"I am positive that Atwood either killed or kidnapped Merton, for I have discovered, through the telephone girl at the hotel, that Merton received a telephone call at twelve o'clock Monday night, summoning him out. That telephone call was supposed to come from the Ames apartment. At two o'clock Tuesday morning the shot was fired in that apartment and Merton has not been seen since. We know definitely that Atwood occupies the apartment across the hall, but at this time I cannot see any possible connection between the two men. Hunt is evidently nervous, because it is my opinion that he used undue influence over Merton, and this disappearance has placed him in a peculiar position. I particularly called this phase of the case to his attention this morning, and subtly suggested that my work would be of value to him in preventing suspicion on the part of the police. That feature was plainly what made him decide to employ me, and I am relying upon it to eventually get further valuable information."

"The little book, with notes in cipher, which we discovered in Merton's room, is somewhat of a puzzle to me just now. It may contain information that will be helpful, or it may prove just a memoranda of business deals. We must not overlook the fact that a man in Merton's line of work, and the men with whom he did business, have many big plans which must be kept secret until they are launched. That book may have contained data along such lines, and Merton may have simply been referring to it when suddenly called out. You will recall that we found a memorandum regarding business transactions covering the book."

"But," protested Morgan, "there must have been some connection between Merton and Atwood or else Atwood would not have taken such a dangerous step against him. Even you will admit that Atwood was not an ordinary crook. Doubtless, then, every step he took was the result of a definite plan."

"Quite true," agreed Marsh, "but there was never a plan yet that didn't have possibilities of failure. You remember what I have said before; that I believed that shot to have been a mistake. If the shot was a mistake, could not other mistakes have also crept in? Get Atwood and I believe that many things will be cleared up."

"Now there is one thing more," went on Marsh. "I cannot tell you where I got the tip, and the information is only general. Still it helps. There are at least four men in the gang we seek, and their headquarters is in some suburban house near Chicago. The most important point, however, is this: they know positively that we are after them, and have made arrangements to get out at the first opportunity. That means WE must work fast."

Morgan was sitting in his favorite chair by the table. Marsh was seated at the front of the room with his back to the window. At this moment the window glass above his head cracked, a dull thud sounded on the wall across the room, and bits of paper and plaster dropped to the floor.

Instantly Marsh slipped down in his chair, so that his head came below its back, while Morgan's hand shot out and snapped off the electric lamp on the table, throwing the room into darkness. Aside from the slight cracking of the window glass, and the dull crash as the missile struck the plastered wall, there had been no other sound.

Morgan left his chair and felt his way through the darkened room. Opening the hall door he cautiously peered out. Tierney, with his hands in his trouser pockets, was leaning with his back against the wall. He glanced up quickly as the door opened.

"Everything all right, Tierney?" inquired Morgan.

"Sure thing."

"Haven't seen or heard anybody?"

"Nope."

Morgan closed the door and moved back into the room.

"'Dead men tell no tales'," said Marsh, lightly.

"Was it that, or just a warning?" questioned Morgan.

"People do not go to all that trouble just to deliver a warning, Morgan. They wanted to get me."

"Why you?" protested Morgan. "I was here, too."

"They couldn't possibly have seen you where you sat, Morgan. On the other hand, my head, sticking above the back of this chair, and showing against the lamp-light, made an excellent target."

Marsh now rose and examined the window. "A nice, clean hole," he commented, "and not more than two inches above my head. A mighty good marksman, with a high-powered rifle, evidently."

"Rifle!" exclaimed Morgan. "We didn't hear a sound!"

"Come here," Marsh called. Morgan joined him at the window. "From here you can see the grand stand in the ball park. The upper tiers are on a line with this window."

"But," objected Morgan, "that is too far away for any man to get a good sight; and remember, we heard no shot."

"Don't forget," Marsh reminded him, "that we live in scientific times. With a telescopic sight, and a Maxim Silencer on his rifle, a good marksman could steady it on the back of one of those seats and pick us off at twice the distance without a sound."

"It is very discouraging," groaned Morgan. "To think that we may be picked off before we've even began to get near our man."

"On the contrary," returned Marsh, "it is very encouraging. When a criminal gets as desperate as that you are not very far away from him."

Marsh then pulled down the shades and instructed Morgan to light the lamp once more.

"Seems kind of dangerous, under the circumstances," remonstrated Morgan.

"On the contrary, the man who fired that shot is probably miles away by this time. He is doubtless laughing to think of fat policemen crawling around over the benches up there right now."

"They would have been," admitted Morgan, "if I had been alone. As it was, I left it to you to do what you thought best."

"I have a special reason, however, for lighting the lamp and pulling down the shades," explained Marsh. "It is just possible that another member of the gang is watching out there for me to leave. Pulling down the shades and lighting up will lead him to think I am still here. In the meantime, I am about to slip down your back stairs."

"Where are you going to stay tonight?" inquired Morgan.

"Home, of course."

"I admire your nerve!" exclaimed Morgan. "Sleeping up in that place all alone, with these fellows hot on your trail."

Marsh laughed. "Seems to me they're pretty close to your house, too, Morgan. Aren't you going to sleep at home?"

"Yes," said Morgan, grinning, "but somehow or other that big, half-furnished place of yours seems more dismal and open to the enemy than my little home here with a police station only a couple of blocks away."

"You forget that I have two policemen on guard up there. They've not been ordered off yet. If I were to let my imagination scare me to death, Morgan, I would have been out of the Government service long ago. This experience is no worse than some of the things I went through during the war."

"Now, before I go, there are two matters I should like you and Tierney to look up for me. First, locate a man named Nolan, who was formerly Mr. Merton's chauffeur. Find out what he has been doing for the last week or two; particularly where he was last Monday night. Nolan is the man who is supposed to have telephoned Merton."

"Then try to get a line on Gilbert Hunt; how long he has been with Merton, and things of that sort. I will look for you at my apartment Monday evening. If anything important should happen in the meantime, try to get me on the telephone. Now, I'm going."

As they passed through the apartment, Morgan said, "I'm sorry you didn't meet my mother. She never interrupts conferences, and has gone to bed by this time."

"There will be many other opportunities, I hope," returned Marsh.

By this time they had reached the back door, and after a silent handshake, Marsh slipped quietly down the rear stairs, then through the alley to Addison Street, where he boarded an elevated train and went home.

He was re-assured by the careful way in which the officer on duty in front of his house scrutinized him as he passed, and went upstairs and straight to bed. It had been a busy day and Marsh had many half-formed plans for the morrow.



CHAPTER XVI

THE CLOSED COUNTRY HOUSE

Sunday morning was gray and dark, with low-hanging clouds and a frosty snap in the air that gave the city its first touch of real autumn weather. Returning from breakfast, Marsh lit the gas logs in his fireplace and sat down before their cheery blaze to smoke and think.

Step by step he analyzed and strove to connect the developments of the last few days. The case was strange in many ways. With numerous clues, suspicions circumstances and half-identified people on every hand, there was no one feature upon which definite action could be taken. Atwood was the most elusive criminal he had ever pursued. Never at any time had the man become an actual personality. Like a will-o'-the-wisp, he was ever in sight, yet just beyond reach. While the detectives struggled along tangled paths that led nowhere, Atwood's long arm continually reached out to strike back.

As he thought along these lines, an explanation slowly took form in Marsh's mind. In some of its features it seemed weird and unreal. This, perhaps, was due to the fact that the few definite pieces of information in his possession had to be largely supported and connected by theories and deductions. Strange as the explanation might seem, it nevertheless gave birth to a well-defined plan of action.

In this way the morning slipped by and Marsh was surprised, on looking at his watch, to find that it was nearly noon. He went to his telephone, called the Monmouth Hotel, and asked to speak to Miss Atwood. When the girl answered the telephone, Marsh inquired if she would care to have dinner with him. The invitation was accepted with quite evident pleasure on the girl's part, and Marsh soon left to keep his appointment with her. On his way to the hotel, Marsh stepped into a cigar store, looked up Gilbert Hunt's telephone number, and made an appointment for the evening. Marsh took this precaution of telephoning Hunt from a pay station because a telephone call is easily traced, and he had not yet decided to advise Hunt of his real address.

Jane Atwood joined Marsh in the lobby of the hotel, and the friendliness of her greeting made him glad of his decision to take her on the trip he had planned for the afternoon.

They had dinner at the Edgewater Beach Hotel. It was the girl's first visit to this show-place of the North Side, and Marsh was delighted with her animated interest in everything about her. In fact, he found it hard to believe that this girl, whose bright chatter, sunny smile and sparkling eyes now held him fascinated, had so recently been through such trying experiences. Marsh felt that it was a natural reaction brought about by this diversion, and he long afterward remembered it as one of the happiest hours in a life that had been replete with professional adventure, but barren in the companionship of women of her sort.

As they sat sipping their coffee, Marsh said, "I imagine you have seen very little of Chicago, Miss Atwood?"

"Yes," she admitted. "One takes less interest in things when sight-seeing trips must be made alone. You know, I have not seemed to make any friends in Chicago."

"When I can spare the time, I want to take you around a little. I am sure that you would enjoy the art museum, for art is akin to music and from what you have told me I know that you are deeply interested in that."

"Yes," she replied, "music has always been my chief companion. The dreams that other girls confide in chums, I have told to my piano."

Marsh lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence.

"How would you like to take a little trip with me out to one of the North Shore suburbs this afternoon?" he inquired.

"I should enjoy it very much," she said.

"Well," Marsh went on, "there is a house out at Hubbard Woods that I want to look over this afternoon for a friend. This is just the day for a stroll along the autumn-leafed roads. I thought perhaps you would like to go with me."

Marsh aided her with her wraps and they walked across to the elevated railroad. At Evanston, a few miles north of the city, they changed to the suburban electric line. The girl took a lively interest in the pretty suburban towns through which they passed, and it seemed to Marsh as if they had but just boarded the train when the conductor called out their station and they alighted.

The place was well named. A lonely little station set down in the midst of thick woods, and a road that wound slightly downhill and away among the trees were all that met the eye. They strolled down this road, passing occasional homes. These were usually well back from the road and almost concealed among the trees. In fact, in some places the house itself was not visible, the only indication of a residence being an ornamental gateway, or sometimes just a simple driveway disappearing into the woods. Fallen leaves rustled about their feet, but much of the foliage remained on the trees. Some of this was still green, setting off the masses of autumn colors that ranged from a sombre brown to vivid reds and many shades of yellow.

"And a great city only a few miles away," mused Marsh, giving voice to both their thoughts.

"It is beautiful," admitted the girl, "but so lonely and quiet. Somehow, one, feels so far, far away from everything. Perhaps the gloomy day affects me, but it seems as if the air were full of some solemn mystery."

At this point Marsh saw a young couple, strolling on the other side of the road. He surmised that they were local residents, and excusing himself to Miss Atwood, crossed over and inquired of the man if he knew where the Merton estate was located.

"Yes," was the reply. "Just keep on south along Sheridan Road. It won't take you five minutes to get there. The place is on the left hand side of the road. You can't miss it; a gateway with gray stone posts, and there are two big pines inside the entrance to the driveway."

Thanking him, Marsh rejoined Miss Atwood.

"I wanted to find out how to locate the place I was looking for," he explained. "You will pardon my leaving you alone, but it seemed unnecessary to make you cross the street."

"Oh, I didn't mind," she replied.

Marsh's real reason, however, in thus leaving Miss Atwood, was to prevent her hearing mention of the name of Merton. Unquestionably, the girl had read of the case in the papers, and after her own recent experiences might feel a certain timidity in approaching the missing broker's home; especially after her recent mention of how the surroundings affected her.

A slight turn in the road brought them to the driveway which the young man had described. There was no mistaking the two great pines that stood like sentinels at either side, just back of the imposing stone gateway. One of these trees was evidently dead, for it was gaunt and bare, in marked contrast to its companion; and as they paused a moment before the entrance, the wind broke off a rotting branch, which fell at her feet. The gates of iron grill work were standing open, and they turned in and started up the driveway, which was covered with crushed gray stone. The house was farther from the road than Marsh had expected, for it was several minutes before they reached it. As he stood before the great pile of stone and wood, with its drawn shades and general appearance of desertion, Marsh thought of the long, winding road through the woods behind them and half regretted that he had brought Miss Atwood with him. His desire had been to attract as little attention as possible in his inspection of the house. One man scouting around this lonely place would have been a suspicious object. On the other hand, it had seemed to him that a man and woman, out for an afternoon stroll, might exhibit an interest in a large country-house without attracting suspicious attention. But now, as he stood there in the gray autumn light, with the wind sighing through the trees about them and a fine snow beginning to drift down, the place seemed to take on an uncanny atmosphere that, even though nothing worse could happen, would have a depressing effect on the girl. It was too late to back out, however. It would be hard to explain a sudden retreat to the girl, and there was no time to be lost in trying to get the information which he sought. Marsh glanced at his companion. She was looking around with evident interest, and he was glad to note that as yet she exhibited no signs of nervousness.

"I understand there is a caretaker here. Will you come up with me while I ring the bell?"

The girl assented, and they climbed the wide steps over which the autumn leaves were thickly scattered. Whether or not the bell rang, Marsh could not tell, but certainly no sound came to them. He decided to knock and struck the door with the knuckles of his clenched hand. At the first blow, the door moved and swung inward.

A large hall stretched dimly before them. At one side, Marsh saw a stairway and at the other a high curtained doorway, which probably led to the drawing room. At the back of the hall seemed to be another smaller doorway, but Marsh could not be sure in the dim light. He was in a quandary. So far as he could see, the house was deserted. Possibly the caretaker was spending his Sunday afternoon with friends, and the door had been closed carelessly so that the latch had not caught. Had Marsh been alone he would have welcomed this opportunity to carefully inspect the house. The girl now blocked such an attempt, for it was obviously unwise, for many reasons, to ask her to accompany him into the house; and he could not consider the idea of leaving her alone, even for a few minutes. There was no alternative but to postpone his visit until the next day.

Marsh stepped through the doorway, pulled the door closed, and tried the knob to see that the door had latched securely. As he turned away, he glanced toward the shrubbery that bordered the adjoining woods. Although he turned instantly to the girl, and started to assist her down the steps, Marsh's quick eyes had noted a man crouching half-concealed in the shrubbery.

As they retraced their steps down the driveway, Marsh kept a firm grasp on the automatic in his pocket while his eyes, without apparent interest, continually watched the trees and shrubbery on either side. They reached the main road without incident and turned north toward the station. Not a word had been spoken as they passed along the driveway, for Marsh had been too intent upon keeping a keen watch to think of words, and the depressing atmosphere of the place had evidently begun to affect Miss Atwood. In fact, Marsh thought that she seemed to brighten as soon as they passed through the gateway.

"Are you in the real estate business, Mr. Marsh?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "What made you think that?"

"You never told me what your business was," she answered, "and your coming out here to look at that house today gave me the idea that you might be interested in real estate."

"No," he said, "I am not interested in real estate," then added, evasively, but not quite untruthfully, "I am planning, however, to go into some sort of business in Chicago."

The fact was that since meeting this girl, Marsh had began to take an entirely different view of life. He looked back upon his wanderings and realized the emptiness of the passing years. It seemed to him now that a man could ask for nothing more than to settle down to some regular employment in such a wonderful city, and go home every night to find this girl waiting for him.

Marsh stepped off the motor bus at Oak Street to keep his appointment with Hunt. He reflected that he had never seen a street so representative of Chicago and its rapid growth. At his back was the great new Drake Hotel and the whole neighborhood was one of wealth and fashion. Yet, as he passed along the street, he noticed tiny frame or brick dwellings nestling shoulder to shoulder with obviously wealthy homes, and here and there the dark, towering structures of old and new apartment buildings. He found Hunt's apartment in one of the new buildings and paused for a moment on the curb to look it over. Though handsome architecturally and modern in every respect, there was a peculiar sombreness about the building, and the bright lamps that gleamed at the entrance but served to exaggerate the dim interior of the hallway.

Not realizing exactly why he did so, but probably responding to an instinct for caution, Marsh strolled back and forth before entering the building. He noted the two dark and narrow alleyways on either side. One of these, reached through a dim, deep recess in the front wall, was evidently the tradesmen's entrance. Marsh then entered the vestibule and pushed the bell under Hunt's name. This was immediately answered by the clicking of the electric door opener. Hunt's man-servant stood at the apartment door, and after closing it behind him, ushered Marsh down a short hall and into the living room. Marsh's quick eye took in the luxuriousness of the furnishings—and something more. He surmised that Hunt was a bachelor. Hunt advanced to meet him with extended hand.

"Good evening, Mr. Marsh," Hunt greeted him, affably. "I hope you bring me some important information."

"I think it will at least be interesting," returned Marsh, as he handed his hat and coat to Hunt's man.

A log fire blazed in a large open fireplace. Before this was a deeply upholstered davenport plentifully supplied with extra cushions, and at either side of the fireplace were large lounging chairs. Hunt called Marsh's attention to these and told him to make himself comfortable. As Hunt seated himself on the davenport, Marsh decided to take one of the chairs near the fire. This gave him the advantage of having the firelight on Hunt's face while his own was more or less in the shadow, for the heavily shaded lamps about the room furnished only a soft glow that made details indistinct.

Hunt clasped his hands and leaning forward rested his elbows on his knees. "Tell me what you found in Merton's rooms yesterday," he said.

"I found absolutely nothing of importance," replied Marsh. It might be splitting hairs, he thought, but it was Morgan who had actually discovered the notebook. "I looked carefully through his dresser," he want on, "and also examined all the papers in the desk."

"And you found nothing of importance, Mr. Marsh?"

"Nothing," replied March, putting as strong a note of positiveness into his voice as possible, for he now began to suspect to whom the notebook had belonged. "The desk contained only personal and a little business correspondence. Morgan and I examined all the signatures. If you looked that correspondence over, as I presume you did, you will acknowledge that no suspicion could be directed at the men whose names appeared there."

Hunt nodded in an absent-minded way and again asked, "Perhaps this man Morgan found something?"

"I would have known if he had," said Marsh, again evasively. "I entered the room with him, and as you know, we left together."

Hunt now seemed satisfied that Marsh had no special information to give him about the contents of Merton's rooms: "Well, tell me just what you have discovered," he said, settling back into a corner of the davenport.

"For one thing," Marsh began, "I know that Mr. Merton is dead."

He leisurely took out his cigarette case, carefully selected a cigarette, and touch a match to it. It was evident, that this act on Marsh's part was intended to give Hunt time in which to think and pass some comment if he cared to. The man remained silent.

"All right, my friend," thought Marsh. "We'll tell you a little more; just enough to make you think—and perhaps act." Then he continued aloud, "I work along somewhat different lines than those followed by the police. For example, I frequently get better results by sitting down quietly in my room, laying certain obvious circumstances before me, and, through what you might call a method of addition, derive an answer to my problem."

"Quite interesting," murmured Hunt.

"And that is the way I have worked out this problem."

"Tell me the details," said Hunt.

"While you reported to the police that Mr. Merton had been missing for ten days, I discovered by inquiries at his hotel that he was in his room as late as last Monday night. In fact, he was seen to leave the hotel at midnight."

"So I have heard," Hunt broke in hastily. "At the time I notified the police I had not seen Mr. Merton at the office for about ten days."

Marsh nodded, and inquired, "I suppose you follow the papers carefully every day?"

"Naturally," was the reply.

"Then," said Marsh, "you probably read about the murder on Sheridan Road last Tuesday morning—the Sheridan Road Mystery, the papers called it."

"Yes, I read about that affair."

"Didn't it make you think?" asked Marsh.

"I don't understand."

"I'll explain," said Marsh. "Mr. Merton left his hotel at midnight Monday. Two hours later a man was murdered in the Sheridan Road apartment. Mr. Merton has not been seen since."

"Well?" queried Hunt.

"I've just been wondering—that's all," answered Marsh, throwing the remains of his cigarette into the fire place. There was a slight pause as he selected another from his case and lit it.

"Mr. Marsh," said Hunt, "you're driving at something. What is it?"

"Just this,". answered Marsh, leaning forward and looking Hunt in the eye. "You hold a power of attorney from Mr. Merton. You are to be sole executor of his estate. Mrs. Merton may not return for years. That's an easy way to get a business, Mr. Hunt."

Hunt adjusted a couple of pillows and settled back again. "Do I gather from your remarks, Mr. Marsh, that you mean to imply something?"

"No," returned Marsh, "I am just stating an obvious situation."

Hunt now leaned toward Marsh. "Have the police arrived at the same conclusions?"

"Have you ever noticed," countered Marsh, "that what the police know usually appears in the papers?"

"You mean by that that the police have not formed the same connection which you have?"

"I inferred as much," returned Marsh.

"Are you thinking of bringing your theories to their attention?" asked Hunt, as he again settled himself back against the cushions.

"That depends."

"On what?" inquired Hunt.

"Yourself."

Hunt remained silent for a moment, then said, "Do I understand that you are making me a proposition?"

"I'm not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail, Mr. Hunt."

"No," jeered Hunt, "I see you're a clever rogue. I might have guessed as much when you offered to investigate this matter for me."

"A man must make a living," returned Marsh.

"This is a cheap way to do it."

"I haven't had your opportunities," snapped Marsh.

"Damn you!" cried Hunt, leaping to his feet and shaking his fist in Marsh's face. "I'll hand you over to the police."

"And lose a good lieutenant, Mr. Hunt?"

"You're a dirty blackguard, Marsh," stormed Hunt. "You've worked your way into my confidence and now attempt to use your knowledge to hold me up. I admit that you've got me by the throat. A man placed in the position which you have made only too clear to me has only one way out. Of course, I could clear myself, but the stigma and suspicion would remain. All right, what's your price?"

Marsh stared in puzzled silence for a moment, as Hunt glared down at him. In some ways the outcome of the conversation was not exactly what he had expected.

"Mr. Hunt," he said, rising, "I'm in this thing for bigger game than a few hundred dollars."

"I told you to name your price," replied Hunt.

"As I told you before," returned Marsh, "I'm not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail. You think the matter over for a day or two; and in the meantime I'll take my coat and hat."

Hunt hesitated for a moment, then struck a bell which stood on a small table by the davenport. A moment later his man appeared with Marsh's coat and hat and assisted him to put on his coat.

"Good night, Mr. Hunt," said Marsh, smiling, and holding out his hand.

"Good night," said Hunt, shortly, turning away and ignoring the proffered hand.

The servant opened the door and Marsh; passed out. He hurried over to Rush Street and into the telephone booth in a nearby drug store. He talked for a few minutes over the telephone and then took a street car for home.

A half hour later an observant person might have noticed a man lingering in the shadows of Oak Street.



CHAPTER XVII

WHAT THE CARETAKER SAW.

Early Monday morning Marsh started for Hubbard Woods, to carry out his investigations regarding the Merton house These investigations must be conducted along different lines from those he had contemplated on Sunday, for his last interview with Hunt had considerably changed his position in the matter. Hunt now regarded him with suspicion, and it might be considered probable that he had even gone so far as to warn the caretaker he had said was in charge, against admitting Marsh.

Marsh intended to have another look at the place, but only a surreptitious one from the cover of the woods. His chief object now was to discover if neighbors knew anything about the place. As he came down the road he recognized the turn, which the day before had brought him directly in front of the gate, so he stepped to the side of the road, and approached the turn with caution, for he did not want anyone who might be coming from the house to find him near it at this time.

As Marsh walked slowly around the bend in the road he saw the rear of a closed car just disappearing between the gateposts. Only the guarded way in which he had approached had prevented the occupants of the car from seeing him. Marsh hurried to the shelter of one of the big stone gateposts and peered around it in time to note that the car was a large, black one of the limousine type. The next minute it was lost to view around a curve in the driveway, and Marsh paused for a moment to reflect. This might be Hunt's car bringing him up for one of the visits which he had said he was accustomed to make. On the other hand, it seemed too early an hour for a man of Hunt's habits. Moreover, Marsh had reason to believe that Hunt's car would be followed; and certainly there was no one else in sight now. Marsh decided that the matter was worth investigating, and turned into the concealing shadow of the woods. He made his way with difficulty through the tangled underbrush, in what he believed to be the general direction of the house. His guess was correct, for the house was before him when he emerged, a few minutes later, from the woods. He was protected from the sight of anyone in the house by a screen of heavy shrubbery, which divided the lawn from the woods.

He found that in his unguided advance through the woods, he had approached the house to the south, so that he saw not only the house itself, but also had a good view of the garage at the back. The car had evidently just been run into the garage, for a man was closing the doors, while another stood nearby. A moment later, the two men approached the house and passed out of sight. Marsh presumed that they had used the back door, which was out of his line of vision. While the distance was too great for him to see the men's features distinctly, he knew that neither of them was Hunt, for he was now sufficiently familiar with Hunt's figure to have easily recognized it.

To have seen one man or woman around the premises would not have surprised Marsh, as he was prepared to find a caretaker in charge. That two men should drive up in an expensive automobile, however, store it in the garage, and enter the house, as if perfectly at home, was a peculiar incident. Caretakers do not usually have automobiles; certainly not expensive limousines. If the family had been away for a few days, it would be natural for the chauffeur, or some of the servants, to use the car. But this house had been closed for two years, and Marsh was under the impression that Merton had not been using a private car. If he had been using a car it was hardly likely that he would have let his old chauffeur go. The telephone conversation, which the girl at the hotel had overheard, between Merton and the supposed Nolan, indicated that Merton had more than a casual regard for his ex-chauffeur, or the man would not have appealed to him.

Marsh's suspicions being now definitely aroused, he decided not to take a chance by showing himself in the open. This might very probably be "the house in the suburbs," and he was not prepared to battle alone with four or more desperate men. Though he lingered for some time in his place of concealment, there were no further signs of life, so Marsh, deciding that he was wasting valuable time, crept cautiously into the woods and worked his way back through the undergrowth to the main road.

The next step was to find a close neighbor. Having twice approached the house from the north, Marsh knew that there was no residence near it on that side. He turned south, therefore, and after going only a few hundred feet, approached a gateway that was similar in many respects to that at the entrance to the driveway of the Merton home. It lacked the tall, distinctive pines, however, and a short distance inside the gate he could see a cozy little gardener's cottage, or lodge. Marsh was well pleased at this discovery, for he had hoped to locate something of the kind. Servants are more easily, questioned, more talkative, and usually in the possession of a larger amount of neighborhood gossip, than their employers. He approached the door and knocked.

"Come in," called a feminine voice, unquestionably Swedish in its accent.

Marsh opened the door and found himself in a room that appeared to be kitchen, sitting and dining room. A small, round table was set for two, and a woman stood near the stove, preparing lunch or a midday dinner. Marsh had not realized how quickly the morning was passing. The woman's occupation reminded him that he was hungry, and also gave him a sudden inspiration. He would offer to buy his lunch here, for people always grow more friendly and communicative over a meal.

"You want my husband? He bane come in a minute," the woman said, when she saw Marsh.

"No," Marsh replied, "I wasn't looking for your husband. I've been walking around the neighborhood, and thought perhaps I could get lunch here. I'll pay you well for your trouble."

The woman smiled broadly. "Dere bane enough one more. Yust set down—one, two minute."

Marsh laid his hat and coat on an old-fashioned couch that stood against the wall, and was about to sit down beside them, when the door opened again and a stocky man entered. His tanned face was expressionless, and the eyes looked dully at Marsh. A lock of light brown hair drooped over his forehead from under a cap, which he wore well back on his head. The cap seemed to be a fixture, for it was not removed while Marsh remained, and the detective had the humorous thought that it might also serve as a nightcap.

"Aye give dis yentleman lunch," explained the woman.

The man grunted, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and sat down at the table.

"Not very talkative," thought Marsh. Then the woman told him to sit down at the place she had prepared for him. She heaped the three plates with a stew-like mixture. Marsh did not recognize it, but he liked the flavor. With this, and the fresh home-made bread, a cup of strong coffee, and urged on by a healthy appetite, which his morning in the frosty country air had made keener, he enjoyed his lunch.

To these people eating was just a part of their day's work, and beyond the satisfying of a natural appetite, evidently produced no special feeling of enjoyment. Contrary to his expectations, therefore, Marsh did not find an opportunity to open a conversation. One or two remarks were greeted merely with grunts, so he decided to wait until the business of eating had been completed. The man's food disappeared rapidly, including a second helping, and Marsh was pleased to see him at last take out an old cob pipe and fill it with an evil-looking, strong-smelling tobacco from a dirty paper package. Marsh lit a cigarette, chiefly as a matter of protection.

"Have you lived here long?" inquired Marsh, addressing the man.

"Tree year," answered the woman. The man rolled his eyes in her direction.

"I'm thinking of buying a place around here," continued Marsh. "This house next door seems to be a nice place."

He nodded his head in the direction of the Merton home.

The man and his wife exchanged glances. She laughed, but the man's face looked as solemn as its expressionless lines would permit.

"Et bane bad place," he muttered.

"Nels—he bane crazy!" snapped the woman. "Crazy widt de moonshane!"

"Moonshine!" repeated Marsh.

"Hootch," she explained. "Ole's hootch."

Marsh laughed, and Nels grinned, his features for the first time showing an awakened interest.

Marsh thought quickly. The woman was evidently the "boss," but she would not talk about something in which she had no faith. On the other hand, the man undoubtedly had some knowledge of things which Marsh desired to know. He decided to side with the man.

"You don't approve of hootch?" Marsh asked her.

"No—no!" she exclaimed vehemently.

"But it makes a strong man work harder—keeps up his health." Marsh glanced at Nels, who showed appreciation of this defense of home-made strong drink by grinning at Marsh. The Secret Service man decided they would soon be friends, and quietly slipping his hand into his pocket, began to detach a bill.

The woman snorted in protest. "Et make Nels see t'ings. No goodt for him," she said, sharply. Then she rose and began clearing the table. While her back was turned, Marsh quickly slipped a bill over to Nels, winked hard at him, and nodded toward the door. Dull as the man seemed, he apparently understood Marsh's suggestion. He winked back and grinned, but as the woman returned to the table his face instantly resumed its blank expression.

"Well," said Marsh, rising. "I must be going." He drew out some bills and presented one to the woman. "I thank you for the lunch. It was fine. You are a good cook."

When taking his leave, Marsh put special emphasis on his parting with Nels. After closing the door behind him, however, he strolled in a very leisurely way toward the gate, and instead of keeping on along the road he leaned against the outside of one of the posts where he was not visible from the cottage. He had not waited long when footsteps sounded on the crushed stone of the driveway and Nels appeared. Marsh beckoned to him and they walked down the roadway until out of sight of the gate.

"Nels," said Marsh, stopping and facing the Swede, "you don't think I ought to buy that house next door, eh?"

Nels shrugged his shoulders. "Dat bane your bes'ness," he said.

"But I don't want to buy a place that has a bad name. Will you tell me what you think is the matter with it?"

Nels glanced about him, and standing a little closer to Marsh, said in a lowered, voice, "Aye tenk bad men live dere."

"But," protested Marsh, "I thought the house was closed, and had only a caretaker, or someone like that?"

"No caretaker," answered Nels. "Tree—four—five men. House look close, but men inside." Then he added, shaking his head, "Fonny-fonny."

"How do you know all this, Nels?"

"Aye watch. Aye see you yesterday, with yong lady."

Marsh smiled. This was evidently the man he had seen crouching in the bushes, and who had caused him to hurry Miss Atwood away from the house.

"Yes," said Marsh, "I was going to look over the house, but there seemed to be nobody home."

"Men inside," answered Nels, giving Marsh a shock.

"Tell me all about it, Nels," said Marsh, patting the man on the shoulder, "and I'll give you some more money."

"House close two year. Since den Aye see fonny men—most in night time. Big, black car—no light. House stay close—all dark—fonny—so Aye watch."

"Is that all?" inquired Marsh.

"Aye tell my wife—she say Aye drink too much hootch," grinned Nels. "So Aye don't tell her about deh oder night."

"What night was that?"

"Aye tenk las' Monday night. Aye go see Ole. He have some new stuff—goodt—goodt. Aye stay late—don't see well com'n' home. Aye tenk Aye turn in my own gate and walk—walk—walk—but no home. Aye hear auto com'n'—get out of de road. Et pass me—stop." Nels lowered his voice to a whisper. "Aye bane nowhere near home—in front bad place. Men turn on lights—CARRY DEAD MAN IN HOUSE!"

"How did you know he was dead?" exclaimed Marsh.

"He all loose—so," and Nels endeavored to illustrate by allowing his body to droop limply.

"Then what?"

"Car put in gar-rage—all quiet. Aye get scared. Aye see clear now—Aye run like hell!"

"That's all you know, is it, Nels?" asked Marsh.

"All now—but Aye watch."

"You're a good man, Nels—real smart," said Marsh. "Here's some more money for you. Maybe I'll come to see you again."

"You bane fine man," grinned Nels, as he pocketed the additional bill.

"Good-bye, Nels," said Marsh, "Better not tell anybody about our talk. Your wife might hear about it."

Nels winked knowingly and they parted, Marsh going directly to the station of the electric line and returning to Chicago.

As he approached his apartment, Marsh saw a heavily built man lounging on the steps and chatting with the policeman on duty. Marsh paid no attention to this man, merely nodding to the policeman as he passed, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. But after he had unlocked the door he stood in the hall instead of entering. Presently the man came up the stairs and they entered the apartment together. As soon as the door closed the man said, "I've got that dope for you." He pulled out a long envelope and handed it to Marsh.

"Thanks," said Marsh as he took the envelope. "Things are shaping themselves fine."

"Anything I can do?" asked the man.

"Nothing now," answered Marsh, "but you had better have several men where we can reach them in a hurry. How is Oak Street?"

"No change," was the reply. "Hasn't left the house all day." With that the man opened the door and left.

Marsh opened the envelope. It contained the black leather notebook, a letter, and some typewritten sheets. He sat down and read the letter.

The solution of the cipher code used in the notebook submitted, was comparatively simple and we were able to work it out here. This code was evidently not intended for the transmission of secret messages; it was very probably used exclusively to make notations in this book with the sole idea of maintaining privacy for these memoranda.

Due to the simplicity of the code, it could be easily memorized and therefore used for making hurried notes for quick reference.

To the inexpert person the combination of letters and figures gave a bewildering appearance to the notes, but it did not actually make the cipher any more intricate.

You can readily make up your own key to this cipher by writing out the letters of the alphabet from A to Z. Under these letters you again write the letters of the alphabet, placing the letter A under the letter Z and working backward. By this arrangement, A would stand for Z and Z for A. Below This you again write out the letters of the alphabet, and under these, beginning at Z and working backward, write the numbers 1 to 10, which brings you to the letter Q. From P to J you write the figures 20 to 26 and from I to A you write the figures 30 to 38. The person using this cipher probably memorized these two arrangements. In writing a word of say six letters, he would use four letters and two figures. To anyone glancing at his notes in a casual way, the system looked intricate, but to him these notes could be read almost as easily as if written in plain English.

Attached to the letter were several pages containing the decoded notations from the book. After carefully reading these, Marsh folded the sheets and started to place them in his pocket. Then he paused, glancing about the room thoughtfully. A moment later he smoothed the sheets out flat and lifting up the corner of the rug, slipped them under it well toward the center. Walking back and forth over the spot several times, he seemed satisfied. Then he turned up one of the chairs, placed the notebook inside of the bottom lining, and putting on his hat and coat, went out.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE ENEMY SHOWS HIS HAND

After returning from supper, Marsh sat down to look over the evening paper. The Merton case, which had replaced the Sheridan Road mystery in editorial esteem, was now retired to an inner page. He read the usual short notice that the police expected to have the guilty parties in custody within the next twenty-four hours, accompanied by an announcement of some of their plans so that the people sought could have timely warning of what to expect. Then he turned to other news of the day and the time slipped by.

About nine o'clock Marsh raised his head and listened. He had distinctly heard two sharp reports, like pistol shots. Motors continued to hum past on Sheridan Road, and he could detect none of the unusual sounds which accompany a disturbance of any kind. As a result of having hundreds of cars pass his windows daily he was used to the crack of bursting motor tires, or the back-fire in mufflers. Marsh's trained ear had seemed to catch something different in the two reports, but perhaps it was only imagination. He resumed his reading.

Three soft knocks sounded on the hall door.

It was the usual signal, and Morgan was expected. Marsh laid down the paper, and going to the door, threw it open. Instantly a small figure leaped into the entrance hall and stood facing him with its back to the living room door. A big army automatic held in a long, thin hand, covered Marsh menacingly.

"Shut the door—QUICK!" snarled the visitor.

Marsh towered above the diminutive figure, and he thought with satisfaction that with his bare hands he could crush it like an eggshell. But it has been said that the invention of the pistol made all men equal. Certainly at this moment the automatic in the small man's steady hand more than offset Marsh's physical superiority. So, though he smiled in contempt, he also diplomatically gave the door a sharp push and it slammed closed.

"Now, we'll go in and have a little talk," his visitor informed Marsh, and slowly backed into the living room.

Marsh followed.

A hasty glance showed the man the location of the big davenport. Backing to this, he sat down, looking smaller than ever, and motioned Marsh to a chair across the room. While Marsh seated himself the little man turned down his coat collar and pulled his cap up from his face. Marsh immediately recognized "Baldy" Newman.

"Now," said Newman, "you and me is goin' to have an important conference on serious matters."

Marsh did not reply. He seemed quite at his ease, and not at all interested. Nevertheless, both his eyes and his brain were actively taking stock of the situation; watching for some slip that might enable him to change their relative positions. Newman was leaning comfortably back on the davenport, his legs crossed and his feet a long way from the floor. Marsh surmised that there would be some delay in getting the latter into action again. The automatic, however, was still ready. Held firmly in one hand, the weight of the barrel was supported in the palm of the other, the back of which rested on Newman's knee. Marsh realized that when he looked at this gun he was staring directly into its muzzle. Obviously, this was a time for watchful waiting only.

"We can't figure where you fit into this here game," Newman began. "You ain't a bull; you don't work; and you don't steal."

Marsh laughed at this quaint appraisal of him.

"Well, what ARE you tryin' to pull off?" questioned Newman, his bright, piercing eyes studying Marsh's face.

"You have me at a disadvantage," returned Marsh. "I do not know what game you refer to in the first place. In the second, I cannot see why the pursuit of my private business should interest you."

"Come on—come on!" remonstrated Newman. "I ain't got any time to waste kiddin' around with you."

"Get down to the point then," advised Marsh.

"All right, I will," said Newman. "We don't mind these bulls. They're bone-heads. I can run circles around any one of them. But you're gettin' too damned close, and we want to know what you're after."

"Thanks for the tip," replied Marsh. "If I were really interested in you, the information you have just given me would be of great value."

Newman eyed Marsh suspiciously for a moment.

"Don't worry," he said. "You're not goin' to bother us much. We've arranged to take care of you, if you won't listen to reason. If you're crooked, just lay off for awhile, that's all, and we'll see you get what's right later. If you really are a bull, or are helpin' these other bulls, then I'm warnin' you to back out gracefully before it's too late. I came here with a flag of truce to give you a chance, and you can save yourself a lot of trouble by bein' on the square with me."

Bargaining with a known crook was not to Marsh's taste. If they were in the dark as to his intentions and his status, let them remain so. He guessed now that the gun in Newman's hands would not be used except as a last resort to avoid personal capture. The man's idea was to have his say, and then go as quietly as he had come, if possible. Marsh's tense watching relaxed somewhat. There was no immediate danger, and the future could adjust itself. He would like to get this fellow now, but if not, then he would get him later.

"It is none of your business what work I am engaged in," said Marsh. "Moreover, you can tell your gang for me to go straight to hell. Now, take my advice and get out quick before you lose the opportunity." Newman's lips parted in a vicious grin.

"You've got nerve, I'll say that for you," he commented. "But you don't know what a hole you're in. We've got more than one string to our bow. If you won't listen to one kind of reason, perhaps you'll listen to another. Now, you're stuck on Jane Atwood."

Marsh sprang to his feet with an oath.

"Leave that girl out of this," he cried, "or I'll beat you to a pulp!"

"Steady, Mister, steady!" exclaimed Newman. "You ain't bullet proof. Handlin' a gun is part of my business, and you won't get two feet from that chair if you make a false move. Sit down and listen to me."

Reason quickly replaced the unthinking rage of the moment, and Marsh sat down as the other directed. But his mind was made up to one thing—Newman would not leave that room now except as a prisoner or a dead man.

"That's the idea," said Newman. "You're helpless as a babe, and you might as well acknowledge it. Now, listen to this. You're crazy about Jane Atwood, or all signs fail. In fact, you probably hope to marry her. She's a classy, refined girl, with a big purpose in life. What's more, she's got peculiar notions of what's right and what's wrong. If she knew her father was a crook, and that he died to escape you, where do you think you'd get off? She'd never have anything, more to do with you, that girl wouldn't. She'd devote her life to somethin' or other to make up for her father's slip—that's what she'd do."

Newman paused, and Marsh ground his teeth and waited.

"Now, my man," continued Newman, "another false move on your part and the facts will be given to that girl, with absolute convincin' proof. There'll be no way of talkin' her out of it. You'll be through—that's all!"

While Newman talked, he had gradually leaned forward, deeply absorbed in the driving home of this final threat. The muzzle of the automatic had also slowly turned until a bullet would now strike several feet to the right. Marsh had carefully watched for this approaching opportunity and now he acted.

Like a flash, he jumped to his feet, swinging his right arm upward and forward as if hurling something at Newman. Instinct was stronger than training. The man's arms were quickly raised to ward off the expected missile. Then, realizing that Marsh was upon him, he endeavored to escape, but the powerful hands had already closed on him. He was swung upward into the air, while bullets from the automatic crashed into the walls, the ceiling and the floor, as he tried to direct its fire at his opponent.

For the matter of a second, Newman was poised in midair. Then Marsh, swept by a fierce and uncontrollable rage, dashed the helpless bundle across the room and it struck with a smashing thud.



CHAPTER XIX

KIDNAPPED

Marsh slowly regained control of himself as he stood staring at the crumpled figure. Striding across the room, he bent over Newman. The man was breathing heavily, and his eyes had a dazed glare. Although he was not unconscious in the full sense of the word, it seemed probable that it would be some time before Newman could start any more trouble. Marsh decided, however, that it would be safer to provide against future possibilities, so he drew Newman's hands together and snapped on a pair of handcuffs.

Suddenly Marsh realized that his doorbell was ringing furiously. This time he took no chances, and his automatic was in his hand ready for instant use when he opened the door. He found Morgan and Tierney in the hall.

"For God's sake, what's the matter?" cried Morgan.

By this time Marsh had recovered his calm and easy manner. "I had a visitor," he said, smiling, and slipping his automatic back into his pocket. "Come in."

The two men passed through to the living room and Marsh closed the door and followed.

"Where did he go?" asked Morgan, as Marsh entered the room.

"There it is," said Marsh, contemptuously, nodding toward Newman.

Morgan and Tierney hurried to the man and straightened him out on his back. Newman was still too dazed to do more than roll his eyes at them.

"'Baldy' Newman!" exclaimed Morgan, looking up at Marsh. "How did you get him?"

Marsh briefly explained the incident. "And what beats me," he concluded, "is how he got by the policeman at the door."

"By a well-laid plan, Marsh. We were talking about it to the patrolman when the shooting began. That was the first we realized what the scheme had been."

"What was it?" inquired Marsh. "I thought I heard a couple of shots sometime ago, but as nothing seemed to happen afterward, I concluded it was just somebody's tire."

"You heard shots, all right," returned Morgan. "It seems that an auto stopped on Lawrence Avenue in front of the alleyway. Someone in the car fired two shots at the policeman on guard there. He immediately started for the car, and the man in front, who had also heard the shots, joined him. Naturally the car was out of sight before they had run half a block, and so they returned to their posts. They didn't even get the number of the license, although I suppose it would have been of little use if they had. When you look those things up you generally find that the car has been stolen from some respectable citizen."

"Tierney and I arrived just after the patrolmen got back to the building, and the man in front told us about it. I was puzzled over just what the game was until we heard the shooting up here. Then I guessed that they had only drawn off the policemen so as to let someone get in, so Tierney and I beat it up the stairs as fast as we could. When you took so long to answer the door, we thought you were gone, sure."

"Well, the little rat did have me wondering for a few minutes," admitted Marsh. "If he had really come to kill me I think he could have got me, all right. But the fact was, he just came to warn me, and intended to use his gun only as a last resort. Under such circumstances, if you can only keep them talking long enough, they get careless. You can see what happened to 'Baldy' because he stayed too long."

"He'll have a long stay somewhere else now," commented Tierney, cheerfully.

"And we'll make him talk same more before we get through with him," declared Morgan.

"There is one thing I want to ask of you, Morgan," said Marsh. "Get him out of here as quietly as you can, and don't let the news get into the papers. We don't want the people who sent him to know exactly what has happened. Just let them wonder for a day or two."

"I get your point," answered Morgan. He then went to the telephone and called the patrol wagon, impressing upon the man at the other end of the wire, the need for secrecy, and instructing him to have the patrol drive up the alley back of the house.

"Now," said Morgan, as he turned from the telephone, "I suppose you want to hear about the information I was to get for you."

"Yes," replied Marsh. "Were you able to get it?"

"All that's worth knowing," returned Morgan. "I turned Tierney loose on this man Nolan, and looked up Hunt myself. You can dismiss Nolan from the case at once. He has a job as chauffeur with a big business man in Milwaukee, and hasn't been in Chicago for a month. At one o'clock last Tuesday morning he was bringing this man and his wife home from an affair at the man's club. Someone simply impersonated Nolan."

"Now, about Hunt. I found that he started to work for Merton as his confidential secretary about five years ago. Merton apparently thought a good deal of him, and gradually put more and more of his business into his hands. About a year ago, he made Hunt his general manager, and Hunt has practically been running the entire business ever since. People in the financial district seem to consider Hunt a fine fellow. What he was doing before he went with Merton I have been unable to find out in such a short time."

"I cannot say that this information helps us out very much," said Marsh. "Your news about Nolan simply confirms the idea I already had—that the Nolan message was a trick. I dug up some information today which looks like the best clue we have had so far. I think that by tomorrow afternoon we'll close in on the men we want. Telephone me at twelve o'clock tomorrow, Morgan, and I will tell you just what to do."

At this moment they heard pounding on Marsh's back door.

"I guess that's the wagon, Tierney," said Morgan. "Let them in."

Tierney went back through the flat and returned immediately with two policemen, who gathered up "Baldy" Newman and his gun and carried them quietly out and down the rear stairs.

"I'd like to tell the world," said Morgan, "that the West Side's most famous gunman has been captured with a man's bare hands. But we'll keep it quiet if you insist on it, Marsh."

"After tomorrow, Morgan, you will have more than 'Baldy' Newman to your credit. Until then, our success depends on secrecy. Now, remember, telephone me at twelve sharp tomorrow."

With that, the men parted for the night and Marsh, after making sure that all his doors and windows were securely fastened, went to bed.

But twelve o'clock on Tuesday passed without Marsh receiving his expected message, for the very good reason that Morgan and Tierney could not get to a telephone.

These two men spent the greater part of the morning in the financial district in a futile attempt to get further information regarding Hunt. About eleven o'clock Morgan suggested that they go to the North Side and get their lunch so that after telephoning Marsh they would be close at hand in case he wanted them quickly. They took the elevated to Wilson Avenue, and after leaving the train, turned east toward Broadway. At the corner stood a big, black limousine. The door was open and the chauffeur turned to them and said, "Say friends, will you help me get this guy out of the car? He's too drunk to move."

Morgan saw that a man was lying back in a corner with his eyes shut, and nodding to Tierney, went over to the car.

"I've been driving him for two hours," said the chauffeur, "and I don't think there's any chance of getting my money. I want to throw him out. He's too heavy for me to lift. You two guys look husky, and like good fellows, so I thought maybe you'd lift him out for me."

As this sort of thing frequently came to the attention of the detectives, they did not suspect anything out of the ordinary when they climbed into the car and started to pull the man out of the seat. Suddenly the chauffeur slammed the door and sprang to the wheel. The man in the seat, who but a moment before had apparently been in a drunken stupor, now sat up, and drawing his right arm from behind his back, covered the two detectives with an automatic.

"Sit down," he commanded, "and be quiet."

In the meantime, the car was moving swiftly across Wilson Avenue. Turning north on Sheridan Road, its speed increased to a terrific pace. Morgan noticed this and hoped that it would attract the attention of the motorcycle police, but they met none of these men and the car soon left the city limits and passed through Evanston.

From here on, the road was quiet and they passed only an occasional car. The man with the automatic now instructed them to hand over their revolvers. After he had these in his possession, he felt Morgan and Tierney over carefully to see that they had no other concealed weapon. Then, keeping them covered with the automatic, he reached out and drew down all the shades in the car so that they sat in a semi-darkness and were unable to see where they were going. Morgan judged that they had been riding about an hour when the car suddenly stopped. The door was opened and a man stuck his head in. The man was Wagner.

"Turned the tables on you, didn't we?" he jeered. Then he stepped back and they saw that he also held an automatic in his hand. "Come on," he said, "step lively. You're welcome to our happy home."

Tierney began to swear, but Morgan jabbed him with his elbow. It would be like committing suicide to show any fight now.

"These bulls ought to travel in regiments for self-protection," taunted the man who had been with them in the car. But Morgan noticed, as he stepped out of the car, that the chauffeur had left his seat and was also standing ready with an automatic. These men might have their little joke, but they were taking no chances. The three men escorted Morgan and Tierney up the steps and into the house. Wagner then directed them to precede him up the stairs. They passed down a long hall and into a big room.

"Make yourselves comfortable," sneered Wagner. "And I might as well tell you that you can make all the noise you want, because the nearest house is so far away they couldn't hear a fog horn. Just try to be nice, good little boys, and maybe we'll let you go sometime."

He backed out of the door and they heard him turn the key.



CHAPTER XX

THE FALLEN PINE

That Marsh escaped a similar fate later in the afternoon was due solely to his individual way of arming himself. For some years Marsh had carried a small automatic pistol, which unobtrusively rested in the side pocket of his coat. When he was outside in weather that required an overcoat, the automatic was temporarily transferred to the overcoat pocket. Marsh did this because a gun was seldom needed except in emergencies. At such times a movement toward the hip pocket, where men usually carry their revolvers, frequently gave the other man an opportunity to act first. Marsh had even carried his precautions in this line a little further, for the automatic was always placed in the left-hand pocket. A movement of the left hand does not receive the same suspicious attention from a criminal. In fact, as he had several times discovered, it was possible to distract the attention by a movement of the right hand while quickly drawing the gun with the left, and at close quarters a gun in the left hand was just as effective as in the right.

When no word had come from Morgan by one o'clock, Marsh decided to look the detective up. He called Morgan's home on the telephone, then the detective bureau, and two nearby precinct stations that Morgan might have been likely to drop into while waiting to telephone him. Morgan's mother said he had left early, and the detective bureau informed Marsh that they had not heard from Morgan again after receiving a report from him early in the day. The stations did not remember having seen the detective for a long time. At each place Marsh left his name, and a message for Morgan to ring up at once if he came in.

Marsh was now in a quandary. He remembered that he had not asked Morgan to look anything up that morning and therefore knew of no place where he might endeavor to obtain a trace of him. The case had now reached a point where immediate action was necessary, yet he could not act alone. Of course, he could have called upon the Secret Service Division at the Federal Building, but he had special reasons for wanting Morgan's and Tierney's assistance at this time rather than that of Secret Service men. After long consideration, therefore, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do except stay by his telephone and wait. It never occurred to Marsh that anything of a serious nature could have happened to the detectives on the crowded city streets. The only plausible explanation of the delay might be that Morgan and Tierney had discovered some new clue which they thought of sufficient importance to follow up before keeping their appointment with him. Marsh accepted this explanation readily, because he realized that there were still many loose ends to the case that would permit of new developments at any moment.

When four o'clock came, however, and there was still no word from Morgan, Marsh decided that something must have happened to the two men. He had had ample evidence of the desperate and daring character of their opponents. To raise a hue and cry in the Police Department would utterly defeat his plans. Whatever he did must be carried out quietly. So far as he knew, at this time, there were only two possible sources of information—one, the house on Oak Street; the other, the closed house at Hubbard Woods. First he would get a report from the man on watch at Oak Street. If nothing had occurred there, he would then carry out his proposed raid on the Hubbard Woods house with some of his own men.

Having reached this decision Marsh put on his coat and hat and went down to the corner of Lawrence Avenue to wait for a bus. A stream of motor cars swept steadily by and when one of these turned into the curb and stopped, Marsh paid little attention to it. He was astounded, therefore, when a man opened the door, and addressing him, said, "Step in and be quick about it!" Marsh gave the man a sharp glance, then noticing that one of the man's arms was extended toward him, he dropped his eyes and saw that the coat sleeve was pulled down over the hand, while the barrel of an automatic projected about an inch from the sleeve. Marsh looked about him quickly. The policeman in front of his house was too far away to be of any assistance, if, in fact, his attention could be attracted at all. In the other direction, the nearest people were two women, one of whom was pushing a baby carriage. He then saw that another man had descended from the driver's seat and was approaching him. Marsh stepped back and his right hand shot toward his right hip pocket. Not that he had any intention of drawing a gun while so carefully covered by the other man, but he had a thought.

"Easy, easy!" cried the man. "You haven't a chance in the world! Do you want to get bumped off right now?"

Marsh murmured something inaudible and withdrew his hand. The man with the gun signaled to his companion. This man came up and felt around Marsh's hip pockets.

"Aw, he's kiddin'," the fellow exclaimed. "He ain't got any gun at all."

Marsh's thought had been correct.

"All right," said the man with the gun, smiling. "Let's go."

It had flashed through Marsh's mind that what was now happening to him might have also happened to Morgan and Tierney. If such was the case it was more than likely that these men would take him to the same place, and that was just the information he wanted. As for getting him into that place, that was a different matter. To carry out his quickly formed plan, it was necessary for Marsh to sit with his left side away from this man, who would probably join him in the car, so without further hesitation he climbed into the car and settled back in the far corner of the seat. The man followed and sat down at Marsh's right, pulling the door to after him. The other man climbed back to his seat at the wheel and started the car. They went down Sheridan Road, and turning through the next street, made the circuit of the block, returning again to Sheridan Road and moving swiftly north.

After a time the man turned to Marsh, and said, "If you take things easy you'll get out of this with a whole skin, but if you start anything—GOOD night!"

Marsh smiled but said nothing.

"Oh, I know you're a cool customer," the man appraised, "but if you think you're going to put anything over on us this time, you've made a bum guess."

"It's hardly likely," replied Marsh, "that an unarmed man would try any tricks while you sit there with that automatic. The fact is, however, that you fellows are giving yourselves a lot of trouble for nothing."

"What do you mean?" snapped the man.

"I mean that I have already offered you my services. All you had to do was to tip me the word."

The man looked at Marsh suspiciously for a moment. "Do you mean that?" he said.

"I see no reason why you should doubt my word."

"All right," returned the man. "Hand over those papers you've got and I'll drop you out at the next street."

"What papers do you mean?" queried Marsh.

"There you go—stalling again. No use; the boss said to bring you up, and I guess he knows best."

"I don't know where you get that idea about any papers," said Marsh. "I can show you quickly enough that the only papers I have on me are of a personal nature and of no use to anyone else."

"Maybe so—maybe so. But after we get you under lock and key, we know damn well where we can find them."

Thus the argument continued at intervals until they were far up into the North Shore suburbs. Darkness had fallen and the interior of the car was absolutely black except when they passed an occasional street light or an automobile. As Marsh had told Morgan, if you can only make them talk long enough, they grow careless. Passing under the last street light, Marsh had observed that the automatic was no longer leveled in his direction.

The car was of the limousine type, with a glass partition shutting off the driver so that unless he happened to look around he would not know what was going on within the car. Marsh figured that now darkness had fallen, the driver's attention would be directed entirely to the road ahead, for street lights along the suburban section of Sheridan Road were few and far between.

"It's getting warm in here," said Marsh. He raised his right hand and pushed his hat back on his head. At the same time his left hand withdrew the automatic from his coat pocket and the next instant it was pressed into the ribs of the man beside him.

"One move and you're through!" breathed Marsh in his ear. "Give me that gun!" His right arm came down with the hand closing over the man's automatic. The man started to swear, but stopped suddenly as Marsh warned, "Shut up. This matter is in my hands now, and I mean business!" Marsh slipped the man's automatic into his own pocket, and then brought out a pair of light, steel handcuffs which he immediately snapped on his prisoner's wrists.

"When I get ready," Marsh informed him, "I'm going to step out of this car, and I want you to sit perfectly still until I am gone. If you want to know how good a shot I am, just make a move." Marsh settled back into his corner and the car rolled on.

At last, just as they made a sharp turn, Marsh caught a different sound from the wheels, and he knew they had passed into a driveway. With a last warning to the man, Marsh quietly opened the door on his side and stepped out of the car. In the distance he could hear his late captor's manacled hands beating on the glass of the front windows to attract the driver's attention. There was no time to lose, for they would be after him in a minute.

Marsh sped down the driveway, but before he reached the entrance gate he could hear the hum of the pursuing car, and as he sprang through the gate the car was only a few yards away. Then a most surprising thing happened. Weakened by its rotting fibres and the never-ending battle with the winds, the dead pine, which stood beside the gate, swayed and cracked. The next minute it fell crashing across the driveway in a cloud of dying splinters and dust, effectually blocking pursuit by motor.

Marsh dashed across the roadway and concealed himself in the underbrush. The falling pine had identified the place to Marsh as quickly as if the men had told him its name. He was facing the entrance to the house in Hubbard Woods.

The driver of the pursuing car had switched on the powerful headlights to aid him in locating the fugitive. These lights warned him of the fallen pine blocking the road. Marsh could hear the grinding of the emergency brake; and the hum of the motor died away as the man "killed" his engine in his effort to make a quick stop. So swiftly had the car been moving, however, that it struck the log with a tremendous impact which echoed through the still woods. The front wheels scattered far and wide, and the body of the car climbed up and rested on the pine log.

The two men, although probably well shaken up by the accident, jumped hastily from the car and rushed into the roadway. The headlights were shining directly on Marsh and for a moment he thought the men might discover him among the bushes. Standing in the glare, however, they were partially blinded and the manacled man, realizing this, turned to the other.

"Shut off those damn lights. He'll take a pot-shot at us before we can see him."

The driver leaped back to the car, shut off the lights, and then returned to his companion.

"Not much danger," he said. "The guy's probably making a quick getaway."

"Hell!" the manacled man exclaimed, "the boss'll skin us alive."

"The boss be damned!" exclaimed the other. "This guy'll have the bulls on us if we don't get him, and the boss won't be ready for the getaway until Thursday."

"We've got to get him!" declared the manacled man. "He can't run all the way to Chicago. I figure he made for either the electric line or the railroad station. You beat it up there quick and see if you can get him."

"All right," agreed the driver. "And you run down the road."

"Where do you get that stuff?" exclaimed the other, holding up his manacled hands. "I'm no good with these bracelets on. It's all up to you now. You're wasting time. Beat it!"

The driver started up the road at a run and Marsh listened to the rapid beat of his footfalls until they disappeared in the distance. Then he cautiously crept out of the bushes and approached the other man. It was so dark that Marsh could barely make out the man's form as it was outlined against the gray of one of the gateposts. Consequently, the man did not discover him until Marsh's hand was on his arm.

"That you, Wagner?" he gasped.

Marsh laughed. "Don't make me talk," he said. "I'm all out of breath making that getaway your friend spoke of."

"Hell!" the other man groaned, expressively.

"It sure is—for you," replied Marsh. "Now, just lie down in the road while I tie your feet."

The man turned to run, probably hoping to escape in the darkness. Marsh's hand still gripped his arm and with a quick movement of his foot, Marsh threw the man down; then unbuckled the belt around the fellow's waist and proceeded to secure his feet with it. As Marsh rose to a standing position a voice close at hand, said, "That'll be all for you. Throw up your hands!"

Marsh did not move.

"I said, put up your hands," repeated the voice.

"They are up," replied Marsh, counting on the darkness.

"Don't kid me!" The speaker suddenly, flashed an electric pocket lamp on Marsh. By its gleam Marsh saw the sparkle of a revolver and wisely put his hands over his head.

The man was standing in front of thick shrubbery. At this moment, Marsh saw, by the dim glow of the pocket lamp, two hands slip from the shrubbery and close about the man's throat. The lamp and the revolver fell to the ground as the man instinctively raised his own hands to break the hold. But in the darkness Marsh heard his body drop with a wheezing sigh.



CHAPTER XXI

THE CHIMNEY THAT WOULDN'T DRAW

Marsh stood for a moment in puzzled thought. Then he heard a cheerful voice say, "Aye bane got him all right," and he recognized his rescuer.

"Hold him for a minute," ordered Marsh, and he leaped over the pine to the car, returning immediately with one of the robes. With Nels' assistance Marsh wound the robe about the upper part of the man's body, fastening his arms to his side as effectively as if he had been placed in a straightjacket. Then he took the man's belt and secured his feet in the same way he had tied up those of the other man. Marsh next took the men's handkerchiefs and two of his own. Stuffing one into each man's mouth, and tying another around his head, Marsh effectually gagged them into silence.

"Now," he said to Nels, "we'll lay these two fellows out of sight in the underbrush."

When this was accomplished he instructed Nels to follow him, and they cautiously approached the house. As they crossed the lawn, Marsh heard rapid footsteps ahead, followed by the opening of the house door. He immediately dashed in pursuit. In the hall he paused to listen for sounds that would indicate the direction the man had taken. He heard the clicking of a telephone receiver hook and a voice calling, "Hello! Hello!" Leaping through an arched and curtained doorway at his left, Marsh discovered a dim light in a connecting room, and darted to the doorway, drawing his automatic and transferring it to his right hand as he ran. He found himself in the library of the house, and in one corner he saw the driver of the car with a telephone in his hands.

"Drop that phone!" called Marsh, leveling his automatic.

Ignoring Marsh's command, the man hastily gave a number to the operator. It was quite clear what was happening. This man, returning from his fruitless quest at the station, had witnessed the capture of his companions. He was now endeavoring to warn some person; probably the principal, who was the man Marsh particularly wanted. There was no time for argument, so Marsh fired.

The man dropped the telephone and stumbled forward in a heap on the floor. Marsh dashed across the room and replaced the receiver on its hook, hoping that the connection had not been made in time for the man at the other end of the wire to hear the shot. Though the man had fallen, Marsh knew that he had nothing worse than a flesh wound in the arm, because he was sure of his aim. He tied the man's hand with a handkerchief, and his feet with his belt, and left him on the floor. Turning quickly to Nels, who had followed him into the room, and now stood watching, he handed the Swede the captured automatic, saying, "Do you know how to use it?"

"Ya, Aye know;" was the smiling reply.

"All right," said Marsh. "I'm going to search the house. Follow me and keep your eyes open." Marsh hurried back through the front room to the hall, with the Swede at his heels, and he heard the man murmuring, as he went, "You bane fine man."

As they climbed the stairs, feeling their way in the dark, they heard a distant hammering. It came from the back of the house, and Marsh and Nels speeded down the hall. The hammering ceased as they approached the door at the end of the hall. A thin strip of light showed beneath it and Marsh heard familiar voices.

"I tell you somebody's come after us," said one.

"Oh, hell! The man said nobody could hear a foghorn here," replied the other. "What's the use?"

Marsh found the key in the lock, and turning it, threw the door open. There stood Morgan and Tierney in the wreckage of what had once manifestly been a beautifully furnished bedroom. A black opening, through which a strong draft came when the door was opened, showed where once had been a shuttered window. The remains of chairs littered the floor, parts of the bed were scattered around the room, and in the center of the floor was a pile of felt that had once been the stuffing for the mattress.

"My God!" cried Marsh, "what has happened?"

The two men's faces lighted up at sight of him, and Tierney shouted, "What did I tell you, Morgan? I knew that guy would find us."

"He bane fine man," added a voice from the doorway.

"Hello Svenska!" bellowed Tierney. "Who are you?"

Nels grinned as Marsh explained who he was.

"How did you get in? Where's the gang?" rapidly questioned Morgan.

"One wounded and tied downstairs, and two safely tied up by the gate," explained Marsh. "One of the two out there is your man Wagner. Now tell me how you got here."

Morgan gave him a brief outline of their adventures.

"But how did the room get in this state?" questioned Marsh.

"Well, you know Tierney," replied Morgan, with a laugh. "He's a mighty restless individual when you try to shut him up. He demolished all the chairs on the door. We found the window frame and the shutters had been screwed tight to keep us in, so Tierney took the bed apart and used the sides to clean out the whole business. When we discovered it was too far to drop from the window, we tried to make a rope with the ticking of the mattress, but when we tested it, the stuff proved to be too rotten to hold us."

"And the worst of it is," added Morgan, "it was cold enough in here before Tierney broke out the window. Since then we've been freezing. If there's a fire in the house, lead us to it."

"I don't think there is," replied Marsh. "Now that you speak of it, I noticed a damp chill in the place the minute I came in. Nels," he added, turning to the Swede; "you're a good fellow. I saw a big, open fireplace in the library. Build a wood fire there and we'll warm my friends up."

Nels nodded and started off.

"We haven't any time to lose," announced Marsh, turning back to Morgan. "I expect to find my final evidence in this house, and we've got to get back to town pretty soon. You fellows can warm up a bit and then we'll start a systematic search from the garret to the cellar."