?”
Again a look of secret elation crossed the hunchback’s face. He jingled
the steel links that held one of his hands to the table.
“Aw, can’t a guy move about a bit if he wants to?” he asked. “Sittin’
still in one place all the time gets on a feller’s nerve. I didn’t do
no harm.”
The physician regarded him searchingly. Evidently he, too, had seen
the furtive smirk in the hunchback’s face. He stepped briskly to the
operating cot and shook the fellow’s arm.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he remarked. “You have been up to some
kind of deviltry, my man. Now——”
The sentence ended in a gasp. In a twinkling the hunchback had wrenched
his arm free of the doctor’s grasp. Cole was amazed at the swift play
of his fingers. He could scarcely see what was happening, but a loop
fell down over the physician’s head and was tightened around his throat
with a quick jerk. He spluttered and choked, while the hunchback
snickered gleefully.
“I got yuh now!” declared the little man, drawing the loop still
tighter. The doctor wriggled and squirmed, but the constriction at his
throat weakened his efforts. The whole scene seemed unreal to Cole.
It took him several moments to realize that Latham was being garroted
by the man who had found refuge in his house after murdering Malcolm
Reeves.
He bounded forward, and a well-aimed blow sent the hunchback reeling
back over the operating table. The garrote, made up of two shoe laces
tied together, had bitten deep into the flesh around the doctor’s
throat. His eyes bulged, and his gaping lips were bloodless. A hoarse
rattle sounded in his throat, as he struggled for breath.
In a short time the noose was undone, and the physician sank into a
chair. While he sucked air into his lungs in great gulps he looked
queerly at Cole. The hunchback lay sullenly silent on the table.
“Your visit was very opportune this time,” murmured Latham, as soon as
he began to breathe more easily. “Where did you come from?”
Cole signified with a shrug that the matter was of no importance.
“What’s gotten into this protégé of yours?” he asked with a glance at
the hunchback. “Did he go crazy all of a sudden?”
“Oh, no; he’s as sane this moment as he ever was or ever will be. I
knew he would kill me if he got a chance, and so I did all I could to
deprive him of the opportunity.”
There was doubt and bewilderment in Cole’s gaze. “But why should he
kill you? I thought——”
“Yes, I think I know what you thought,” interrupted the doctor. “For
a man of keen intellect you have a singular capacity for getting
things twisted. I suppose, however, it isn’t to be wondered at under
the circumstances. Wonder where the fellow got those shoe laces. I
thought I had removed from his reach everything that might serve as an
implement of murder.”
Cole stepped to the trunk at which the hunchback had been squinting
from time to time. He lifted the lid, and the first thing he saw was a
pair of old shoes from which the laces had been removed.
Latham looked at him in surprise. “That trunk was locked this morning,”
he remarked.
“The lock is a very simple one,” Cole observed. “Even a man with only
one arm could pick it without much trouble. With a supply of matches
handy, the removal of the electric bulb didn’t give him much of a
handicap. You seem to lead a very exciting life, doctor.”
The doctor smiled. He felt quite at ease again. He got up from the
chair and strolled over to the table where the hunchback lay.
“You are really very simple,” he declared. “Didn’t you know that
murdering me wouldn’t help you out of your predicament? Why, you would
have starved to death if you had carried out your attempt.”
“Guess again.” The fellow leered insolently. “My pals woulda found me
before long. To-night, maybe.”
“What’s your grudge against the doctor?” inquired Cole. “Why did you
try to kill him?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” retorted the hunchback, wagging his head in
the physician’s direction.
“Our friend doesn’t seem very communicative,” observed Latham. “I don’t
think he will attempt any more mischief to-night. Suppose we go down
and sample one of my cigars?”
Cole assented, but not until he had searched the hunchback and removed
a handful of matches. He believed the doctor knew the motive behind the
murderous attempt. There was a fog in his mind, for the scene he had
just witnessed did not seem to harmonize with his previous observations.
“You are a cool one, doctor,” he remarked when they were down in the
consultation room and the physician had passed his box of cigars.
“Life hardens one. I sometimes wish I hadn’t lost my emotional
susceptibilities. They are the things that give color and tone to life.
Life without thrills is a barren desert.”
Cole suddenly recalled his original errand. He bent forward and looked
the doctor full in the eyes. “There is one question I want to ask. You
may not be able or willing to answer it. Where is Miss Brownell?”
The question acted like an electric shock on the physician, upsetting
his magnificent composure as nothing else could have done. A suspicion
of pallor crept up beneath the black beard.
“What about her?” he demanded sharply. “Has anything happened to her?”
Cole smiled amusedly. “For a man who has lost his emotional
susceptibilities you manage to work up quite a lot of feeling over a
simple question. You know the lady I am referring to?”
“Why—er—slightly.”
Cole gave him a hard, searching glance. He felt the doctor had
deliberately understated the truth. “Miss Brownell disappeared this
evening,” he announced. “I came here in the hope of learning something
of her whereabouts from you.”
“Why from me?” Latham was laboring under a tension that he tried hard
to suppress.
“Several trails seem to point in your direction, doctor. Do you know
what has become of Miss Brownell?”
Latham gripped the arms of his chair. “I swear I haven’t the faintest
idea,” he declared, looking Cole straight in the eyes.