The Brand of Silence

by Harrington Strong

  Produced by Sigal Alon, Brett Fishburne, Mary Meehan andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net

  The Brand of Silence

  A DETECTIVE STORY

  By HARRINGTON STRONG

  CHELSEA HOUSE 79 SEVENTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY

  Copyright, 1919 by STREET & SMITH

  (Printed in the United States of America)

  All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreignlanguages, including the Scandinavian.

  CONTENTS

  I. IN THE HARBOR

  II. THE GIRL ON THE SHIP

  III. SOME DISCOURTESIES

  IV. A FOE AND A FRIEND

  V. THE COUSIN

  VI. MURK--AND MURDER

  VII. EVIDENCE

  VIII. LIES AND LIARS

  IX. PUZZLED

  X. ON THE TRAIL

  XI. CONCERNING KATE GILBERT

  XII. BATTERED KEYS

  XIII. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

  XIV. MORE MYSTERY

  XV. A MOMENT OF VIOLENCE

  XVI. MURK RECEIVES A BLOW

  XVII. MURK IS TEMPTED

  XVIII. A WOMAN'S WAY

  XIX. COADLEY QUITS

  XX. UP THE RIVER

  XXI. RECOGNITION

  XXII. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  XXIII. A STARTLING STORY

  XXIV. HIGH-HANDED METHODS

  XXV. AN ACCUSATION

  XXVI. THE TRUTH COMES OUT

  THE BRAND OF SILENCE

  CHAPTER I

  IN THE HARBOR

  Now the fog was clearing and the mist was lifting, and the brightsunshine was struggling to penetrate the billows of damp vapor and touchwith its glory the things of the world beneath. In the lower harborthere still was a chorus of sirens and foghorns, as craft of almostevery description made way toward the metropolis or out toward the opensea.

  The _Manatee_, tramp steamer with rusty plates and rattling engines anda lurch like that of a drunken man, wallowed her way in from theturbulent ocean she had fought for three days, her skipper standing onthe bridge and inaudibly giving thanks that he was nearing the end ofthe voyage without the necessity for abandoning his craft for an openboat, or remaining to go down with the ship after the manner of skippersof the old school.

  Here and there showed a rift in the rolling fog, and those who bravedthe weather and lined the damp rail could see other craft in passing.

  A giant liner made her way past majestically, bound for Europe, or aseagoing tug clugged by as if turning up her nose at the old, battered_Manatee_.

  Standing at the rail, and well forward, Sidney Prale strained his eyesand looked ahead, watching where the fog lifted, an eager light in hisface, his lips curved in a smile, a general expression of anticipationabout him.

  Sidney Prale himself was not bad to look at. Thirty-eight he was, talland broad of shoulder, with hair that was touched with gray at thetemples, with a face that had been browned by the weather. Sidney Pralehad the appearance of wearing clothes that had been molded to his form.He had a chin that expressed decision and determination, lips that couldform in a thin, straight line if occasion required, eyes that could bekind or stern, according to the needs of the moment. A man of the worldwould have said that Sidney Prale was a gentleman of broad experience, aman who had presence of mind in the face of danger, a man who couldthink quickly and act quickly when such things were necessary.

  He was not alone at the rail--and yet he was alone in a sense, for hegave no one the slightest attention. He bent over and looked aheadeagerly, waving a hand now and then at the men on passing craft, like aschoolboy on an excursion trip. He listened to the bellowing sirens andfoghorns, drank in the raucous cries of the ship's officers, strainedhis ears for the land sounds that rolled now and then across the waters.

  "It's great--great!" Sidney Prale said, half aloud.

  He bent over the rail again. A hand descended upon his shoulder, and avoice answered him.

  "You bet it's great, Prale!"

  Sidney Prale's smile weakened a bit as he turned around, but there wasnothing of discourtesy in his manner.

  "You like it, Mr. Shepley?" he asked.

  "Do I like it? Does Rufus Shepley, forced to run here and there aroundthe old world in the name of business, like it when he gets the chanceto return to New York? Ask me!"

  "I have my answer," Prale said, laughing a bit. "And judge, then, how Ilike it--when I have not seen it for ten years."

  "Haven't seen New York for ten years?" Rufus Shepley gasped.

  "A whole decade," Prale admitted.

  "Been down in Honduras all that time?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you live to tell it? You are my idea of a real man!" Rufus Shepleysaid.

  Shepley took a cigar from his vest pocket, bit off the end, lighted it,and puffed a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air. Rufus Shepley was aman of fifty, and looked his age. If human being ever gave theappearance of being the regulation man of big business affairs, RufusShepley did.

  Sidney Prale had held some conversation with him on board ship, but theyhad not become very well acquainted, though they seemed to like eachother. Each man seemed to be holding back, waiting, trying to discoverin the other more qualities to like or dislike.

  "Ten years," Sidney Prale went on thoughtfully. "It seems a long time,but the years have passed swiftly."

  "I always had an idea," Rufus Shepley said, "that a genuine white manwho went to one of those Central American countries turned bad after thefirst year and went to the devil generally. But you don't look it."

  "The idea is correct, at that, in some instances," Prale admitted. "Someof them do turn bad."

  "They get to drifting, eh? The climate gets into their blood. Do youknow what I think? I think that, in seven cases out of eight, it's acase of a man wanting an excuse for loafing. I knew a chap once who wentdown to that part of the world. Got to drinking too much, threw up hisjob, used to loaf all the time, married some sort of a half-black womanwho had a bit of coin, and went to the dogs generally."

  "Oh, there are many such," Sidney Prale admitted. "But the majority ofthem are men who made some grave mistake somewhere else and got the ideathat life was merely existence afterward. A man must have an incentivein any climate to make anything of himself--and down there the incentivehas to be stronger."

  "I assume that you--er--had the proper incentive," Rufus Shepley said,grinning.

  "I don't know how some persons would look at the propriety of it. Iwanted to make a million dollars."

  "Great Scott! Your ambition was a modest one, I must say. And youmanaged to win out? Oh, I beg your pardon! It isn't any of my business,of course!"

  "That's all right," Prale answered good-naturedly. "I don't mind. I'm sohappy this morning that I'm willing to overlook almost anything. And Idon't mind telling you that I've won out."

  "A million in ten years," Shepley gasped.

  "Yes; and with an initial capital of ten thousand dollars," Sidney Pralereplied. "I'm rather proud of it, of course. I suppose this sounds likeboasting----"

  "My boy, you have the right to boast! A million dollars in ten years!Great Scott! Say, would you consider being general manager of one of mycompanies? We need a few men like you."

  Sidney Prale laughed again. "Sorry--but I'm afraid that I can't take thejob," he replied. "I am going to have my little holiday now--going toplay. A million isn't much in some quarters, but it is enough for me. Idon't care for money to a great extent. I just wanted to prove to myselfthat I could make a million--prove it to myself and others.
And, readyto take my vacation, I naturally decided to take it in New York--home!"

  "Ah! Home's in New York, eh? Old friends waiting at the dock, and allthat!"

  Sidney Prale's face clouded. "I am afraid that there will be noreception committee," he said. "I didn't let anybody know that I wascoming--for the simple reason that I didn't know whom to inform."

  "My boy!"

  "I have a few old friends scattered around some place, I suppose. I haveno relatives in the world except a male cousin about my own age, and Inever communicated with him after going to Honduras. There was a girlonce----"

  "There always is a girl," Shepley said softly, as Prale ceased speaking.

  "But that ended ten years ago," Prale continued. "I stand alone--with mymillion."

  "You advertise that fact, my boy, and there'll be girls by the regimentlooking up your telephone number."

  "And the right one wouldn't be in the crowd," Prale said, the smileleaving his face again.

  "Well, you are in for a fine time, at least," Rufus Shepley told him."There have been quite a few changes in New York in the past ten years.Yes, quite a few changes! There are a few new boarding houses scatteredaround, and a new general store or two, and the street cars run outfarther than they used to."

  "Oh, I've kept up to date after a fashion," Sidney Prale said, laughingonce more. "I'm ready to appreciate the changes, but I suppose I will besurprised. The New York papers get down to Honduras now and then, youknow."

  "I've always understood," Shepley said, "that there are certaingentlemen in that part of the world who watch the New York papers veryclosely."

  "Meaning the men who are fugitives from justice, I see," said Prale.

  "I didn't mean anything personal, of course."

  "It does look bad, doesn't it?" said Prale. "I went straight to Honduraswhen I left New York ten years ago, like a man running away from thelaw, and I have remained there all the time until this trip. And I havebeen gone ten years--thereby satisfying certain statutes oflimitation----"

  "My boy, I never meant to insinuate that----"

  "I know that you didn't," Prale interrupted. "My conscience is clear,Mr. Shepley. When I land, I'll not be afraid of some officer of the lawclutching me by the shoulder and hauling me away to a police station."

  "Even if one did, a cool million will buy lots of bail," Rufus Shepleysaid.

  The fog was lifting rapidly now. Here and there through the billows ofmist could be seen the roofs of skyscrapers glistening in the sun.Sidney Prale almost forgot the man at his side as he bent over the railto watch.

  "Getting home--getting home!" he said. "I suppose no man ever gets quiteover the home idea, no matter how long he remains away. Ten years oughtto make a change, but I find that it doesn't. I'll be glad to feel thepavements beneath my shoes again."

  "Sure!" said Rufus Shepley.

  "Confound the fog! Ah, there's a building I know! And there are a few Inever saw before. We're beginning to get in, aren't we? Ought to dockbefore noon, don't you think?"

  "Sure thing!"

  "A hotel, a bath, fresh clothes--and then for hour after hour of walkingaround and taking in the sights!" Prale said.

  "Better engage a taxi if you expect to take 'em all in before night, myboy," Shepley said.

  "I forgot! We haven't any too many taxis in Honduras. I had a car of myown, but sold it before I came away."

  "You let the busy auto agents know that, and you'll have a regiment ofthem----"

  "And there!" Sidney Prale cried. "Now I know that I am home! There isthe Old Girl in the Harbor!"

  Prale removed his cap, and a mist came into his eyes that did not comefrom the foggy billows through which the ship was plowing. The sun wasshining through the murk at last, and it touched the Statue of Liberty.The great figure seemed like a live thing for a moment; the mist made itappear that her garments were waving in the breeze.

  "Now I know that I am home!" Sidney Prale repeated.

  "She sure is a great old girl!" Rufus Shepley agreed. "Always glad tosee her!"

  "Well, I've got to get ready to land; I'm not going to waste any time,"Prale said. "I'm glad that I met you--and perhaps we'll meet again inthe city."

  "Hope we do!" said Shepley, grasping Prale's hand. "Our factories areout in Ohio, but the company headquarters are in New York, of course.Here's my business card, my boy. And I generally put up at theGraymore."

  Sidney Prale took the card, thanked Rufus Shepley, and hurried down thedeck toward his stateroom, one of the best on the ship. Rufus Shepleylooked after him sharply.

  "Went straight to Honduras and stayed there for ten years, eh?" RufusShepley said to himself. "Um! Looks bad! I never put much stock in thoseHonduras chaps--but this one seems to be all right. Never can tell,though!"

  Sidney Prale, still smiling, and humming a Spanish love song, reachedhis stateroom and threw open the door; and just inside, he came to astop, astonished.

  Somebody had been in that stateroom and had been going through histhings. The contents of his suit case were spilled on the floor. A bagwas wide open; he had left it closed and in a corner less than an hourbefore.

  Prale went down on his knees and made a quick inspection. There did notseem to be anything missing. A package of papers--business documents forthe greater part--had been examined, he could tell at a glance, but nonehad been taken.

  "Peculiar!" Prale told himself. "Some sneak thief, I suppose. No sensein complaining to the ship's officers at this late hour, especiallysince nothing has been stolen. Makes a man angry, though!"

  He put the suit case on the table and began repacking the things thathad been scattered on the floor. Then he gathered up his toiletarticles, bits of clothing he had left out until the last minute, a fewsouvenirs of Honduras he had been showing a tourist the evening before.He turned toward the berth to pick up his light overcoat.

  There was a sheet of paper pinned to the pillow, paper that might havebeen taken from an ordinary writing tablet. Sidney Prale took it up andglanced at it. A few words of handwriting were upon the paper, wordsthat looked as if they had been scrawled hurriedly with a pencil thatneeded sharpening badly.

  "Retribution is inevitable and comes when you least expect it."

  The smile fled from Sidney Prale's lips, and the Spanish love song hehad been humming died in his throat. He frowned, and read the messageagain.

  "Now what the deuce does this mean?" he gasped.