The unknown seven A detective story
Cole believed him. There was something in the doctor’s tone and
manner that carried conviction. He knew that for once the man was
not shamming. His gaze cut deep into the physician’s bewildering
personality, and he found not a trace of duplicity.
“What is Miss Brownell to you?” he asked bluntly. “Not in love with
her, are you, doctor?”
The bearded lips parted in a faint smile. “I admire her immensely.
Have known her for a long time. Was a friend of her father’s. A very
charming young person indeed. But at my age one hesitates before he
permits himself to fall in love. Besides, Miss Brownell is not likely
to entertain any romantic notions in regard to me.”
Cole nodded thoughtfully. Despite the doctor’s light tone and airy
gestures, the real Dickson Latham stood revealed before him.
“I understand, doctor,” he said meaningly. “I see how it is with you.
As for Miss Brownell, she left a certain place, about an hour and a
half ago, in pursuit of a colleague of yours, Doctor Ballinger.”
A queer little mutter slipped from Latham’s lips. He clenched his hands
convulsively; his face underwent a startling transformation; a mingling
of hate and fear showed in his dark, flashing eyes.
“That hound!” he mumbled under his breath, evidently not intending Cole
to hear. With an inward wrench he steadied himself; in the next moment
he seemed cool and composed. “In that case we must endeavor to find
her,” he added aloud.
“More easily said than done, doctor. Have you any idea where Ballinger
might have taken her; in the event that she should have fallen into his
hands?”
“There is one place he would naturally take her to, but I don’t know
the geographical location of it.”
“In plain words, the headquarters of a certain gang of alchemists and
cutthroats?”
Latham nodded.
“You are mixed up with this gang, aren’t you, doctor?”
“I was.”
“And you performed an operation on Malcolm Reeves?” Cole watched him
closely to observe the effect of his question.
“That is true,” said Latham in a queer tone. He smiled a sad, whimsical
smile. “But you must have observed that truth sometimes covers a
multitude of lies.”
Cole pondered this cryptical statement. “One more question. Why did the
hunchback try to kill you?”
“Some men are willing to do anything for money. But this line of talk
isn’t leading us anywhere. The thing of prime importance is to find
Miss Brownell. From what little I know of the gang, to which you
referred, I should say her life isn’t worth a plugged nickel if she has
fallen into their hands.”
He spoke evenly, but Cole sensed an ache behind the words. “Do you
know the leader of the organization?” was his next question.
“He was never referred to by name in my presence, and I never came in
contact with him. In my dealings with the members I never got higher
than Professor Carmody.”
Again, despite the contradictions and discrepancies that hemmed in the
doctor’s statements, Cole was disposed to believe him. “There is no
cause for alarm just at present,” he declared. “We don’t know that Miss
Brownell is in trouble. She is a capable young woman and——”
“Ah, but you don’t know Ballinger,” interrupted Latham.
Cole reached for the telephone and called the number of The Unknown
Seven. After a brief delay he was connected with Carlin.
“Where are you?” demanded the lawyer excitedly. “Been trying to get
hold of you everywhere.”
“What has happened?” asked Cole evenly, though the lawyer’s agitation
was contagious.
“Happened!” echoed Carlin. “Received an anonymous telephone message a
while ago warning us that, unless we keep hands off, Miss Brownell will
be dead inside twenty-four hours!”
CHAPTER XX
THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE
The doctor’s face betrayed his anxiety, as Cole repeated what he had
just heard over the telephone.
“That settles it,” muttered the physician. “We must find Miss Brownell
at once.”
Cole nodded. For several minutes he had been watching the physician
closely. It was as if a veil had been removed from one phase of
Latham’s many-sided character. Cole looked through the contradictions
of his personality, and he knew that on one point, at least, the doctor
was sincere. That was in his attitude toward Miss Brownell.
“There’s no hurry,” he said calmly. “Nothing is going to happen to her
for twenty-four hours.”
“But why delay?”
“Because we can do nothing else. Another reason is that I need sleep.
The third reason is Toots.”
“Toots?” Latham frowned. “Who is Toots?”
“The most distracted cat in the State of New York at the present
moment. My rooms were invaded by prowlers this afternoon, everything
thrown helter-skelter, and Toots just can’t bear fuss of any kind.
She is a very temperamental cat, doctor. You will hear from me in the
morning.”
He left the scowling physician and walked toward the door. There he
stopped and looked back. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We will see Miss
Brownell out of this. There’s something of a plan buzzing around in my
mind. So long, doctor.”
Cole walked out. Despite his cheerful tone he was not altogether free
from worry. The situation, as far as Miss Brownell was concerned,
looked critical enough. With the fate of Reeves and McKendrick in mind,
Cole knew the gang would not stop short of murder, if it suited their
plans. The hope he had tried to instill in Doctor Latham was based on
the advantages which he held over the other side. So far Ballinger
did not know that he was being suspected, and this was an important
point in Cole’s favor. A man who thinks himself safe is apt to make
blunders and become incautious. Another advantage lay in the fact that
the conspirators knew nothing of the deductions Cole had made from
Carmody’s visit to the offices of the Bureau of Civic Research, or of
his suspicions in regard to the big safe standing there.
Cole went home, noticed with approval that Mrs. Armstrong had tidied
up his rooms, and that Toots was sleeping tranquilly on her favorite
cushion. In a few minutes Cole himself was sound asleep. Five hours he
slept, and then he awoke clear-eyed and vigorous. After feeding Toots
and getting his own breakfast, he went to the offices of The Unknown
Seven. On his desk he found a note from Carlin announcing that the
lawyer had, in accordance with Cole’s instructions, detailed one of the
operatives to watch room 2512 and report at once if the safe should be
taken out.
Cole crumpled the note in his fist. It was yet early, and only a few
members of the staff were on duty. He went to the end of the hall and
glanced into the room where the body of McKendrick lay. What to do with
it was a delicate problem in view of the fact that the operations of
The Unknown Seven were being conducted secretly. Perhaps the best way,
was Cole’s reflection, would be to encase it in a plain box and ship
it anonymously to the morgue. Later, in some indirect way, he would
endeavor to see that the hunchback was duly punished.
He locked the door of the little room and went back to his office.
He had been there only a few minutes when Doctor Ballinger, after a
discreet knock, stepped in.
“You are early, doctor,” remarked Cole genially.
Ballinger sat down and crossed his long legs. “I’ve been looking for
Miss Brownell,” he explained. “Seen anything of her?”
“No,” said Cole casually, knowing that the doctor was watching him
keenly. “A bit too early for her, I guess. No doubt she will be
strolling in soon.”
“Making any progress?”
“Rome wasn’t built in one day,” said Cole evasively, knowing that the
question was a subtle feeler. “I’m just taking hold of the job, you
know.”
“Still think there’s a traitor among us?”
“I not only think it, but I am sure of it,” declared Cole testily, as
if reproaching himself for his failure to expose the renegade. He was
on the point of saying more, but just then the telephone rang. It was
Fessenden, the operative who had been detailed to watch room 2512.
“They’re just taking it out, sir,” reported Fessenden, cautiously
hiding the gist of his statement behind the neutral pronoun.
“Well, stay on the job and report developments to me,” said Cole in
tones that seemed to indicate that the matter was of no particular
importance. “You see,” he went on, turning to the doctor, as he hung up
the receiver, “I spilled the beans at dinner. The traitor has had his
warning, and from now on he will be a hard man to catch.”
The doctor agreed with him. They discussed the matter from various
angles and finally the telephone rang again. Fessenden reported that
“it” had been loaded onto a truck.
“Stay with it,” said Cole laconically. “Telephone me when you can.”
He was aware of a questioning gleam in the doctor’s eyes, as he hung
up, but he pretended to have noticed nothing. “Fessenden thinks he has
come across a clew,” he added for Ballinger’s benefit. “Don’t think it
amounts to anything, but it’s just as well to run it down.”
“What sort of clew?”
“It seems to have something to do with the murder of Reeves,” said Cole
indifferently. “Not more than one clew out of twenty ever pans out, and
I haven’t much hope for this one.”
The doctor seemed to have been deceived by his tone. After a few more
remarks he walked out. In spite of what he had told Carlin the night
before, he had been far from certain that the safe would be taken out;
at any rate he had not expected it would be done before another night.
Fessenden’s report had started a long train of thoughts in his mind.
Shortly before noon the lawyer walked in.
“I’ve just made some inquiries about the Bureau of Civic Research,”
he reported, after he had been told that there was no news of Miss
Brownell. “There isn’t the slightest doubt about its genuineness.
Some of the biggest men in town belong to it. It’s a sort of reform
organization; interested in political uplift and that kind of thing.
They’ve occupied the two offices down below ever since the building
opened.”
“That’s interesting,” said Cole, looking as if his trend of thought had
taken a sharp quirk. “By the way, the safe was taken out of room 2512 a
little while ago.”
“Anything startling in that?”
“Well, it’s just possible that, if we can follow the safe to its
destination, we shall find Miss Brownell.”
“How do you make that out? What has the safe to do with Miss Brownell?”
“My reasoning is based on the assumption that certain parties are as
anxious to hide the one as the other. If that is so then it is only
natural to suppose that they will hide both in one place. That safe,
Carlin, represents our only hope of getting Miss Brownell out of
danger.”
The lawyer scratched his head thoughtfully. “I would advise you to move
cautiously. Those blackguards would kill her without the slightest
hesitancy if——”
“Oh, I’ll be careful,” promised Cole. “All the same we must move
quickly. I think your hunch yesterday was right, Carlin. The gang is
getting ready to cash in their chips. They are holding the threat of
death over Miss Brownell in the hope of influencing us through her and
making us let them alone till after the clean-up. The miserable cowards
are hiding behind a woman. The idea makes me mad clean through.”
“You look it,” observed Carlin. Shortly afterward he withdrew, and
a little while later Fessenden telephoned that the safe had been
transferred to a private yacht, moored at the foot of West One Hundred
and Thirtieth Street. Fessenden did not know to whom the craft
belonged. He added that it did not look as though the boat would start
for a while, for the crew were on shore leave. Cole instructed him to
report at once if it should appear that the yacht was about to sail.
“They’ll probably wait till after dark,” he told himself after