"Smokeless or semi-smokeless powder is a chemical compound in which the ingredients are radically changed in form. At the time of firing, smokeless powder is practically all burned and only gases are left, leaving neither soot nor pits on, the base of the bullet. Smokeless powders will also leave burns on the surface at which the bullet is fired, but neither as black, nor deep, nor as numerous as those left by black powder.

"Thus you see, given the same ammunition, the same weapon, it can be ascertained by tests, with a fair degree of accuracy, at what distance a shot was fired. The zone of black around the wound itself, the size of powder marks, the thinness with which they are scattered, all tell their story."

"Is this true, Professor, at distances beyond which there are powder marks?" asked Jimmy.

"Yes, it is, but not within inches, of course, nor within a few feet, perhaps. But even at those distances it can often be approximated.

"Given the hypothesis that Miller was murdered, the rest was easy. If you will go back there, Brasher, and dig your nail into the putty holding the window nearest to the bolt, you will find it soft; the other putty is hard. There are five rows of panes. The one I refer to is in the middle row at the extreme left. The killer had the forethought to use putty that was of about the same color as old putty. But I saw on the sill some minute grains of glass glinting in the light.

"Mrs. Horsnall, without knowing why I asked the question assured me that there had been no repairs, such as replacing panes of glass. When I leaned out of the window, I saw the scars in the cement. Perfectly obvious. An active man, a strong man, probably a left-handed man, threw a string with a stone at the end over Miller's Folly. With this string he drew over the building a stronger twine. Finally he drew over the top of the building a strong rope, like a wash line, or something stronger. He then drew both ends of the rope around, forming a loop, about the chimney.

"Using the chimney as his anchor, with his rope looped around it, it was fairly easy for an active man. He used the kind of spurs that electric workers use to climb up wooden poles. Those spurs left the scars I pointed out. He had a hand hold, of course, on the two ends of the rope hanging from the chimney about two feet from the window.

"The rest was rather difficult. When he reached the height of the window, the nearest pane, fortunately for him, the one near the bolt was two feet from his perch, at his left. That is why I suggest that he may be a left-handed man. He cut out the pane, opened the window, went in, killed Miller and then spent some time hiding his traces. Among these was replacing a pane of glass and using putty colored like old putty.

"A very, very dangerous murderer and a very clever one, but hardly a subtle one."

He turned to Brasher. "Now, young man, the rest ought to be simple police work. Find a man in possession of twine and rope, on which you will find adhering bits of brick, cement and paint, from Miller's roof. Find him in possession of a pair of spurs, on which you may find adhering bits of cement and you have your murderer."

As Brasher, thanking him effusively, was about to go. Professor Brierly detained him.

"Just a moment. I want to send a telegram to New York. Leave this at the telegraph office for me, please."

He turned to his companions as Brasher departed; he smiled whimsically:

"Since you insist on plunging me into these things, I might as well be prepared. I wired for several things that we may need before this is over."

McCall was knitting his brow. He had followed with glowing admiration the exposition of the old savant.

"Professor," he asked, "you say the murderer is a clever one, but hardly a subtle one. Why do you say that?"

Professor Brierly dropped wearily into a deep chair on the porch. He shuffled the sheets of paper each with its bullet hole surrounded by powder marks.

"A man who kills another, usually uses the tools he knows best; frequently he uses the tools of his trade. That is easiest; following the lines of least resistance. Or, if killing becomes his profession, he adopts and adapts certain tools for his purpose, with which he becomes familiar.

"Just see how this murder was accomplished. A professional need not be ashamed of the way the pane of glass was inserted, the use of the rope, the climbing irons, or the spurs. The man who did this has used all these materials and tools before.

"Even in this country, where we are far behind certain European countries in such matters, it should be a simple matter for the police to pick up the killer. They can go through their records for the men who are accustomed to rob houses this way. They may find half a dozen in their files. They will pick up all of them who are not in prison and pin this murder on the guilty person. The others will have adequate alibis.

"It must be obvious to you, of course, that though Miller's safe was rifled, robbery was not the real motive for the entrance; it was murder. It must also be obvious that no eighty-two-year-old man could have done this. If an eighty-two-year-old man engineered it, he hired some one. The man he hired, as I am showing you, left a broad trail. Find him and you will find the man behind him."

He rose. "I am rather tired. I am not as young as I was. I'd better take a rest."

"An eighty-two-year-old man? Are you suggesting, Professor—" began McCall.

"I? I am suggesting nothing. It was you, Mr. McCall, who made the ugly suggestion, remember.

"There is the mysterious number '14,' who, if he exists, is assuredly not less than eighty-two years old. Then, there is a several million dollar fund of which you told me. It was you, Mr. McCall, who made the ugly suggestion that such a sum was a tremendous temptation, both for men who have always been comparatively poor and for men who have had much and now have nothing.

"I am merely giving you the results of my conclusions from facts as I found them.

"Incidentally, this murderer, the man who killed Miller, is not very original. I remember a case in Germany in which a robber entered a house using just that means, a rope, a chimney and climbing irons. Yes, yes. It has all been done before. I did not need all the clues I found on the window and outside the house. The powder marks were enough. The killer was too hasty or too careless or too ignorant. He might not have known that there is an enormous difference between powder marks inflicted when the muzzle is two inches away and those inflicted when the muzzle of the weapon is twelve inches away. The powder marks alone, without any other factors, that slight difference of a few inches, might make the difference between life and death for the murderer."

"And the two other men, Professor?" asked Jimmy.

"Of the two other men," snapped Professor Brierly, impatiently, "I know no more than you, and little is known about their deaths right now."

"But don't you think," continued the persistent reporter.

"You don't mean, don't I think, Mr. Hale," jeered Professor Brierly. "You mean don't I guess. No, I never guess. I leave that for highly imaginative newspaper men, or," he waved his hand sarcastically at his grinning assistant, "to John, there. Bring me some facts and I shall try to give you an opinion, an opinion that I may base on those facts, but, what do you know of the other men?" he challenged sharply.

"Well, there's not much question about one of them, the one who was drowned at Bradley Beach. That seems like an honest drowning. But August Schurman, from our information, apparently hanged himself in his study in one of those old houses on the lower west side."

There was no sign of weariness now on the part of the old scientist. He was fully aroused. His deeply sunken eyes were glowing. Jimmy had used an old formula that he always found efficacious.

"Oh, yes?" Professor Brierly was leaning forward. "Not much question about Wrigley, the man who was found in the water at Bradley Beach, is there? All we know about him is that he was found dead in the water. Do you know that he was drowned? Of course you don't.

"And Schurman, the man who was reported to have committed suicide by hanging. All you know about that is that he was found hanging in his study, dead. Do you know that he died by hanging? Do you know that he was not dead before he was hung? If that is the case, then obviously, he could not have hung himself. Perfectly astonishing to me, Mr. Hale, that a man who has followed your profession as long as you have should be so gullible. For that matter, do you know those men are dead?"

After firing this sarcastic shaft, he shook his head, saying: "As I said, Mr. Hale, I am tired and I need some rest. And nothing makes me more tired than idle, futile speculation. The principal difference between a scientist and a newspaper man, Mr. Hale, is that one knows—the other—guesses."

* * * * *

The last rays of the sun were flaming in the sky across the lake when Professor Brierly suddenly said to Matthews: "John, take me down to the Higginbotham camp. The Judge tinkers with physics and mechanics, he offered me the use of his equipment. It may be a good thing for all of us to take our minds from this terrible affair. Too much brooding will certainly not help."

Matthews looked at him suspiciously. Without comment, he made ready to go.

Justice Higginbotham received the two men graciously. He took them at once to his work shop.

"I'm just an amateur, Professor. But it is a good thing for an old man to have a hobby, a very perplexing hobby. Modern science makes so many strides every year, every day, that it is practically impossible for an amateur to keep apace." He preceded them to a spacious shed in the rear of the house. It was carefully and immaculately arranged, each article in its place and most of them carefully labeled.

Professor Brierly's eyes gleamed with interest as his eyes fell on a series of tubes, some of which resembled radio tubes in their sockets.

"Ah," he murmured. "Photo-electric tubes. It should be fairly easy for you to keep apace with that for the reason that this particular branch of science is still in its infancy and we are all groping in the dark. No matter how little you know about the matter, Judge, you cannot know a great deal less than any of us."

"That's your modesty, Professor. I had just been installing some of the simpler devices when," his fine features clouded, "this deplorable, this terrible affair interrupted me." There was silence for a moment. With a visible effort of the will, he continued:

"I am so glad you and Mr. Matthews are here. I am rather vague about it. While I enjoy finding things out for myself, this has been rather difficult. I am not certain I understand the photo-cell's sensitiveness to color. You see, I was trying—"

"Why, that is comparatively simple, Judge. I see you have everything needed right here."

"Yes, I got it all from a catalogue. But now that I have it, what am I going to do with it?"

Professor Brierly stepped forward. He and Matthews worked quickly, deftly, the old scientist uttering a word of explanation now and then. The venerable jurist watched their deft handling of intricate mechanism with keen interest and obvious enjoyment.

After half an hour that seemed to Justice Higginbotham only a few minutes, so keen had been his absorption in the task, Professor Brierly and Matthews stepped back. Professor Brierly had three cards colored red, green and blue in his hand. He pointed to three indicators that he had connected to wires running from a tube.

"You see, Judge, the three indicators are marked respectively with the colors of these cards. As I pass these cards in front of the tube, the corresponding indicator will record its passage. Watch!"

He passed the cards in front of the tube slowly, first in one order then another. He changed their order; he increased their speed. The result was the same. The respective indicators each time, rapidly or slowly recorded the passage of the corresponding color correctly.

Justice Higginbotham beamed with admiration.

"I told you you were modest, Professor. It would have taken me weeks or months to do that. I've been working on rather an ambitious project with these tubes, you may laugh when I tell you; I was well on the way with it when," once more his features clouded, "this hellish thing interrupted me."

Professor Brierly, glad to take the other's mind from the dreadful tragedy stalking him and his companions, asked:

"What is the ambitious program you had mapped out that you believe will make me laugh?"

"It is true, is it not, Professor, that the impulse transmitted by a photo electric cell can be translated into incalculable energy; can be made to do things that normally require a great deal of power?"

"You have about stated the case, Judge. We know very little about it yet, about its possibilities, but they seem endless and practically indefinite.

"The impulse generated can be made to pick up a thread, or pull a trigger, operate a trip hammer, blow up a mine or move a battleship or an ocean liner, given a strong enough lever. And that means simply a proper transformation of power or energy.

"The theory is comparatively simple. Wherever or whenever a beam of light can be received, interrupted, modified, amplified, or controlled in any way, a light-sensitive cell can be employed to generate the impulse, which, properly applied, can do almost anything.

"Does that seem too involved?" asked Professor Brierly.

"No, I think not. It was acting on that theory that I experimented with—well, come along and I will show you."

He led the way outside, where he pointed to the overhanging rock.

"Professor, as that rock is situated now, what would happen if it came down? You see how delicately it seems to be balanced."

"If it came down," stated Professor Brierly, "it would crush your main building to match-wood."

"Yes, I guess it would. Well, here is what I planned. I erected a lever behind it operated by a trigger-like arrangement. I installed a photo-electric cell with wires running to the trigger. I was going to shore up this side of the decline running from the rock, so that when the trigger released it, it would be deflected and roll into the lake.

"But at that point, this deplorable affair with our group happened. All I needed to do was to shore up this side of it. I was going to make quite an occasion of it. I planned to invite a number of friends and show them that with a simple beam of light I could move that gigantic rock."

"Hmm," commented Professor Brierly. "In view of the fact that you have not yet made provision to deflect the rock it seems rather dangerous to leave things in this state. If the rock came down it would hit the roof of the porch and kill whoever happened to be there. You say you have installed the photo-electric cell? What is to prevent—".

"Oh, I have guarded against that, Professor. I placed the tube up there," he pointed to what looked like a bird's nest near one of the gables. You see, as that is situated, no light can ever get at it; the foliage of that tree keeps the sun away and its always rather dark there. In addition, there is that little shutter that I placed in front of it.

"I also disconnected the wires leading from the tube to the trigger." He beamed with the pride of the child, or the amateur, who has done something clever. "What do you think of it, Professor?"

"You managed very well, indeed. With this knowledge, I should feel rather uncomfortable sitting on the porch if I did not know you had taken all the precautions you mentioned. Playing with this hobby must give you considerable satisfaction, Judge."

"Yes, I get a great deal of joy out of it. But come, I am being selfish keeping you away from my other guests. They—"

He did not finish the sentence. He was once more reminded of the terrible pall of threatening gloom hanging over him and his comrades. The men sat in the large living-room chatting for a while. But it was forced. None of them could pretend that he was completely at ease.



Chapter VII

Jimmy decided to put a detailed account of the latest developments of the story on the wire in Lentone. He therefore asked Matthews to take him down in the sea sled. He could make better time that way than driving his own car over the plowed and unplowed fields that lay between the camp and the road.

But he did not telegraph his story. He found the small telegraph office besieged with a crowd of men and women, all clamoring for a wire. Jimmy grinned at the spectacle. It did not take the veteran newspaper man more than a glance to know it for what it was.

Three hours had elapsed between the time he telephoned his flash and the moment when he stepped into the small telegraph office in Newport. In those three hours, all the big and some of the little papers of the country had frantically wired their nearest correspondents to get busy.

From the North in Canada, from the South, East and West men and women began converging on the little town of Lentone, Vermont. A day later these local correspondents would be replaced by star reporters, special writers, feature writers, syndicate writers, novelists, and sob sisters.

Jimmy knew that within twenty-four hours every big newspaper in the country and every important press service would be represented.

Still grinning, he backed out of the telegraph office and hunted for the nearest public telephone. He found a repetition here of the condition he had met in the telegraph office. He had to walk six blocks before he came to a booth at which one or more persons were not awaiting their turn.

Forgotten now was any thought of enjoying himself in rest and recreation on his vacation. The newspaper man remains a newspaper man for a long time, only because he loves the game. And "game" is what the newspaper man who belongs, calls it. Those who do not belong get out of it sooner or later. On a big story he does not think of food, drink or hours. In the absorption of a big story he can and does continue without rest an unbelievable number of hours, subject himself to relentless physical strain. In doing so he enjoys it, as he does nothing else. He exemplifies perfectly the statement by the philosopher that there is no greater joy on earth than the one found in work. Hardly anyone, in any other occupation puts in the hours, the work, the loyalty for so little financial reward as does the newspaper man.

Jimmy's connection with his office was quickly made. Hite's few sentences were short, sharp, barking ones. Hite was keyed up to the highest pitch. By this time a call had gone out and he had enough men to handle all phases of the story. Hite gave some brief orders, made some caustic comment and switched the wire to Roy Heath's desk.

Even this individual's speech was not now the lazy drawl it habitually was. The tremendous scope of the story, the tense feverish activity on the part of Hite at the desk near him infected even Roy Heath.

Jimmy knew without being there that since the moment he had hung up the receiver on his first call, Hite and the rest of the staff had been in a frenzy of activity. Jimmy could picture it as though he were there, Hite barking orders to men and office boys at his elbow and at men and women perhaps hundreds and thousands of miles away. Jimmy could picture the stream of men and women and boys parading before his desk for orders. Jimmy could picture him perhaps talking into three telephones almost simultaneously; to the composing room, to a member of the staff somewhere in the Metropolitan area and to a correspondent many miles away.

Far and wide over the entire country, lapping over into foreign countries ranged the newspaper net that was thrown out for information. This information, arriving at the office, would be weeded out. The wheat would be separated from the chaff; the usable stuff would be licked into shape and Roy Heath and two other rewrite men would transform it into living, dramatic, racing, pulsating recital.

With only a faint trace of his lazy drawl, Roy said:

"All right, Jimmy, shoot it fast. Story waitin' for a new lead."

Jimmy poured into his ears the newest developments of the story; Professor Brierly's search and his conclusions. Jimmy concluded with:

"About the New York end now, Roy. About Schurman and Wrigley—"

"We're coverin' that, Jimmy. Schurman committed suicide, I guess, and about Wrigley, nothin' to that. He was drowned. He—"

At this point Jimmy interrupted. With a fair imitation of Professor Brierly's crisp, staccato, clear cut accents, with the perfectly astonishing memory for which James Hale was known, he said:

"Oh, yes? Not much question about Wrigley, the man who was found in the water at Bradley Beach, is there? All we know about him is that he was found dead in the water. Do you know that he was drowned? Of course you don't.

"And Schurman, the man who was reported to have committed suicide by hanging. All you know about that is that he was found hanging in his study, dead. Do you know that he died by hanging? Do you know that he was not dead before he was hung? If that is the case, if he was dead before he was hung, then, obviously he could not have hung himself. Perfectly astonishing to me, Mr. Heath, that a man who has followed your profession as long as you have should be so gullible. For that matter, do you know these men are really dead. We scientists—"

With surprising patience, Roy had listened to this burlesque. That was because Roy was one of the greatest rewrite men in the profession. Roy's quick mind had instantly grasped the thing that was behind this burlesque. At this point he interrupted.

"I get you, Professor. Too bad you can't be here yourself. But I promise that in a couple hours we'll know more about Schurman's and Wrigley's death. Swell tip, Jimmy. We'll go right after it. That all?"

"Yep," said Jimmy, going back to character. "That's all, Roy, s'long. Oh, wait a minute, Roy. Schurman is at your end. Got any dope on that?"

"No, Jimmy, all we got is a flash. We're gettin' the details now. He had engaged a plane to fly up to Higginbotham's camp, plannin' to be there first thing in the mornin'. When he didn't come up to the airport, the pilot began telephonin'. Finally, about eight o'clock or so in the morning, an old woman who takes care of Schurman's apartment, came and found him hangin'. That's about all we got, Jimmy."

Jimmy was about to hang up the receiver, when Hite's harsh growl cut in:

"Wait a minute, Jimmy. I was listening in. You gave me an idea. We can and will, of course, verify these two deaths, but it would be swell if Professor Brierly were here. Could you persuade him to come down here to give us the benefit of his experience and advice?"

"I don't know, chief. He's a crochety old gent, you know, and he has notions about things. He might take the notion that it is not fitting or pleasant or convenient to go. He might think—oh, he might think anything."

"Yes, Jimmy, I know something about the peppery old gent. But you stand pretty strong with him. See if you can persuade him. I'm going to take it for granted that he'll come. Will he object to riding in a plane?"

"Who, Professor Brierly? Don't make me laugh, chief. There isn't a thing on, above or beneath the earth that he's afraid of. If he decides to come he'll want to come the quickest way possible."

"All right then, Jimmy. I'll charter a plane by wire. If he consents to come there will be a plane ready for him in the airport most convenient to his camp, wherever that is, or right on the lake. Step on it, Jimmy."

Jimmy thought of using the telephone, decided against it. It might take some diplomatic finesse to persuade the old scientist to hire himself out to a newspaper. He might feel it degrading and cheapening to do such a thing.

On the way to the camp, Jimmy's moods were reflected in his features by alternate smiles and frowns as he pictured the manner in which his office would be received.

By the time he reached the camp he decided against using any cheap trickery to accomplish his purpose. He held Professor Brierly in too much esteem to attempt such a thing. He made up his mind that forthright frankness would serve his purpose best. He was delighted and surprised at the ease with which his errand was accomplished.

Professor Brierly consented to make the trip without hesitation. He did balk at first about accepting the plane at the expense of Jimmy's paper, but he was persuaded that it was ethical in the highest degree to do so. Jimmy clinched this argument by saying that if Professor Brierly refused to do it for the paper, Hite would perhaps engage one of the charlatans or pseudo-scientists, against whom the old savant was in the habit of raving.

At this moment there came from the direction of the lake the deafening roar of an airplane motor, which diminished as it came nearer. Looking out they saw an amphibian taxi to within a few yards of the wharf. Hite had not wasted time. The plane was there to take Professor Brierly to New York.

Jimmy decided to call it a day. His long drive from New York and the strenuous day just past, broken only by a few hours' sleep, told even on his robust constitution. Besides, there was nothing further to do that afternoon. Hite had indicated that when Jimmy's fresh news was put on the presses the staff would quit for the day.

He was in Lentone bright and early the following morning. A short visit to the home of the late Morris Miller followed by a visit to the police, gave him very little for a new lead to the story. He ruefully told himself that the news was probably where Professor Brierly was. He telephoned to his paper.

Hite's voice had a tremor that showed he came as near laughing as he ever got.

"Great little guy that professor of yours, Jimmy. My, oh my, what a newspaper man he would have made. Is he always that way, Jimmy?"

"What did he do, chief?"

"What did he do? For one thing he came as near getting me fired from this job as I ever got. He snarled and growled at me. He told the managing editor that he was an ignoramus and the M.E., believe it or not, took it, took it like a little lamb, Jimmy. Dije ever hear anybody call the M.E. an idiot and get away with it?

"He told Mr. Conway, the boss, that he was a charlatan; that he was running a yellow sheet; that he had the ethics of a hyena; that he was pandering to the worst passions of the ignorant mob and a few other choice things.

"He set the police commissioner's office on its collective ear and drove the medical examiners crazy. What he said to them should be preserved as a method of raising blisters on a man's skin with language and done in good English.

"He did say one nice thing about one human being. He said that one James Hale, Esq., was not so bad—for a newspaper man. Now don't get swelled up over this like a poisoned pup, Jimmy, or I'll have you killed. The price quoted for murdering a newspaper man is very low.

"But Jimmy, he gave us a swell new lead on the story. Schurman was murdered. Everybody here said he had committed suicide. As for Wrigley, that appears to have been an honest drowning. He was really drowned. We're looking it up just the same, but we have the old bird's word for it that he died by drowning. Say, Jimmy doesn't that bird ever sleep. He was busy as a bee all night. He left here about five this morning and may be up there already for all I know. When he left he was as chipper and fresh and full of pep as—well words fail me, Jimmy.

"He says he's going right up to the camp of Justice Higginbotham. Jimmy, I'd give a leg if I could have had a stenographic report of his speeches while he was here and a picture of the individuals at whom those speeches were fired.

"S'long, Jimmy, remember we're runnin' a daily paper and not a quarterly." This was Hite's usual formula.

Jimmy now decided to charter a swift motor boat. Professor Brierly's camp and Justice Higginbotham's camp were both a considerable distance off the main road. A swift motor boat, with a competent man to handle it, would transport him from Lentone to either or both camps in less time than would a motor car.

Getting a motor boat was not as easy as he had anticipated. He learned that a sudden demand within the past twenty-four hours had apparently exhausted all the available craft that were for hire. Something that one of the boatmen let drop gave him an inkling of the reason for this. The correspondents who were pouring into Newport had reached the same conclusion as he and had forestalled him. He also learned that every available motor car had been hired within the past few hours.

Foreseeing the possibility of being on the story for some time, he set out with the idea that if he could not charter a boat he would buy one. He felt that the expense would be justified and he was certain the powers that be on his paper would approve such a step; they were not niggardly in the matter of expenses.

After a protracted search he found a youngster of eighteen, Harry Stoy, who was not only willing to sell him his sea sled, but was also willing to hire out as the boat's crew. Harry was a fine upstanding youngster, who knew motor boats and who knew the lake and surrounding country. When Harry learned that the man to whom he sold the boat was a newspaper man on a big murder story, he stopped bargaining and entered the chase with nearly the same amount of enthusiasm as that shown by the reporter himself.

Jimmy opened his eyes wide with astonishment when Harry took him to Justice Higginbotham's camp. Boats were tied to the small wharf. Boats were moored to every available spot on the shore. For hundreds of yards about the wharf boats were anchored. Not since he had seen a regatta had Jimmy seen so many boats in one place at the same time.

When he stepped to the wharf and thence to the wide porch, he understood the cause of this. As he had seen at the telegraph office and the public telephone booths, Justice Higginbotham's camp was now a magnet for all the newspapers and press services in the United States and Canada. Near the wharf he recognized the plane that had transported Professor Brierly to New York.



Chapter VIII

Jimmy recognized several of the men and women on the porch as reporters and feature writers. These, knowing that Jimmy's paper was the one that sprung the story, made a concerted rush for him. He fended them off. He told them that beyond what had been printed he knew nothing. Asked about Professor Brierly, he told them that he had not seen the old scientist for more than fifteen hours; that his paper in New York had handled that end. He assured them that beyond the bare announcement over the phone that Schurman had been murdered, he knew nothing new.

At this moment the grizzled negro came to the door of the porch and gestured to Jimmy. He said to the reporter when Jimmy came near him:

"The jedge, Mistuh Hale, sez for you—all to come in an' see him and the otheh gempmen."

Aside from the eleven men he had first met the day before, there were in the big, comfortable living-room, Professor Brierly and District Attorney McCall. He felt and saw that all of them were looking at him.

He was shocked at the appearance of some of the men. They seemed to have shrunken in size. There was a furtive air about some of them; stark fear, fear of the unknown danger, shone in the eyes of a number of the men present.

"Mr. Hale, it is not your fault, but you are indirectly responsible for the presence of all those men and women out there. It is a very distressing thing. Newspapers have their place and uses, of course; we all recognize that, but we cannot at a time like this be besieged by a horde of men and women, not all of whom, I regret to say, have the delicacy to show the kindness and consideration—"

"I get you, Judge. The thing to do, of course, is to tell them that you will issue periodic announcements about the developments in the case. They will all understand that, I am sure, and respect your wishes for privacy at other times."

"Yes, of course, that is the simple, the obvious thing to do. Will you act for us, Mr. Hale. Tell them—"

"Sorry, Judge, I should like to act in this capacity. But I also am a newspaper man out on a story and I should be in a false position. I can help you with advice, but that is as far as I dare, as far as I can go in such a matter. I can assure you that everything you tell me in confidence will not be printed without your permission. Your comrades here who know me, Judge, will vouch for me, perhaps."

Marshall, McGuire and Fletcher nodded.

Mr. Marshall, at Jimmy's suggestion, went out to the porch and told the assembled newspaper men of the decision they had reached concerning the issuing of statements for the press. When he returned, Professor Brierly said:

"In this case, Hale, how will you treat information that you acquire through your contact with me. Would it be honorable—"

"I've thought of that, Professor. I shall not use any information I get through my living at your camp that all the others are not permitted to use. This, of course, does not apply to matters that I would have learned without knowing Professor Brierly."

Some of the men present wrinkled their brows in perplexity. They had difficulty following such a nice point of ethics. But they dropped the matter by mutual consent. After all it was a slight matter in the face of the great tragedy facing them.

Jimmy turned his attention to Professor Brierly, who had been talking when he was ushered into the room. The other men settled themselves back to listen. The old scientist was saying:

"August Schurman was murdered, Wrigley was really drowned. I do not know at this time whether or not some outside influence was responsible for his drowning. I merely had myself flown to the New Jersey sea coast town, where they were keeping the body. My examination was hasty, but enough to determine that he was drowned; death was really due to that."

There was a dead silence in the room. The calm unemotional voice of Professor Brierly in this room of utter fear set Jimmy's spine tingling. Once more, for the third or the fourth time since he had come upon these men, he was struck with the odd notion that it was not real; that he was witnessing a play in which the actors did not know their lines and were missing their cues. It was the grotesque bordering on the terrible, the tragic.

"And Schurman, Professor?"

Jimmy almost jumped, as did some of the others on this breaking in of his thoughts. They also were evidently immersed in their own thoughts. It was Goldberg and Vasiliewski, who, as if actuated by a single impulse, had broken the silence.

"Schurman," answered Professor Brierly slowly, "was murdered; there is no question about that." Something clicked in Jimmy's mind. He had missed something from Professor Brierly's speech. There was not his wonted incisiveness and crispness. The reporter looked sharply at the old man. Jimmy's mind cleared; he became convinced that Professor Brierly was hiding something, was withholding something he had learned in New York. He did not, as he was accustomed to do, explain in elaborate detail. Former Police Commissioner McGuire asked:

"Murdered! How was he murdered? The information is that he was hung. What a strange way of murdering a man."

Professor Brierly nodded. He said: "He was found dead, hanging from a hook in his living-room, but he was dead when he was hung."

Marshall burst out:

"Why did you go to New York, Professor?" Still speaking slowly, Professor Brierly answered: "I was engaged by the New York Eagle to undertake the trip for the purpose of viewing both bodies. I also had another reason. Since I am plunged into this investigation it may be necessary for me to have certain instruments, instruments of precision, for the purpose of conducting certain inquiries and for making certain tests."

"Why, Professor," exclaimed Justice Higginbotham. "You need not have gone to the trouble for the second reason you give.

"It is likely that my workshop and laboratory contain everything you might need."

The professor's eyes lit up with a gleam of interest.

"Indeed they do, and I may yet avail myself of them, but I wired yesterday for additional instruments, and early this morning I stopped at my place, where I obtained a few things I needed." He arose to go, but Justice Marshall detained him:

"You did not tell us the details of the death of the two men you saw in New York and Bradley Beach, Professor. You say Schurman was murdered. Won't you tell us about it?"

Jimmy was once more conscious of a hesitancy in Professor Brierly's manner. Jimmy was quite certain that if the old man were not such a forthright individual he should have used evasive tactics at this time. After a brief pause, scrutinizing briefly the faces in front of him, he resumed his seat.

"Schurman was murdered by being struck at the base of his skull. The blow fractured one and dislocated another one of the vertebrae causing asphyxia, which made it easy for the examiner to conclude that he had been asphyxiated by the rope with which he was hung." Once more the reporter was conscious of an unwonted hesitancy in the old scientist's manner. He cast another glance about the semicircle of strained faces; then went on: "After he was struck the fatal blow, he was hung to a hook high up on the wall of his bedroom. Schurman occupied a small apartment on West Fourteenth Street, one formerly occupied as a theatrical boarding house, when that was the theatrical district.

"Entrance into his apartment was affected by an expert cracksman, the New York police say. Schurman had a small safe. The marks on the safe and the method in which entrance was affected makes the police believe that they may be able to find the man.

"There was an additional factor. There was a small electric refrigerator which was open when the body was found. There were some soiled dishes on the table in the kitchen. It appeared that an enormous quantity of food had been eaten. On one of the shelves of the refrigerator there was an apple, a green apple in which there were teeth marks.

"Someone had evidently bitten into this apple and found it too green for eating. The maid, who came to the apartment once a day to clean up, was able to estimate the amount of food that had been eaten since she had last visited the place. Six eggs were eaten at this meal.

"This woman found Schurman's body yesterday morning. The condition of the body showed that it had been dead nearly twenty-four hours. The condition of the stomach showed that he had not eaten for about six hours prior to death, and no eggs then. A quick search by the police placed him in a small restaurant near his apartment, about two o'clock on the morning he was found. Thus it may be assumed that the person who murdered Schurman is the person who consumed that enormous amount of food. The police say they have one additional bit of evidence they would rather not divulge."

At this point in the recital McGuire jumped up. His features were alight with a mixture of ferocity and the zeal of the hunter. He growled:

"The bird who did that left his visiting card!"

All eyes were turned in his direction.

He continued:

"Cracksmen, criminals of all kinds have their idiosyncrasies, their peculiarities. They do certain things and thus leave a broad trail for the police to follow. The police know these peculiarities, they have a record of them. Here is a bird who does an unusual thing, he eats an enormous quantity of food. He is an expert; he has probably done it before. The police are sure to get him. During my tenure of office as Police Commissioner of New York, I have seen it work out this way lots of times. They never learn, the criminals don't; they never learn."

McCall nodded. "You're right, Commissioner. Professor Brierly suggested that yesterday, when he was discussing the murder of Morris Miller. The murderer in that case left even more pronounced clues than this one you are now discussing. Professor Brierly then said that the police must surely have a record of a man who does things in such a way."

"Sure to have," responded McGuire. He arose and stretched his short huge bulk. "This is something like it. We now have something tangible, something definite. It was the damnable inaction that was beginning to get on my nerves. I'm going to use your phone, Judge."

They heard his voice rumbling at the telephone in the adjoining room. They were still conscious of his deep growling voice when Professor Brierly, Jimmy and McCall departed.

The two younger men succeeded in warding off from Professor Brierly the barrage of questions that was fired at him by the horde of men and women who still waited about, hoping for a crumb of information in addition to that which had been furnished.

When they were free of the crowd of newspaper men, Jimmy asked:

"Did the police tell you, Professor, what the additional bit of evidence was?"

"Yes, when I convinced them it was not suicide they made a more extended search of the apartment. It was then they learned that an expert cracksman had entered, that an expert had opened the safe without blowing it open or forcing it open. This cracksman, however, did things in a way that only about half a dozen men in the country do it and the police have all of them tagged.

"The additional individual evidence was entirely accidental. They found under the safe a small nail file. On its smooth portion they found a clear thumb and forefinger print. They were rather mysterious about it, so evidently they think they can lay their hands on the man who left this print. Off hand, I should say that finding the man who did it and fixing the guilt definitely should be rather easy."

He stopped, shook his head in some perplexity, and murmured:

"There is something about the whole devilish business that just won't fit, won't fit into all the known facts, won't fit into observation and experience; won't fit—" The rest was too low for Jimmy to hear.

Professor Brierly refused the offer of the pilot of the plane that was gently rocking near the wharf. Getting into McCall's boat with its owner, they got under way, followed by Jimmy Hale and his youthful pilot, Harry Stoy.



Chapter IX

As they approached the camp, Jimmy was amused to see the occupation with which Matthews was employed. He was still teaching young Thomas Van Orden how to dive. From a distance Jimmy saw with approval that Tommy had progressed rather well in the art. The youngster made a fairly creditable dive. Matthews was lifting him aboard the cruiser, when the youngster saw the approaching boat.

"Hey, Pop!" he yelled, his shrill treble ringing across the water. "Lookit me dive." He jumped, landing in a flat "belly whopper" causing a splash grossly disproportionate to his small form. Matthews, with a grin dove after him and the lesson for the time being was over. Tommy was sent into the house, where he was followed by his adoring mother.

Matthews jerked his thumb toward the porch and said to Professor Brierly:

"You've got company, sir. He had to see you, so he's waiting. You can hear him from here."

The "him," they could hear was Detective Brasher, slumped in a deep wicker chair, head thrown back, sound asleep, his snores causing a discordant note on the peaceful scene.

At the touch of Jimmy's hand on his shoulder, he awakened. He smiled sheepishly as his eyes fell on the group standing about him and dragged himself out of his chair.

"'Scuse me, Professor; I been busy with this and ain't had much sleep. I found something that'll interest you. Mr. Matthews said you'd be along pretty soon, so I waited. Here, Professor—" He leaned over and, from behind the chair he had occupied on their arrival, he took a coiled rope. He dropped it with a soft plop at Professor Brierly's feet.

"What do you think of this, Professor?"

Professor Brierly almost pounced on the loose coils at his feet. He carefully unwound it. There was nearly a hundred yards of wash line. Tied securely to the end of this there was an equal length of twine. Tied to the end of the latter, there was a long length of fish line, at the end of which there was a fairly heavy sinker. There was no gut or hook, just the sinker.

Professor Brierly looked approvingly at the unkempt, red-eyed detective.

"Good work, Mr. Brasher! Splendid! Where did you find it?"

"I'm not as clever as you think, Professor, or I would 'a' had this yesterday. I looked around after you left Miller's Folly. I found tracks of a motorcycle on the ground a short distance away. We're pretty careful about smuggling any booze around here, you know, Professor, so I asked around, thinking maybe a trooper on our side or mebbe one of the Mounties on this side would have seen or heard a motorcycle.

"A trooper on our side of the line heard a motorcycle about two o'clock yesterday morning. I figgered that if it had bumped off Miller, I wouldn't want to be carting around with me, any longer than I had to, several hundred yards of rope and twine, like you said he had to have. Not with troopers snoopin' around and asking questions mebbe that might be hard to answer.

"I asks myself what would I do with it? I snooped around and about a quarter mile from the Folly there is a gully with weeds growin' over it so you can't see it unless you know it's there or you fall into it. The motorcycle tracks lead right up to this gully. Mebbe the bird who bumps off Miller rides into it at night. About twenty, thirty yards from the place he rides into it, I find this." He nodded toward the rope which Professor Brierly was carefully examining as he was uncoiling it.

Professor Brierly looked up, a trace of anxiety in his deep eyes.

"Was there water in the gully, Brasher?"

"A little, not to amount to anything."

The anxiety in Professor Brierly's eyes deepened. "Running water, Brasher?"

"Oh, no, not that. Just a little water in the bottom from some rain mebbe, or, mebbe it was seepage."

Professor Brierly's features cleared. There was no hesitation in his manner. He turned briskly to Matthews.

"Did the microscope and slides come, John?" When Matthews answered in the affirmative, he continued:

"A large vessel, John, and some clear cold water."

He turned to the detective.

"Lie down on the hammock there, Brasher, while I am making some tests. I'll wake you when—"

"Do you mind, Professor, if I watch you—if I watch you make your tests?"

"Certainly not, but you will not find it very interesting."

Matthews brought out to the porch an infant's bathtub of enameled metal ware. He poured water in it from the well and asked the old man:

"Won't there be complications, Professor? This water is not distilled and—"

"You will make a microscopic examination of the water, John, and make a careful record, while I wash the rope and twine."

While Matthews went indoors to do his mentor's bidding, the old scientist uncoiled the three sections of rope, twine and fish line. He swirled first one of them violently in the clear water of the bathtub. Then, he siphoned off the water. The water was then subjected to a careful filtering process. The solids resulting from this were subjected to the microscope.

This was done in turn with each section of the coil of rope and twine that Brasher brought. Toward the end of his examination, Professor Brierly had Matthews' help. Jimmy wondered at the smoothness and celerity with which the two men worked. They must have done this many times in the past. There seemed perfect understanding. Without a word being uttered, each man's hands did their appointed task as though one brain dominated them. There was no fumbling, false motions or getting in one another's way.

Each man's movements were carefully checked. The results of the examination of each microscopic slide were carefully noted. They worked with machine-like precision. Jimmy could understand now why Matthews was rapidly attaining a reputation as a scientist second only to his beloved chief. Gone now was the habitual good humored grin with which Matthews treated most things and people. Neither man dominated; both worked as one; there was perfect coordination.

During the tests, Martha came out to call them to lunch; Professor Brierly shook his head impatiently. At the second call he snapped irascibly at the old housekeeper. Turning to the others, he said:

"Go on in and have lunch, all of you; this must be finished." His audience did not budge; their absorption in his task was matched only by his own. Martha shrugged her ample shoulders in resignation and with a snort of disgust left Professor Brierly and his adopted son to their task.

At last it was finished. Professor Brierly spoke to Brasher:

"Bits of brick and mortar on the fish line, twine and rope show that this was in all probability the means used by Miller's murderer. This is probably from the chimney. There is also some roof paint, from the edge of the roof of Miller's Folly."

He looked at the notes he and Matthews had made. He continued: "Mr. Brasher, the rope prior to its use around the chimney of Miller's Folly was for a considerable time at a farm or farmyard, where you will find the following:

"A boxwood hedge, of the species B. sempervirens, the common box.

"One or more pear trees.

"You will find these shrubs," handing him a list.

"On that farm there are two horses, a bay and sorrel.

"There is a black and white cow.

"There are some leghorn chickens.

"There is a collie dog."

McCall, Jimmy and Brasher were startled. They stared at the old man in disbelief. McCall said:

"Oh, I say, Professor, see here—" He stopped. He saw Matthews grin and wink at Jimmy. Professor Brierly was oblivious to the interruption. He continued:

"The fish line contains all the characteristics of the rope, but was not at that place for so long a time." He looked once more at his slip of paper.

"I forgot to mention that a stream of water runs through or adjacent to the place where these ropes were kept."

He looked once more at his notes and shook his head.

"The twine," he said slowly, "was also at that place for a considerable length of time. In addition, it appears to have been for some time in a hat factory, where felt hats are made; in a part of a hat factory where a good deal of the fur from the felt hats is in constant motion. I am not familiar with hat factories, but it must be in a branch of the factory, where the hat is worked after it has been dyed."

He caught the detective's look of astonishment.

"Really, Mr. Brasher, there is nothing remarkable about this. Your feat of finding the rope was far more meritorious, both the reasoning and the actual finding of the rope. What John and I did just now was absurdly simple.

"All you need do now, Mr. Brasher, is find a man, probably a left-handed man, who lives on a place such as I described, who owns a motorcycle who cannot account for the time in which we know Mr. Miller was killed; who either worked in or had access to a hat factory; a man who has a pair of climbing irons and you have the murderer."

"Oh, yeah, is that all?"

Professor Brierly bristled.

"What is there difficult about that? That should be simple. Surely there are not a great many farms or farmyards that comply with all the conditions I enumerated. Surely that should be merely detail, just the work the police ought to be able to do. Ex-Police Commissioner McGuire thinks that too."

He waved his hands with a gesture of finality and Brasher knew that he was dismissed. With a look of awe and reverence he departed, shaking his head wonderingly.

Professor Brierly was also shaking his head. There was a puzzled frown on his fine features. He said:

"I shall have to recast my opinion about the man or men who are responsible for these two murders. I said he or they are clever but not subtle. I was wrong, there is a subtlety about it, a devilish ingenuity about it." He shook his head once more, the puzzled frown becoming deeper. "There are things about these two murders that do not fit and it seems hard to make them fit. I wonder—" He shook his head violently as if to clear it of an unpleasant or hazy thought.

Hale began, slowly, not knowing how to broach the subject:

"Was there something, Professor, that you were holding back in Justice Higginbotham's camp, something you knew, that you did not care to tell."

Professor Brierly looked at him quizzically.

"You are an acute young man, Hale—or, was I so obvious?"

He sat for a long time thoughtfully tearing to bits the small sheets on which he had made his notes of the examination of the ropes and twine. He continued slowly:

"What the microscope showed me this morning increased my doubts about the matter. The trail left by the murderer in Miller's Folly seemed clear enough. Finding the rope, however, instead of clarifying the case makes it more puzzling. What we found on the rope and twine does not at all accord with the rope itself and its implication.

"I find an analogous situation in New York. Everything seemed clear enough. Someone entered Schurman's apartment. That person was either rather skilled in human anatomy or he was told how to hit Schurman. The victim was struck in such a way that it could easily have been mistaken for simple asphyxia or the kind of asphyxia that you would find in a body that has been hung by the neck. Everything seemed simple enough until I found the apple."

"The apple?" queried McCall.

"Yes, the apple of which the murderer almost took a bite. It was a green apple. The murderer was about to take a bite, but he changed his mind. It was too hard, or too bitter, or too sour." He changed the subject abruptly. "And what will the District Attorney of New York County do about August Schurman's murder? That, at least, is in your jurisdiction, Mr. McCall."

"Yes, that is in my jurisdiction. I have wired orders and my office is doing all it can right now to cooperate with the police. We should hear something shortly."

Professor Brierly turned to the reporter.

"Obviously, Mr. Hale, the ends of justice will not be well served if you should publish in your paper what we discovered today by means of the microscope. The police may be seriously hampered in its work if too much or any publicity is given this matter."

"But Professor—"

The old man snapped at him. "But nothing. If you were not here you would know nothing about it. Certainly, if the police discovered what I discovered they would be very careful to withhold it from reporters. Surely you have enough in this story to satisfy even your insatiable appetite for news."

Jimmy gulped. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Here he had a juicy bit of news that would delight Hite and he could not publish it. What a swell new lead for the story. Acting contrary to the old man's wishes in the matter was, of course, out of the question.



Chapter X

Dinner was finished at the Brierly camp when a telephone message from the Higginbotham camp requested Professor Brierly to come down there that evening, if it was convenient. McCall and, as an afterthought, Hale, were included in the invitation.

After their arrival Justice Higginbotham began without preamble:

"What conclusions have you reached with reference to these murders, Professor?"

Professor Brierly looked at his questioner curiously. He looked about at the other men. The strain was increasingly telling on them. Old men, all of them, the difference that the last three days had made in their appearance was startling. A furtive, harrowing fear was apparent in most of their countenances.

Professor Brierly answered gently:

"I do not believe I have reached any general conclusion, Judge. The facts, as I found them, that may be helpful to the police I have given the police. Understand, please, I am not a policeman nor a detective. I am a simple scientist and it is as problems in science that I approach these subjects."

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear, Professor. We, or rather most of us, are in a very unhappy state of mind. Thus, what might three days ago have been a very simple thing, takes on for all of us perhaps a grossly exaggerated importance. Mr. Flynn there," glancing toward one of the men who was looking with dull unseeing eyes at the table, "has an important errand at his home. His home is in Pleasantville, N.Y. That is not far from New York City. We are really perplexed as to whether we ought to let him go." Justice Higginbotham nervously clenched his fist until the knuckles showed white.

"This is ghastly, Professor. Let me put it bluntly. Here we are, eleven old comrades, and we are—shall I say it—suspicious of one another. There, you have it, but it is the simple truth. Perhaps all of us do not share this unworthy feeling." He smiled grimly and continued:

"We are old men. In this state of mind, if it continues and grows as it must, unless this damnable mess is cleared up, we will all die shortly without the aid of murder."

McGuire stood up abruptly and took several paces back and forth. He growled:

"Yes, it's hellish. We don't like the idea of Flynn going off by himself and at the same time we are all afraid to stay here. That damn Tontine policy. If not for that we would not—"

His sentence was left unfinished. Several of the old heads nodded in agreement. Flynn looked up. With an air of obviously false bravado he exclaimed:

"What the hell is there to be afraid of? And suppose I do follow the others? I told you when I came three days ago that I could not spend the week. I just have to attend to this matter." He shook his head stubbornly. "If we take this attitude—we are men, aren't we. Can't we protect ourselves, now that we know definitely of the danger. Or aren't we exaggerating the danger?"

Mr. Marshall said gently.

"But it is not altogether our fear for your safety, Bill, that is in our minds. It is—let us put it frankly—"

McGuire interrupted.

"Oh, go on, say it, Hank, say it! It is fear of one another as well as fear for one another. Is that it?"

Marshall nodded. Jimmy tingled at this scene. There was an electric tension that might result in—almost anything. McGuire continued:

"Stay here, Flynn, stay here until this thing is cleaned up."

Flynn got out of his seat. He picked up a light top coat and hat that had been on the arm of his chair.

"Well, I've got to go and that's that. You all know I've got to go. If you're afraid of me, send a guard along. If you're afraid for me, the same guard can do your business."

Justice Higginbotham turned to McCall.

"Mr. McCall, see to it that Flynn is guarded from the moment he steps foot in New York. We will see to it that he has adequate protection until he reaches New York." His eyes swept the rest of the group. "Is that satisfactory?"

There was a general nod of assent. Justice Higginbotham continued:

"For God's sake, let us not be children or old women. We have all faced death before, we have faced other and worse things. We should get some reports soon that will clear this up. In a day, at the most in two days, we will know definitely if Amos Brown, the only remaining member of '14', is still alive."

Bruce Thomas spoke up:

"Facing death from a musket with your comrades about you is comparatively easy, Isaac. But this damnable thing—"

"Forget it. Let us confront it. We—"

The ringing of the telephone interrupted him; Jimmy saw the majority of the old men wince as at a blow. He had a vivid recollection of the hourly ringing of the telephone on the fatal morning of July fourth, it seemed so long ago, and the deadly messages the telephone brought.

The grizzled negro came to the door.

"Lentone police calling, Jedge."

There was an unwonted gleam of excitement in the eyes of the venerable jurist as he returned to the waiting men.

"Lentone police say they have the man who murdered Miller. They want you to come down there, Professor. A man by the name of Grasher—"

"Brasher," corrected Jimmy.

"Yes, Brasher, he was on the wire. He seemed quite elated and he wants you to come right down there, Professor."

William Flynn who was about to go when the telephone bell rang, paused when he heard the news. He shrugged his shoulders. Jimmy who had been watching him saw the look of furtive defiance and bravado lift from him. He said:

"That doesn't make any difference in my plans. I'll have to go anyway. I'd like to wait and see this out. I feel better just the same though, if they've got the killer."

McCall addressed him: "Come down to the Lentone police station with us, Mr. Flynn. We'll arrange for protection for you."

Chief of Police Cassidy, of the Lentone Police, consented readily to the request made by McCall. Then the three men were led into the chief's office. Brasher explained briefly:

"Professor, this bird we got has as many aliases as I got hairs in my head and he's got a criminal record as long as my arm. He's known to the police from here to the Mississippi. The last job he did was in New York, up above Yonkers, where he got into a house like he got into Miller's Folly, chimney, rope, climbing irons and everything. He beat the rap on a technical kink.

"About three hours ago, he was caught over near the New Hampshire line driving a stolen car. We got his record all right. We was waitin' till you came. Want to ask him some questions?"

"No, but I should like to be here when you examine him, if you don't mind?"

Chicago Boyle' alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias to many names to mention, was brought in. Boyle was a well dressed man in the middle thirties. He was strongly and compactly built. He scrutinized carefully each of the men who faced him. He jauntily asked for a cigarette, which Brasher supplied him. He did not take his eyes from Professor Brierly while he was lighting the white tube.

After blowing a series of small smoke rings, he asked:

"You're Professor Brierly, aren't you?" His voice was soft and quietly modulated. His diction was that of a fairly well educated man.

Professor Brierly nodded curtly. Brasher pointed to a chair and said:

"To save time, Boyle, I suppose you'll admit that you're 'Chicago' Boyle, alias 'Lefty' Harris, alias—"

Boyle nodded indifferently.

"Oh, yes, I'm Boyle all right, what of it? I was going about my business, when a hick cop picked me up because he thought my car was stolen. Then I'm transported half way across the state and brought here. What's it all about?"

"We want to ask you some questions, Boyle."

"You can ask as many damn questions as you please. I won't answer 'em. I know my rights. I asked to see a lawyer and you've kept me—"

"Oh, you'll get your lawyer, all right but first—"

"No, first I'll see my lawyer."

Brasher stepped to the doorway and beckoned. A middle-aged man, with blond hair and gimlet like black eyes stepped in. He nodded curtly to the others and said to Boyle:

"What is it?"

"I'm kept here without the shadow of a legal excuse. I don't know what I was arrested for. I've seen no warrant. I haven't been charged."

Counselor-at-law Forman whirled on the chief of police.

"Is this true?" Without waiting for an answer he said heatedly:

"I demand to know what he's charged with. I demand that he be brought before a judge and admitted to bail. I'll have a habeus corpus—"

Brasher said softly.

"It's true we didn't charge him. We want to ask him some questions. If he insists on his rights, we'll charge him all right but if we do there won't be no bail. There's no bail for what we're gonna charge him with."

Boyle and Forman stared at the speaker. The lawyer finally asked:

"What are you talking about, no bail. Only in murder cases can a prisoner be denied bail."

"That's what I'm talkin' about, Mr. Forman. You're a smart lawyer all right. Murder is what we're gonna charge him with if he and you insist."

Jimmy had been watching Boyle. After the first momentary surprise, a gleam of sardonic amusement appeared in his eyes. He seemed not at all concerned with the gravity of the charge. But this lasted only a short time. He turned grave, but Jimmy was quite certain he was not frightened. He said:

"Wait a minute, Mr. Forman. This flatfoot hasn't got a thing on me. It may be better to answer questions and—"

"No!" burst out Forman. "Don't answer any questions. They'll—"

Of the two the prisoner seemed far the cooler. He shook his head gently.

"Naw, they won't do a thing; they haven't got anything to do it with. Let 'em ask."

The lawyer glared at him. He spat out:

"Better get another lawyer, since you know so much." He turned abruptly and walked out.

Boyle turned a smiling face to the other men in the room.

"These mouthpieces have their little ways, haven't they? One would think HE was being accused of murder. Go on and ask what you like. I'll answer your questions because I haven't got anything to hide."

"That's swell," said Brasher with thinly disguised sarcasm. "'Member the job of yours near Yonkers, where you got in with a rope hooked around a chimney and climbin' irons. 'Member that, Boyle?"

"Sure, I remember it. But that was a frame up. The police had to have a goat and I was it. But they didn't get away with it. Some judges are honest and this one didn't let them frame me."

"Yeah, that's right. Well, Boyle, mebbe you heard about this Morris Miller who was murdered right outside of town here early in the morning of July 4th. Heard of that did you?"

There was a tightening of the prisoner's jaw muscles. His brows were drawn together. His hand holding the cigarette stopped midway. He was looking fixedly at the detective. He nodded.

"Yes, I heard of it. What of it?"

"Well, the bird who bumped off this Miller got in by using a rope hooked around a chimney like you did—excuse me—like they alleged you did in Yonkers. He used climbing irons too. You used to be a lineman didn't you, Boyle?"

Brasher stopped, waiting for the effect of this on the prisoner. He continued:

"Now all you got to do, Boyle, is to convince us that you weren't there when Mr. Miller was killed and we'll let you go. See."

Boyle's eyes blinked. His ruddy complexion turned several shades lighter. He blinked again. He wet his lips. He made a visible effort to appear calm. He sneered:

"Just like a dumb cop. Asking me to prove that I didn't do it. You ought to know by this time that it's up to you to prove that I did it, that I was where you say I was."

"I'm not saying anything—yet, Boyle. I'm not saying you was there, but—" he stood up and was standing over the prisoner his face thrust forward, his eyes glinting threateningly, "Boyle, you got a record as long as a pedigreed dog. You've been mugged and finger printed all over this country. You done a bit in Joliet for getting into a house the same way as you got in in Yonkers and as you got in—Miller's Folly. All you got to do, Boyle, is prove—sure you're right about the law, Boyle, about us having to prove it, you're right about that.

"But just picture the jury, Boyle. The jury don't know as much law as you do. We'll give the jury your record, see? We'll tell 'em—we'll tell 'em plenty. Where was you that night Boyle?"

Boyle wet his lips.

"I was in a 'speak' that night. About eight o'clock I got talking with a man, a stranger, a man I don't know. We had a couple of drinks. He had a business proposition to make and he wanted me to take a drive with him. I went. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a ditch about four miles from here. It was morning. I guess my drink was drugged. The man, whoever he was, took everything I had on me except my watch. He didn't get it because it was in the little fob pocket of my trousers. I had a vest on."

"Where was this 'speak,' Boyle?"

"It was Corbett's," said Boyle after a momentary hesitation.

"Did anybody in Corbett's know this bird, Boyle?"

"I don't know; he was a stranger to me."

Brasher lifted the receiver from the hook. After an interval the connection was made. Boyle watched him anxiously while he was asking the unseen person at the other end of the wire some questions. Brasher hung up the receiver. He turned to Boyle:

"Yeah, they say you was there and left with a stranger about eight o'clock that night. They never saw this bird before. What business was you talkin' to him about, Boyle?"

"Oh, just some private business."

"Oh, private business, huh. You walk away with—by the way, Boyle, what business are you in now?"

There was a long pause. Then Boyle answered in a low voice, all his jauntiness and assurance gone.

"I do a little bootlegging."

"Willing to admit it now, huh. Bootlegging is easier than murder ain't it, Boyle? And where was you goin' when you was picked up?"

"I was leaving the state. What the hell could I do. This bird cleaned me out. I had my roll on me when I was with him."

"Yeah. You, Boyle, an old-timer, falls in with a stranger in a speakeasy and goes with him at night in his car to listen to a business proposition. And the next thing you know it's mornin' an' you're sleepin' in a ditch. Well, Boyle, we'll make it all legal now. I charge you with murderin' Morris Miller on the night of July 3rd. I warn you now that everythin' you say may be used against you."

As he was about to be led out of the room, Professor Brierly asked a question.

"Mr. Boyle, the watch you spoke of. What kind of watch is it, a wrist watch or a pocket watch?"

The prisoner looked at him a long time, then he burst out.

"What the hell is this? What's the watch got to do with—"

"Do you care to answer the question, Mr. Boyle?" asked the old scientist.

There was something in Professor Brierly's demeanor that made the prisoner change his mind and his manner. He answered politely:

"A pocket watch, sir."

"How long have you had the watch?"

The prisoner reflected the surprise of the other men but answered promptly: "I've had it about eighteen years."

"Thank you Mr. Boyle. May I see the watch please—oh, I beg your pardon. I forgot."

When the prisoner was led out, Professor Brierly asked Brasher to show him the watch. When it was brought, a thin, gold, open face watch, Professor Brierly asked:

"How can we determine if he is telling the truth about the length of time he had the watch?"

McCall asked Brasher:

"How long ago was this Yonkers job, Brasher?"

"'Bout three years ago."

McCall turned to the Professor.

"They may have a record in the police station, where he was booked on that Yonkers affair of the stuff he had with him. If they have a record and description of this watch we will know that he has had it this length of time anyway. Will that help, Professor?"

"Why, yes. That may be very helpful."

The New York District Attorney made the call. When his connection with the proper source of information was finally complete he held out his hand mutely for the watch. He described it in detail including a monogram on the case. When he hung up the receiver he nodded.

"Yes, this watch was among the effects found on his person when he was arrested. A careful record was kept of it because at the time it was suspected that the watch had been stolen."

Brasher had impatiently waited for this, to him unimportant and irrelevant matter to be disposed of. Now he burst out.

"Well, Professor, we got him didn't we. That sure was a swell tip of yours."

Professor Brierly did not appear to be listening. When Brasher repeated the question he shook his head absently.

"What? Oh, yes, yes. If you mean that we have the murderer of Mr. Miller, Mr. Brasher, I am not at all certain that you are right. Would you mind asking this Boyle when he had this watch cleaned last?"

Brasher looked at him in undisguised surprise. Professor Brierly was oblivious to this. He was peering intently at the watch. Brasher stepped out and in a short time he returned saying gruffly:

"He says it hasn't been cleaned for about four or five years." Then he changed his tone and asked with a faint imitation of his former enthusiasm:

"But we got him, Professor, we got him. Gee what a swell break for us that you was there." He added generously. "I'm sure I couldn't 'a' seen what you seen, Professor."

Professor Brierly was still in an absent minded mood. He was looking at the watch. Suddenly he said:

"Mr. Brasher, may I have this watch for a few hours. I will return it."

Brasher looked at the chief of police who nodded.



Chapter XI

Jimmy stayed in Lentone while Professor Brierly went on to his own camp. Jimmy called up his office where he knew that a dog watch would be kept all night.

The sleepy voice that identified itself as Duke Wellington became crisp when Jimmy gave his name. The entire office was now a throb and expectant of news from the Canadian border.

"Just a flash, Duke. I'll file a story in time for the first edition tomorrow morning. They picked up 'Chicago' Boyle here near the New Hampshire border; Boyle was in a job in Yonkers some time ago where he got into a house the same way the killer got into Miller's Folly; chimney, rope and climbing irons. Boyle's alibi is fishy, Duke, awfully weak.

"A member of this Tontine group, William Flynn, who lives in Pleasantville decided he had to go home. There was quite a scene about it in Judge Higginbotham's camp. This thing is getting on the nerves of most of them. They're all up in the air. They weren't going to let him go. Finally they compromised by letting him go under escort, get me. A policeman from Lentone and a trooper are going to escort him to the Massachusetts line, where someone else will take it up.

"McCall, the D.A., arranged with the police authorities to watch him while he's in New York, to see that nothing happens. Better cover that, Duke, have a man pick him up with escort when he gets off the train. Any news at the New York end?"

"Naw, police handing out a lotta applesauce about soon having the bird who bumped off Schurman. I think they picked up about thirty-five assorted crooks on this Schurman killing. I'll say this for 'em, I never saw 'em so busy since that bird bumped off a couple cops and a kid. That all, Jim?"

"Yep. Think I'll go up to Professor Brierly's camp and if he hasn't got anything to say, I'll hit the hay. Tell Hite, if he calls, that I'll file a full story, will you?"

Jimmy's eyes glinted with amusement when he came to the wharf of McCall's camp. It was still daylight and he had no difficulty recognizing some of the high lights in his profession on the porch and on the wharf. A number of them had simultaneously arrived at the conclusion that they would fare better perhaps camping on Professor Brierly's trail than they would in following the Higginbotham group and the meager information that the police were willing to divulge.

They surged about him when he stepped off the boat. He soon convinced them he would share with them every bit of news he got from Brierly, the police, or the Tontine group as it was now called. All of them now had the story of Boyle's arrest.

Jimmy listened with a grin as they told him of their experience when they tried to pump Professor Brierly. One of them sported a black eye. He had used language that Matthews did not like and the blonde young giant had punched him in the eye and threatened to clean out the entire group if they didn't let the Professor alone. Jimmy assured them earnestly that Matthews meant what he said. After convincing themselves that they could get no more news at this source the crowd melted and the camp was left to the peace of a Canadian summer night.

Professor Brierly was fingering Boyle's watch with a perplexed frown on his fine features as Jimmy stepped into the living-room. The old man looked up as the reporter entered the large room with its soft lights.

"What about the watch, Professor? Can you tell as much about it as you can about the rope and twine?"

Professor Brierly snapped at him:

"Are you trying to be funny, young man? Are you trying to convey the impression, are you implying that you do not believe what the microscope showed me when—"

"Pardon me, Professor. I worded my question wrong. No, remarkable as it sounds, I believe every word you say, of course. But—"

"There is nothing specially remarkable about it, Mr. Hale. The true value of the microscope in scientific criminal investigation is just now beginning to be appreciated. The watch, now—" Once more the puzzled frown that had appeared several times creased his brows. He continued slowly:

"There is nothing in the watch that places it in or near the farm or farmyard from which the heavy rope, the twine and the fish line seem to have come. There is certainly nothing that places it in a department of a hat factory where dyed particles of felt hats may be found in great profusion."

"You mean, Professor," broke in McCall, "that a microscopic examination of the watch didn't show those characteristics?"

"Yes."

"Provided, Professor, Boyle is telling the truth about when his watch was cleaned. If the watch were thoroughly cleaned it would obscure—"

"Boyle told the truth, or the approximate truth about the time his watch was cleaned last. The watch shows evidence of that."

"What do you say about, Boyle, Professor?" pursued Jimmy.

"There is not a single shred of evidence against him. As I have heard you say, Mr. Hale, I would not convict a yellow dog on such evidence."

"Did you hear his alibi, Professor? It's certainly a flimsy excuse, if I ever heard one."

"True, it is flimsy. But I am half inclined to believe it because it is so flimsy. I watched him very carefully, as you no doubt did. I was impressed with the belief that the charge of murder surprised him. And it did not appear the surprise of a murderer who thought he had his trail well hidden.

"Boyle is rather above the average criminal. The murderer as we have seen, is a man of considerable resource. If caught, he is certain to have a better alibi than Boyle had, a more plausible alibi. Does Boyle strike you like the kind of man who, if he murdered a man, would not have a more plausible story? No, I tell you, its very lack of plausibility almost convinces me of its truth.

"Boyle is in a desperate situation and he knows it. He showed it by readily admitting that he was engaged in the illicit traffic of liquor, when apparently, the police were not at all concerned with this phase of his activities.

"But aside from all this, there is the watch; the watch is very important. It may be negative, it is true, but it is nevertheless very convincing. The rope and the twine and the fish line were positive evidence. Not evidence that the murderer owned the farm or farmyard perhaps, but evidence that the articles in question were at that farmyard a considerable time; evidence that the twine was in a hat factory.

"Place the rope, twine and fish line in Boyle's possession; place Boyle in a hat factory and you may convince me of his guilt of Miller's murder. Not otherwise."

He snapped shut the watch case, with an emphatic click. His brow cleared.

"Negative evidence is often very important, is it not? It helps clear one's mind. I think I am beginning to see. What a gorgeous plan it was. Did I say that I took back what I said about the man, responsible for these deaths not being subtle? I did? Well he is subtle, dangerously so."

"Do you mean, Professor," Jimmy leaned forward eagerly, "that you know the man who—"

"Not so fast young man. I do not know who it is, but I am beginning to think I know who it might be; who it can be. Is that dubious?" His eyes were now gleaming. The three men watching him knew the signs. His small shapely hand was pounding the arm of his chair softly. He became suddenly grave. He spoke to McCall:

"Did we hear Flynn say that he told his comrades when he came here that he would have to leave on an important errand today?"

McCall and Jimmy nodded. Professor Brierly's gravity became more profound. He sprang to his feet. He said emphatically:

"Call New York at once, Mr. McCall. Do not waste a minute. Tell them to take extreme precautions in watching Flynn. I believe Flynn is in the greatest danger. Oh, fool that I am! Why did I not think of it? At once, Mr. McCall, at once." He pounded the table impatiently. As McCall was turning the small crank to ring the operator, Professor Brierly added:

"After you've done that, McCall, see if you can get in touch with the train that Flynn took. Warn his guards."

When McCall came back to the table looking inquiringly toward the white-headed old scientist, the latter smiled slowly. "Thinking that I am getting into my dotage, young man? Flynn is in deadly danger. I will feel at ease about him only when he gets back here safely. His greatest danger is when he arrives in New York. He is probably safe on board the train but I do not know, I am afraid for him."

Jimmy went outside to see to the comfort of his youthful pilot. Harry Stoy had made his bed on the ground near the wharf. He said he liked to sleep outdoors under the sky. When he returned Jimmy took his portable typewriter to his room where he wrote far into the night.

The entire household was wrapped in slumber when the telephone bell awoke them with its insistent buzz. McCall, cursing the impulse that had made him install a telephone in this out of the way camp, arose sleepily and took down the receiver.

The growling voice at the other end of the wire identified itself as that of Hite, of the New York Eagle. McCall profanely told the voice that he would get Jimmy, when Hite stopped him.

"Never mind Jimmy, you'll do. I was at a night club when I got word that you sent out word to guard Flynn. Is that right?"

"Yes. Is that what you woke me up for. Can't a newspaper respect another man's—"

"Aw, boloney, save that for the jury. I called you up to tell you that I did something for you. A souse got in a fight with Flynn on the train. The cop and the trooper staved off trouble. I got in touch with someone up there and now there's two secret service men on the train with him. They got on the train at Brattleboro. Tell your friends and tell Jimmy. Good night."

When McCall turned away from the telephone, Jimmy was standing there watching him. When he heard what the District Attorney, with considerable heat, had to say, Jimmy grinned.

"Save it, Mac, save it. You ought to thank the old grouch for calling you up. He put two secret service men on the train with Flynn? Just like Hite. You'll have to admit that it takes a newspaper man to do things."

McCall glared at him. Jimmy returned the glare with his most impudent grin, and they returned to their beds.



Chapter XII

Sunday, the next day, gave Jimmy a chance to rest. He supplied himself with as many papers as he could get in Lentone and began reading what others had to say about the most sensational murder case in a decade. From the first moment when Professor Brierly had pronounced the Miller death a murder the affair had assumed national importance.

Following the clues supplied by the members of the Tontine group a number of the papers and the important press services had followed the dim traces of one Amos Brown, the last surviving member of the batch of prisoners who had been numbered '14' in Libby Prison far back in 1864.

One of the papers told in vivid detail of the disbanding of the army of the North by President Johnson on assuming office after Lincoln's assassination. This told of the day when two hundred thousand in weather worn uniforms, with tattered flags and polished guns trudged in review before the President.

It pictured several members of the Tontine group, youngsters of seventeen or eighteen, forming part of the audience that saw this army go by. It depicted a few of the Union members of the Tontine group in that marching horde. The story told in vivid detail of the attempts of the Confederate veterans to go back home to the quiet and industrious productive life which now that peace was at hand, they yearned most for.

The papers gave a brief history of each member of the dwindling Tontine group. They showed how the two hundred and thirty-seven adversaries in the war had lived in amity and peace during the span of years in the true spirit of comradeship.

The papers spoke of the enormous size of the fund, which in the sixty-five years had, because of compound interest, grown with geometric leaps. One of the special writers had elicited from Mr. Marshall, former Ambassador to Great Britain, the information that for nearly a decade the surviving members had reached a compromise by which each survivor was to get annually an amount sufficient for a livelihood. This amount was not divulged. This reporter did learn, however, that this was done at the suggestion of one of the wealthiest members of the group. Jimmy suspected that this member was August Schurman.

It was explained that the purpose of this was to save from actual want those members who were not as fortunate financially as their comrades. This method of dividing a small part of the fund, without impairing seriously the capital amount, would preserve the self-respect of the poorer members.

One of the papers dug up an interesting story about Stanislav Vasiliewski, who was a Confederate soldier and had a brother in the Union army. Stanislav's brother had been captured and held in Jackson, Mississippi, where a rickety old enclosed bridge, the ruins of which had been left standing above the water, was used as a prison. The prisoners were kept in this structure for one month in the coldest season of the year without beds or bedding. At this prison there was no fire or lights. Almost every day two or three were carried out dead; some of them frequently lay at the entrance to the bridge unburied four or five days.

Stanislav found his brother a prisoner in this place. It appeared certain to him that his brother would not survive the terrible conditions more than a few days longer. He thereupon changed uniforms with his brother and forced the latter to leave the prison, himself remaining with the probability of facing a firing squad.

This paper mentioned Colonel Thomas C. Fletcher, of Blair's Brigade, commander of the Missouri Wide Awake Zouaves, being wounded and captured by the Confederates and with twenty other men, privates and officers, being put into this prison.

Reporters, special writers, novelists spread themselves in this Sunday edition. They extracted from the situation all the thrill, glamour and romance they could. And permeating it all was the terrible threat of death that hung over the heads of the Tontine group; the mysterious "14," who for all these years had followed the group relentlessly with his terrible reminders.

And, strange to say, with the major newspapers and police of two countries making an exhaustive search, there was not one tangible clue leading to the murderer or murderers. The newspapers talked of "clues." The police of many communities talked of "clues." They issued statements to the effect that shortly there would be new developments. Jimmy, the veteran newspaperman, took this all for exactly what it was worth. He knew that most of it or all of it was "dope." The reporters had run out of facts and were having recourse to vague speculations. Strange too, Jimmy wondered that in a story so replete with color and glamour, that this should be the situation.

The story was less than three days old; that is a long time counted in editions. Many editions had gone to press. City, state and Federal police were actively on the job. And now, when Jimmy was reading the Sunday papers, nearly sixty hours had elapsed since the news of the first death had come to Justice Higginbotham's camp and the police had not a single shred of evidence linking the murders to any one.

Professor Brierly's name did not have a prominent part in any of the stories he had read. Jimmy knew why. Professor Brierly was averse to being quoted unless he had something definite to say. He never gave an opinion unless it was an opinion based on fact that one could "go to court with."

The first flaming headlines had featured Professor Brierly necessarily, since it was he who had pointed out the fact that two of the deaths were murders.

* * * * *

Jimmy, late that Sunday afternoon, went once more to the camp of Justice Higginbotham. The large, comfortable cottage, with its graceful furniture, its books, its meager, comfortable furnishings, was a house of death, dread and horror. Its inhabitants were afraid of one another. The opening of a door, any untoward noise, the ringing of the telephone, caused most of them to jump and look about apprehensively. In sheer bravado, they, one at a time, went out of the house either to walk about the rough ground, or to go to Lentone.

A visit to the police station there bore no fruit. Brasher was red-eyed, haggard and in a vicious humor. Boyle had closed up after his first talk with Brasher and he now refused to add anything to what he had already told him, or to retreat an inch from his position.

With Brasher's permission, Jimmy tried to interview him. Boyle was not now the suave, smooth, modern type crook. He had had ample time to realize fully the dangerous position he was in. He knew that this was not a case of an ordinary murder, or of the murder of one gangster by another. He knew that the nation was aroused over these murders, and that he would stand very little chance before a jury unless he could build up a stronger defense than he possessed, or find a more plausible alibi.

Boyle swore at Jimmy with an understandable wrath. He poured out his hopelessness and rage in obscenities that made even the hardened newspaper man wince. He cursed Jimmy, the police, Professor Brierly, McCall, everything and everybody to which he could lay tongue. Jimmy looked at him pityingly, understandingly, and left him, raging and cursing.

Jimmy decided to go home and bask in the camp's domestic quiet. Tommy Van Orden, under his mother's adoring eyes, was trying, in imitation of his big Uncle Jack, to teach the puppy to wipe its paws.

The three men were on the porch. Professor Brierly, in an expansive mood, was enlarging on one of his favorite conversational topics.

"Education! Education has become a mere form. There was a time in this country, even in this country, when a boy or girl went to an institution of higher learning for only one reason: to get an education. And now! Stadia and bowls instead of laboratories and classrooms. Physical perfection has become a fetish and that is being highly commercialized.

"When Einstein delivers an important pronouncement, an announcement that is of universal importance, the papers facetiously give it a few paragraphs. But when a center receives the football and runs several hundred yards with it, the papers get hysterical—"

"A center, Professor? Several hundred yards?" murmured Matthews.

Professor Brierly glared at him. Matthews gently corrected him:

"A center wouldn't be permitted to receive a pass, or run several hundred yards or—"

"Well, the tacklers, then, or the guardsmen."

"Nor the tackles or guards, Professor," murmured Matthews.

"Keep quiet!" snapped Professor Brierly. "What difference does it make. The point I am making is that the mass is taught to pay too much attention to perfectly inconsequential things while they ignore or overlook the things of sound worth.

"You can get, at most, only a handful of persons to listen to a sound informative lecture, whereas seventy thousand persons will sit in a freezing rain to watch Cagle, of Southern California, or Grange, of Yale—"

Matthews again interrupted:

"Better not make it public, Professor, that Cagle played on the Trojans team, or Grange for old Eli. If it became known—"

"You are the saddest commentary of the truth of what I am saying," snarled the old scientist. "How can a person know the worthwhile things when he stores his mind with such trivial—you know far too much of such things, young man."

Martha came to the door and told Jimmy that he was wanted on the telephone. She also emphatically gave it as her opinion that a man who spoke as did the caller on the telephone was no gentleman.

With the utterance of his "Hello," Hite's growl came over the wire.

"The way you act anyone would think that you were on a vacation. Where the hell were you? I've been trying to get you in all the places you should be if you're on the job. I was at the club and just got a flash that something big broke, something in connection with the Tontine group. I've been trying to get you. Where the hell were you?"

"Just came from the police station a few minutes ago, chief. What is it?"

"How the hell do I know what it is? Who's on the story, you or I? I called up the police, every department, from the cops up. I can't get a word out of 'em. I know something big broke the way they act. They've had orders to shut down tight; that's why I can't get a word. There isn't a man in the office beside myself. There's somebody down in the business office who's taking care of the switchboard. I can't go out because I may miss a call.