CHAPTER IX
PUZZLED
Once more Prale was taken to the room in which he had first waited--theroom with the barred windows. This time the watching detective wasmissing. When Jim Farland entered, he found Prale pacing back and forthfrom one corner to the other. He was trying to think out his problem,wondering what it all meant, why the witnesses had lied, and what wouldbe the outcome.
Farland rushed into the room, grasped Prale by the hand, led him acrossfrom the door, and forced him into a chair. This done, the loyaldetective sat down facing him.
"Now let us have it from beginning to end!" Farland commanded. "I don'twant you to leave out a thing. I want to get to the bottom of this assoon as possible."
Sidney Prale started at the beginning and talked rapidly, setting forthall the facts, while Jim Farland sat back in his chair and watched him.Now and then he frowned as if displeased at the recital.
"Well, there is something rotten," he said, when Prale had concluded hisstatement. "I want you to know, Sid, that I believe you. You're not thesort of man to kill a fellow like Rufus Shepley over a little spat. Ibelieve your story about this Murk, too. But why should everybody haveit in for you?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Prale answered. "I must, indeed, havesome powerful enemies, but I cannot imagine who they are, and I know ofno reason why they should be against me. I'm simply up in the air."
"You keep right on trying to figure it out," Farland advised him. "Youmight think of something in time that will give me a start in my work."
"Why did the banker and hotel manager lie?" Prale asked. "Why did theclothing-store man and the barber lie? Why did George Lerton declarethat he did not see me and speak to me last night? And how did myfountain pen get into Shepley's room?"
"Huh! When we know a few of those things, we'll know enough to wipe thischarge away from your name," Jim Farland told him. "It's my job toanswer those little questions for you. And now--you want a lawyer, Isuppose?"
"Yes. Can you suggest one?"
"The greatest criminal lawyer in town is named Coadley. I'll send himright up here after I explain about this case to him. Thank Heaven, youhave plenty of money! A poor man in a fix like this would be on his wayto the electric chair. Coadley can fix you up, if anybody can. He canmake a sinner look like a saint."
"But I'm not guilty!"
"I understand that, Sid, but it doesn't hurt an innocent man to have thebest attorney he can get. I'll send you Coadley. Give me a note to thatfellow Murk, for I may want him to help me. Sure he's loyal to you?"
"I never saw him until last night, but I'd bank on him," said Prale."He'll stand by us!"
"Fair enough! You write that note right now, and try to get out on bail.Tell Coadley to get busy on that right away. Get out under policesupervision, under guard--any way--but get out!"
Jim Farland hurried away, and Sidney Prale was conducted through darkcorridors to a cell, where he had the experience of hearing a door clangshut behind him and the bolts shot. Prale never had expected to get intojail when he was worth a million dollars, and most certainly he neverhad expected to face a charge of murder.
He was allowed to send out for some luncheon, and it was more than anhour before Coadley, the attorney, arrived. Prale was taken into theconsultation room.
He liked Coadley, and he liked the way in which Coadley regarded himbefore he spoke.
"I believe that you are innocent," the lawyer said.
"The job will be to make other people think that way," Prale said, witha laugh. The attorney's words had been like a ray of hope to him. "DidJim Farland tell you the story?"
"Yes. I'll try to get you out on bail, or get you out in some manner,"Coadley said. "This appears to be a peculiar case. It is not only thecharge of murder; it is the fact that several men told falsehoods aboutyou. You haven't an idea who your enemies are?"
"Not the slightest."
"I'm glad that Jim Farland is working on this case for you, Mr. Prale.He is a good man, and I may need a lot of help. I'll get my owninvestigators busy right away, too, and we'll cooeperate with JimFarland. You go back to your cell and take it easy. I'll get you outbefore night, if I can."
Lawyer Coadley was a shrewd man, and his methods were the delight ofother attorneys and jurists. He lost no time when he was confronted witha case that held unusual interest. Within an hour he was in court,acting as if fighting mad.
Had a reputable citizen any rights, he demanded? Were the police to beallowed to throw an innocent man into jail simply because there had beena crime committed and somebody had to be accused? His client did notcare for an examination at this time, he said. Arraignment and a plea ofnot guilty were all right, however.
Sidney Prale was arraigned, and the plea of not guilty was made andentered. Then Coadley began his fight to have Prale admitted to bail.
The district attorney opposed it, of course, since that was hisbusiness. The judge listened to the statement of the captain ofdetectives. He heard Coadley say that his client could put up cash bailin any amount, and was willing to abide by any provisions. Finally thejudge freed Prale on cash bail of fifty thousand dollars, but designatedthat the bail could be recalled at any time, and that he was to be inthe custody of a member of the police department continually.
Coadley agreed, and left the jail with his client, a detective goingwith them to stand guard. The detective had explicit orders. He was notto annoy Sidney Prale. He was to withdraw out of earshot when Praletalked with his attorney or anybody else with whom he wished to converseprivately. He was to allow Prale to come and go as he wished, exceptthat Prale was not to be allowed to leave the limits of the city. If heattempted that, he was to be put under arrest immediately and taken tothe nearest police station.
Prale read the newspapers as he rode to the hotel with Coadley and thedetective. The story of the crime was in all of them, the tale of hisquarrel with Rufus Shepley and of the finding of the fountain pen, andthe inevitable statement that the police were on the track of more andbetter evidence.
Prale expected to be ordered out of the hotel, but he was not, themanagement stipulating only that he should not use the public diningroom. He went up to the suite, to find Murk there, sitting in front of awindow and glaring down at the street.
A cot was moved in for the use of the detective. Coadley held anotherconference with Prale, and then left to get busy on the case. Murkregarded the detective with scorn, until Prale explained the situationto him. After that, there was a sort of armed neutrality between them.Murk had no special liking for detectives, and he was the sort of mandetectives do not like.
Presently Jim Farland arrived.
"Well, Sid, Coadley got you out of jail and home before I could gethere, did he?" Farland said. "I suppose I'll not need that note of yoursnow. Is this Mr. Murk?"
"It is," Prale said. "Murk, meet Jim Farland. He's a detective friend ofmine."
"Gosh, Mr. Prale, ain't there anybody but cops in this town?" Murkasked.
"Jim is a private cop, and he has a job now to get me out of thisscrape," said Prale. "He's a friend of mine, I said."
"I guess that makes it different," was Murk's only comment.
"Oh, we'll get along all right," Farland put in. "I'm going to need youin my business, Murk. I've told the folks at police headquarters thatI'd be responsible for you, so we can work together without beingpestered. Understand?"
Murk grinned at him. "You just show me how to help get Mr. Prale out ofthis mess, and I'll sure help," he said.
Farland turned toward the police detective. "Go out into the hall andtake a walk," he suggested. "Mr. Prale will give you a couple ofcigars."
The detective took the cigars and went out into the hall, smiling. Hehad no fear of Sidney Prale slipping down a fire escape, or anythinglike that. Jim Farland was responsible, and Jim Farland was known to theforce as a man who felt his responsibilities.
"Now we'll get busy and dig to the bottom of this mess," Farland said."Been thinking it over, Si
d? Know any reason why anybody should be outafter you?"
"I can't think of a thing," Prale replied. "I suppose I made a fewbusiness enemies down in Honduras, but none powerful enough to cause meall this trouble. I can't understand it, Jim. It must be something bigto cause all those men to lie as they did."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it is very simple when we get right down to it,"Farland said. "I've started right in to work it out. Let me see thosenotes and messages you received."
Prale got them from the dresser drawer and handed them to Farland. Thedetective looked them over, even going as far as to use a magnifyingglass.
"Don't laugh!" Farland said. "A lot of folks make fun of the fictiondetective who goes around with a magnifying glass in one hand, but,believe me, a good glass shows up a lot of things. It isn't showing upanything here, though. Where do you suppose these things came from?"
"I don't know," said Prale.
"Got the first one on the ship, did you?"
"The first two. One was pinned to the pillow in my stateroom, and thesecond was pasted on the end of my suit case as I was landing. Themucilage was still wet."
"Didn't suspect anybody?"
"I didn't think much about it at first," said Prale. "I thought it was ajoke, or that somebody was making a mistake."
"Sid, have you told me everything?"
Prale remembered Kate Gilbert and flushed.
"I see that you haven't," Farland said. "Out with it! Some little thingmay give me the start I am looking for."
Prale told about Kate Gilbert, about the piece of paper she had droppedas she got into the limousine, about the peculiar way she acted towardhim, and the attitude of Marie, the misnamed maid.
"Um!" Farland grunted. "We had one thing lacking in this case--and wehave that. The woman!"
"But I only met her down there and danced with her twice."
"Don't know anything about her, I suppose?"
"Not a thing. It was understood that she belonged to a wealthy New Yorkfamily and was traveling for the benefit of her health. At least, thatwas the rumor."
"I know of a lot of wealthy families in this town, but I never heard ofa Kate Gilbert," Farland said. "I think I'll make a littleinvestigation."
"But why on earth should she be taking a hand in my affairs?" Pralewanted to know.
"Why should you be accused of murder? Why should men tell lies aboutyou?" Farland asked. "Excuse me for a time; I'm going down to the hoteloffice to find out a few things."
Farland hurried away, and the police detective entered the suite againand made himself comfortable. Jim Farland went directly to the office ofthe hotel and looked at a city directory. He found no Kate Gilbertlisted, except a seamstress who resided in Brooklyn. The telephonedirectory gave him no help.
But that was not conclusive, of course. A thousand Kate Gilberts mightbe living in New York, in apartments or at hotels, without having aprivate telephone.
"Have to get a line on that girl!" Farland told himself. "She's gotsomething to do with this. I'll bet my reputation on it."
Jim Farland went to the smoking room and sat down in a corner. He triedto think it out, groped for a starting point. He considered all thepersons connected with the case, one at a time.
Farland knew that Sidney Prale had told the truth. Why, then, had GeorgeLerton told a falsehood about meeting Prale and talking to him, when thetruth would have helped to establish an alibi? Why had the clothingmerchant and the barber lied?
"I suppose I'll have to use stern methods," Farland told himself. "Oldpolice stuff, I suppose. Well, I'm the man that can do it, take it fromme!"
He went up to Prale's suite again.
"Can't find out anything about that woman," he reported. "And I want toget in touch with her. Keep your eyes peeled for her, Sid, and arrangefor me to catch sight of her, if you can. Now you'd better take a littlerest. You've been through an experience to-day. I'm going out to getbusy, and I'm going to take Murk with me."
"What for?" Murk demanded.
"You're going to help me, old boy."
"Me work with a cop?" Murk exclaimed.
"To help Mr. Prale."
"Well, that's different," Murk said. "Wait until I get my hat."
The Brand of Silence Page 9