All three then went down to the library where Nels was building the fire. Tierney loudly voiced his approval as the red and yellow flames began to creep over the wood. A minute later, however, he was choking and swearing as the acrid wood smoke rolled out into the room instead of up the chimney.

"Aye fix him," explained Nels. "Chimney cover to keep out draft, mebbe." He hurried out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a white face and staring eyes.

"You come," he half-whispered, from the doorway. "Aye see somet'ing."

"What is it?" questioned Marsh.

"Aye don't know—Aye only tenk—come quick!"

"Go ahead," said Marsh, "we'll follow," and with Nels leading the way they all climbed the stairs. Nels had turned on the electric lights in the halls. They could now see their way clearly as he guided them to the attic and across it to an open window which opened on a wide gutter. They crawled out after him and worked their way along a short distance to the big, old fashioned, outside stone chimney from the library fireplace.

"Yust put your hand in—so," directed Nels, making a motion with his arm.

Marsh reached up and followed the suggestion. Just below the top of the chimney his fingers came into contact with a human head.

"My God!" he cried. "Here's our man."

"Holy Saints!" gasped Tierney.

Then Morgan asked, "What do you mean?"

"I think we've found Merton's body," replied Marsh. "You'll have to help me get him out."

With considerable effort, and hindered by the blackness of the night, Marsh and Morgan climbed the slanting, slate-covered roof and perched themselves on the broad capstone of the chimney. Slowly they loosened the wedged in body, gradually drew it out through the top of the chimney, and passed it down to Tierney and Nels, who crept with it along the gutter and passed it through the attic window. Marsh and Morgan followed them, and under the glow of the one dim electric light, the two men made a hasty examination of the body. It was in a fair state of preservation, due probably to the cold air, which had been made especially effective by the draft through the chimney. The identification was made certain when Marsh extracted a card case from the man's coat, in which they found the business and personal cards of Richard Townsend Merton, and Morgan located the duplicate of the cuff button he had discovered in the empty apartment.

The examination completed, Marsh turned to Morgan.

"Do you notice that this man was stabbed, not shot?" he asked.

"Yes," returned Morgan. "That was one of the things I looked to make certain of."

"Now," said Marsh, addressing the two detectives, "I guess this job has warmed you fellows up. We can't lose another minute. You, Tierney, make a careful examination of this attic. It should not take you long, and you can then join Morgan, who will start now to make an examination of the second and third floors. Nels and I will look over the first floor and the basement. You join us as soon as you get through. If you find anything worth while, bring it down."

Leaving Tierney in the attic, and dropping Morgan off at the third floor, Marsh and Nels passed on down to the first floor of the house. A careful inspection of this floor brought nothing of especial interest to light except that there were no signs of its having been used. The kitchen and the pantry were bare of food, and Marsh could see that neither of the sinks in the pantry and the kitchen, nor the kitchen stove, had been used for a long time.

"I thought you said those men were living in the house," he queried, turning to Nels.

"So Aye tenk," Nels assured him.

"Queer," murmured Marsh. "No fire, no food, and no signs of cooking."

"Mebbe in basement," suggested Nels.

"Well, we're going there now," said Marsh. "Do you know the way, Nels?"

"Aye guess," replied the Swede, leading the way into a long hall that led from the pantry along one side of the house. A short distance up this hall Nels opened a door, and they discovered a stairway leading into the basement. Marsh lit a match and located an electric switch. When he turned this a light flashed on below and they descended the stairs. Here they found a hall leading across the house, with a doorway at the far end, and one on either side.

"Aye tenk," said Nels, pointing down the hall, "dat door go outside—dis one to laundry—dat one Aye don't know."

Marsh opened the last door indicated by Nels, and lighting another match, found it a rough basement containing the heating plant, coal bins, and general storage space. He found the electric light and turned it on. But little coal was left in the bins, and the thick mantle of dust over the other things in this part of the basement showed that it had been a long time since anything had been touched. The last thing, Marsh looked into the firebox under the heating plant. This was well filled with an ash that had resulted from the burning of papers, but after poking around with a long stick, he found that nothing remained which could in any way be used as evidence.

Turning out the light, they crossed the hall and opened the other door. With a match, Marsh found a wall switch close to the door, and snapping this, the room was flooded with brilliant light from several electric lamps pendant from the ceiling, each covered with a green metal shade.

Here was the solution of the deserted condition of the upper part of the house. That part of the house had been left intentionally deserted, for all the men's activities had been centered in this room. It was a large, square room that had been the laundry of the house. Four cots, standing along one wall, indicated where the men had slept, and several pots on the gas stove showed where they had obtained their heat and done their cooking. Through the glass door of a cupboard, in one corner, he saw cans and packages of food. The table, in the center of the room, was littered with soiled dishes and the remains of a meal.

Large patches of black cloth on two sides of the room marked the probable location of windows which had been carefully covered to keep any light from showing on the outside. But what interested Marsh most was the complete counterfeiting equipment in one corner of the room. A small trunk also stood in this corner, and raising the lid Marsh discovered a large quantity of the five dollar bills he had been tracing over the country for the last two years. What he really sought, however, were the plates, and these were apparently missing.

At this moment Nels spoke. "You like to see dis?" he asked.

Turning, Marsh found that Nels had the cupboard door open, and was pointing to a suitcase, which lay on the floor. It had been previously concealed by the lower part of the door.

"You bet I would!" exclaimed Marsh and hurried across to the cupboard. He pulled out the suitcase, which was fairly heavy, and tried to open it. It was locked. Nels pulled out a big knife, with a long blade, and began to cut through the leather at the edges. He presently laid back one side of the suitcase, exposing some clothing to view. It was only a thin layer, however, which Marsh threw quickly aside. Under the clothing he found a carefully wrapped package. Tearing off the covering, he saw what he sought—the plates for the five dollar bills. Beneath the package, laid out in a carefully arranged row, were bundles of stocks and bonds.

Here, at last, was the evidence Marsh had sought, and the confirmation of the theory he had carefully worked out.



CHAPTER XXII

CORNERED

Marsh replaced everything in the suitcase, put it back in the cupboard, and closed the door.

"We're through here for the present, Nels," he said.

Shutting off the lights, the two men returned to the main floor. As they entered the library, Morgan and Tierney appeared, having completed their search of the upper part of the house.

"Any luck?" asked Marsh.

"Nothing at all with any bearing on the case," answered Morgan. "How about you?"

"I found all the evidence we need; most of it in a suitcase, which is probably the one Atwood removed from his apartment."

"There goes one of your theories, Marsh," laughed Morgan.

"Which one?" inquired Marsh.

"That Clark Atwood and this man Hunt were not in cahoots."

Marsh smiled. "What is the proverb?" he said. "'Tis wisdom sometimes to seem a fool.'"

"Now then, Morgan," he continued, briskly, "there's the telephone. You make arrangements to have your men come out and take care of the evidence in the basement, and the prisoners. While you're doing that, the rest of us will bring in those fellows we left out by the road."

Morgan went to the telephone as directed, and Marsh led the others down the drive to the gate. Everything was just as they had left it, and they found the two men where they had placed them, behind the bushes.

"If I'm any example," said Tierney, "these two guys must be near frozen to death."

"That'll cool off their ambition for a fight," replied Marsh.

Marsh placed Wagner, who was the smaller of the two men, over his shoulder, and Tierney and Nels, carrying the other man between them, followed Marsh back to the house. They put the two men in chairs in the library, and lifting the other man from the floor placed him in a chair near them. Marsh then turned to Morgan.

"Have you fixed everything up?"

"Yes, they ought to be here inside of an hour and a half."

"Fine!" commented Marsh. Then turning to Nels, he pulled out a bill and presented it.

"Nels," he said, "we've all got to go into the city. Somebody must watch this place while we're gone. You have a good gun there, so you can stick around until the police come."

"Sure—Aye watch."

"Come on," Marsh called, and the three men started out. The last thing Marsh heard as he went down the steps, was a voice murmuring, "He bane fine man."

Oak Street lay shadowy and deserted, as Marsh, accompanied by Morgan and Tierney, turned into it from Rush Street.

"Wait here for a minute," requested Marsh, as they stopped in front of the entrance to Hunt's building, and he moved toward the dark tradesmen's entrance. As he neared it, a man appeared from the shadows. They held a low-voiced conversation, and Marsh then returned to the others. When the door was opened, in answer to their ring, the three detectives climbed the stairs.

Hunt's man-servant stood at the door.

"Mr. Hunt in?" asked Marsh.

"Yes, sir," replied the man. "I think you were here before, sir."

"Yes, Sunday night."

"Walk right in, sir. Mr. Hunt's in the living room."

Hunt had evidently been reading, but had risen at the sound of voices, for on entering the living room they found him standing by the davenport, with his finger between the pages of a book.

"Good evening," said Marsh.

There was a look of surprise on Hunt's face, but he quickly mastered it.

"I hardly expected to see you here," he observed, significantly. "And who are your friends?"

"Detective Sergeant Morgan, whom you have met before; and his partner, Detective Sergeant Tierney."

Again that astonished expression passed over Hunt's face. He spoke quite calmly, however.

"May I ask the reason for this late call?"

"It's really a continuation of the visit I made here Sunday night," answered Marsh. "My story has had another and more interesting chapter added to it, and I thought you might like to hear it."

"Naturally, I am interested," returned Hunt, smiling. "Will you gentlemen take chairs?"

Hunt's man, who had followed them into the room, now offered to assist them in taking off their coats.

"Never mind," said Marsh, "we shall be here only a few minutes," and the man left the room.

Marsh now seated himself in the chair he had occupied on the occasion of his previous visit, and Morgan and Tierney took chairs on the opposite side of the fireplace. Hunt laid aside his book and offered them cigars from a humidor. Marsh refused, calling attention to the fact that he was lighting a cigarette, but Morgan and Tierney accepted, and Hunt, selecting a cigar for himself, then settled down among the cushions in a corner of the davenport.

"My story really begins two years ago, Mr. Hunt," said Marsh, "but I will pass briefly over the early part of it by merely saying that at that time I took up the trail of a counterfeiter, known as Clark Atwood."

"Why should you take up the trail of a counterfeiter?" inquired Hunt.

"Because," declared Marsh, throwing back his coat and exposing his badge, "I belong to the Secret Service Division of the United States Treasury Department."

Hunt remained silent and Marsh continued. "Upon the death of his wife in St. Louis, a few months ago, this man Atwood brought his daughter to Chicago and placed her in an apartment on Sheridan Road. Posing as a traveling man, Atwood was busy in other places, and made only occasional visits to his daughter. To maintain a place of safety and refuge in time of trouble, this man Atwood kept his daughter in ignorance of his real occupation. I may say, at this point, that Atwood had made his living by criminal means for many years, and the venture in counterfeiting was simply the latest of his many ways of gaining a livelihood."

"In the course of time it became necessary for Atwood to get a certain man out of the way. The plans were carefully laid and the stage set. His daughter believed him to be traveling on the road, but after he was sure that she had retired for the night, he quietly entered his apartment, went to her bedroom, and by means of a hypodermic needle, charged with morphine, rendered her unconscious while she slept, so that there would be no chance of her awakening and spoiling his plans. Then Atwood, and a well known police character known as 'Baldy' Newman, entered an empty apartment across the hall by means of a duplicate key. At twelve o'clock, this man 'Baldy' telephoned the victim at his hotel. Newman represented himself as the man's former chauffeur, and appealed for immediate assistance to get out of some trouble he was in. Atwood, and his confederate, then waited in the dining room of this apartment until the victim rang the bell. Newman admitted him and led him into the dining room. There the two men confronted him with revolvers and on the threat of taking his life, forced him to sign a paper."

"After that, the victim made an attempt to escape. He fled to the front of the apartment, closely pursued by the two men. They attempted to make away with him silently, as originally planned, by knifing him to death. The victim brought a hitch into their plans by drawing a revolver and firing one shot before he died. Had this not occurred, it is probable that the murderers' plans would not have been discovered until long after they had made a safe getaway. As it was, the shot merely hastened their actions at the time. The lights in the apartment were turned out, the dead man was carried across the hall, through Atwood's apartment, and down the rear stairs, where he was thrown into a waiting automobile. When the police arrived, a few minutes later, the men believed that they had gotten safely away, without leaving a trace. They did leave traces, however, and from that minute the police never left the trail until they closed in on the men today."

Marsh took a photograph from his pocket. "Among the traces left in that apartment," he went on, "were the imprints of a man's hands on the dining room table. I have here a photograph of those imprints, and among the many identifying marks there is a scar of a peculiar shape."

Marsh returned the photograph to his pocket.

"I am very glad to learn that you have cleared up the murder of my employer, Mr. Marsh," said Hunt. "What seems curious to me, however, is why you should think this man Atwood would want to kill Mr. Merton. Surely Mr. Merton could never have had any dealings with a criminal such as you describe Atwood to be."

"On the contrary, Mr. Hunt," returned Marsh, "Merton had extensive business dealings with Atwood. In fact, he went so far as to place Atwood in a position where he could rob Merton of several hundred thousand dollars worth of stocks and bonds. The transfer of these securities had been taking place for a year or more, and it had reached the point where the greater part of Merton's fortune was in Atwood's hands. It is evident that Atwood's original intention was to step quietly out of sight with this fortune, but subsequent events led him to believe that he could go on in quiet security if Merton were out of the way. That was the reason why Merton was murdered."

Hunt threw the remains of his cigar into the fireplace, and slipped the hand that had held it down into the pillows of the davenport.

"And you think you have at last located this man Atwood do you, Mr. Marsh?"

"Yes," returned Marsh, calmly, "because I have absolute proof that CLARK ATWOOD AND GILBERT HUNT ARE ONE AND THE SAME MAN!"

Instantly Hunt's hand whipped out from behind the sofa cushions, and the three detectives found themselves covered by an automatic as Hunt stood up.

"Clever work, gentlemen," he said, smiling. "But after leading men of your type around by the nose for many years, you can hardly expect me to stay here and calmly accept defeat now."

"Oh, no," answered Marsh. "We fully expected you to put up a good fight." He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and crossing his legs, leaned back, smiling up at Hunt. "Go ahead; what's your next move?"

"My next move," cried Hunt, sharply, "is to leave you damn fools sitting right there. When I didn't hear from my men this afternoon I knew that something was wrong, and my way of escape is ready."

He backed slowly toward the door, keeping the detectives covered with his automatic. When he reached the door of the room, he called, "Everything ready, George?"

"Yes, sir," a voice replied from the distance.

Hunt again addressed the detectives. "I advise you gentlemen to stay quietly where you are for a few minutes. I am going out of the back door of this apartment, and you, will find it difficult to find YOUR way through in the dark—especially as you may meet a shot at any moment. I bid you good evening, gentlemen."

With that, Hunt backed out of sight through the doorway and all was silent. Immediately, Morgan and Tierney leaped to their feet and dashed toward the door.

"Hold on!" exclaimed Marsh, still sitting quietly in his chair, "Where are you going?"

The two detectives stopped in astonishment.

"We're going to get him!" shouted Tierney.

"No need of taking all that trouble," returned Marsh. "My men are ready for him. Long ago a Secret Service man even replaced his driver at the wheel of his car."

As if in answer to this statement from Marsh, there was a distant fusillade of shots.

"They've got him," said Marsh, rising. "Now we can go."

"If there's no hurry now," said Morgan, "I wish you would tell us the rest of the story."

"What do you mean?" inquired Marsh.

"How did you come to connect these two men, and how did you get that inside dope on the stealing?"

"You know all the incidents," returned Marsh, "and you ought to be able to connect them as I did. The only information I had about which you did not know was that notebook. The book contained memoranda in Hunt's handwriting, which, by the way, closely resembled the writing in Atwood's last letter. Among these were the names, addresses and telephone numbers of the men who worked with him, and showing their different locations during the past year or two. He also made notations of the different stocks and bonds which he took out of Merton's vaults at various times."

"Atwood, you know, took a suitcase at the last moment from his apartment. This afternoon I located a suitcase in the Merton house, containing the counterfeit plates, and the stocks and bonds which I had found noted in Hunt's memorandum book. Naturally, a large part of the story I told tonight was merely surmise on my part, but you can see how near I came to the truth from the way Hunt acted."

"Another interesting point, due to your foresight, Morgan, was that matter of the scar. I studied very carefully the photograph you had taken. Sunday night, when I was calling here on Hunt, I goaded him into a rage, so that he shook his right fist in my face. I had a good view of the scar then, and my last doubt vanished."

"Another point that isn't clear," queried Morgan, "is that paper Merton signed. What was it?"

"I don't know," said Marsh. "That was a wild guess on my part; that he had signed any paper at all. It seemed odd, however, that an experienced financier like Merton would make an employee sole executor. So I decided that before his death, Merton was forced to sign either a new will, or a codicil to his old will, which was dated back some months so as to offset any suspicions."

"And what do you suppose Hunt expected to gain by kidnapping all of us?" again questioned Morgan.

"Don't you see," explained Marsh, "that we were getting too close, and might be expected to spring the trap at any minute. Our disappearance would divert the police into a search for us instead of for them. In the meantime, they could get quietly away and vanish. And besides, I was supposed to have that notebook—the most incriminating evidence we possessed at that time."

"But see here," now broke in Tierney. "Why did you let that guy think he had a chance to get away, when you had the goods on him? The three of us could have nabbed him the minute we came in."

"Tierney," replied Marsh, "there's a little girl up north that I hope to marry some day. You know her—she's Atwood's daughter. If that girl knew that her father was a crook it would break her heart. I didn't intend that she should ever know. I told Hunt that story tonight so as to show him the hopelessness of his position, and thus drive him out to a finish battle with my men. Sooner or later he had to pay the penalty of being a murderer, and I did not think he would allow himself to be taken alive, so I gave him his chance. His death prevents a personal trial and the presenting of all the evidence. The name of Atwood need not now appear in the reports of the case, and the girl will never connect the references that may be made to Gilbert Hunt, with her father."

"One week!" exclaimed Morgan. "Marsh, you complimented me once on twenty-four hours bum work; It's my turn now, to hand it to you for one week's REAL work."

"I appreciate your good intentions, Morgan," laughed Marsh, "but you forget that I have actually been two years on this job. The last week was simply the windup. It was not my superior work—merely a slip in the man's plans that gave me a clue."

"Hell!" cried Tierney. "Cut that modest stuff. A man who could turn the biggest mystery the Department ever had into a CLUE, is some guy!"



CHAPTER XXIII

SUNSET

One of the sudden changes characteristic of the Chicago climate had taken place. The wintry chill had left the air before the advance of a soft, warm breeze that blew out of the west. It might have been early spring instead of late fall.

Marsh waited outside the music school on Michigan Avenue for Jane Atwood. Presently she appeared, and Marsh was conscious of a quickened beating of the heart as he watched the slender, graceful figure approach. He noted the becoming flush, which spread over her features as she recognized him, and he was certain that no woman ever before had such sparkling eyes and so sweet a smile.

"This is a pleasant surprise," she greeted him.

"I knew you had a lesson today," explained Marsh, "and the weather was so fine that I thought you might enjoy a walk before you went home."

"I should love it!" she exclaimed. "I was just dreading the thought of going straight home to that plain little room in the hotel. Hotel rooms never do seem homelike, do they?"

"Most of my life has been spent in hotels," returned Marsh, as they strolled toward the curb. "My parents died before I was twenty, and since then I have led a roving life." He signaled a passing taxi, and directed the chauffeur to take them to Lincoln Park.

Marsh glanced down Oak Street as the car flashed by. The mysterious shadows that hung over the street at night, and the recent tragic incident which had taken place there, seemed almost like a dream to Marsh, as he saw the street stretch peacefully toward the west in the light of the late afternoon sun. Marsh's attention was quickly diverted, however, for at this point the tall buildings, the smoky streets, and the crowds were left behind. At one side began the long line of palatial residences that has brought to this section of Chicago the sobriquet of "The Gold Coast." On the other side lay a strip of park, and beyond that stretched the rolling waters of Lake Michigan, as far as the eye could see.

"This is what I like about Chicago," exclaimed Marsh. "After a day in the hurry and bustle and grind of the business district, you are swept in a few minutes into a region of trees, grass and spreading waters. At one stroke you seem to leave the seething city behind and enter into the wide spaces of the earth."

"You speak like a poet," declared the girl, "rather than a plain business man."

"Perhaps," returned Marsh, in a low voice, "it is because of something new that has come into my life."

The girl's eyes looked into his for a moment, and seemed to read something there, for she turned with heightened color to look out over the lake.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes; then Marsh leaned forward and opened the door of the taxi. "We'll stop here," he called to the driver.

"Have you been in Lincoln Park before?" he inquired, as they strolled north.

"Only to pass through in the bus," returned Jane.

"I think," commented Marsh, "that this is one of the prettiest parks. I presume that those rolling hills are artificial, but they are certainly a relief, after the monotonous flatness of the rest of the city. There is one, just ahead of us, that is the highest in the park. I want to take you there, for it is a place where I have often sat during the last few months, when I wanted to be alone and think."

"I believe," said Jane, "that this is the first time you have really told me anything abort yourself."

"Frankly," replied Marsh, "that is one of the reasons why I suggested this walk today. This favorite spot of mine appealed to me as just the place to tell you something of my story. There it is," he added, pointing across the driveway to a little tree-clad hill. He guided her across the drive, up the winding path through the trees, to an open space on the hilltop, where they found a bench and sat down.

"It is beautiful," agreed the girl.

Several miles of the shore line lay stretched before them, and beyond it miles and miles of blue-green water rolled in, to break into miniature waves against the embankment. The sun had nearly touched the treetops behind them, and the gray of evening already lay out over the lake. The distant horizon changed from a deep purplish tint, where it met the water, through many, shades, until it turned to rich gold, where the light of the setting sun fell full upon fleecy clouds that drifted slowly, far up in the air.

"You asked me a few days ago," began Marsh, "about the nature of my business. I did not feel free to tell you at that time, because I was engaged in working out one of my most important cases. That case is completed; and so is my work along that line. I am a detective, Miss Atwood—for the last ten years in the Secret Service Division of the United States Government."

"How interesting," she exclaimed.

"No, you are wrong," returned Marsh. "I thought it was interesting, but I have found out my mistake. It was a wandering, unnatural life, full of nervous days and sleepless nights. No home life, no family, no friends—lacking all the things that really make life worth living. Miss Atwood, the men who work down there in those great buildings during the day, and go to a little home at night, to be greeted by a cheery wife and romping children, are the most fortunate men in the world. Some of them grow restless at times, and may long for what they think is the glamour and excitement of a life like mine. Work such as mine is necessary to the peace, happiness and progress of the world—but I have come to the conclusion that I would rather let the other fellow do it."

"What do you plan to do, then?" the girl asked softly.

"Unfortunately, my training has been along one line only, and I must stick to that. But I intend to follow it in a way that will permit me to have a home, and some of the things in life which other men enjoy. I have already sent in my resignation to the Secret Service. As soon as it is accepted I plan to open an office in Chicago, to do private investigative work. There is an immense opportunity for this among the thousands of great business houses here. Then I am going to have a home—and," he added, leaning toward her and gazing straight into her eyes, "I want you to help me start that home."

Jane flushed. "What do you mean?" she murmured.

"That I love you," replied Marsh, as he took her small, soft hand in his.

"But you have known me such a short time," protested Jane.

"Jane," he said, "I have watched over you for nearly two years. When you walked along St. Louis streets and entered shops; when you passed back and forth to your music school in Chicago; I was many times close at hand."

She gazed at him in startled surprise. "I don't understand," she said.

"My work took me to St. Louis," Marsh explained. "There I saw you and fell in love. The same work brought me to Chicago, soon after you arrived here, and though you did not know me—probably not even by sight—I was there, watching over you, and worshipping day by day. Perhaps a week is too short a time for you to begin to care, but I had hoped that you would."

"I do care," she half whispered, "but I did not know that you thought so much of me. I have often longed for a real home myself. You know, my own home was never really a happy one. For years my mother was sickly and nervous, and it was I who incurred all the household responsibilities. It has been years since I had the care and companionship that most girls receive from a mother. My father always provided liberally for us, but, he was seldom at home."

"Then we will start a real home together?" he pleaded.

"Yes," she whispered.

The sun sank out of sight and the twilight folded them in friendly seclusion as Marsh took her in his arms.

THE END