Taking care not to leave any fingerprints on the weapon, he swung open the cylinder and dropped blank cartridges into the chambers, slipping the one empty cartridge and the five loaded ones into his pocket.
It was but a matter of seconds until he had fixed the gun to his liking, leaving it on the floor by the chair, and had once more stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him.
He went at once to his automobile, drove five blocks to an all night drugstore, looked up the telephone number of Paul Stapleton, and dialed the number on the telephone.
He knew at once from Stapleton’s voice that the man had not been asleep. He had, instead, been near the telephone, perhaps waiting for a call. His voice when he answered was calm and cautious.
“Hello,” he said, “who is it?”
Sidney Zoom lowered his voice to a deep, rumbling bass.
“Do you know a guy by the name of Sidney Zoom?” he asked.
“What about it?” asked Stapleton.
“Never mind what about it,” said Zoom, still using his deep bass voice. “I happen to be trailing Zoom around because I’m trying to get something on him. He came out to your house an hour or so ago, and busted on in. I want to know if he gave you his right name and what he talked to you about.”
“I’m afraid,” said Stapleton, “that I can’t help you.”
“Well, get a load of this,” said Zoom in the same rumbling monotone. “I don’t know whether it makes any difference to you or not. But after Zoom left your place, he went to the Richmore Apartments and went into apartment 35B. He’s got a key that fits it. He came out of that apartment carrying a gun, and tiptoed around the comer of the corridor to apartment 38E, and when he came out, he didn’t have the gun with him.
“Now, I don’t know what happened, but that fellow’s a smooth worker, and I have an idea that perhaps when he was out at your place he might have picked up something that belonged to you. See? And maybe he planted that stuff in that apartment — 38E — together with the gun. Now, I don’t know what’s up or what he’s doing, but anything he’s trying to do, I want to block.
“Personally I think he’s a crook. He’s always messing around and pulling some fast stuff and gets by because nobody has called him on it. But I’m calling him on it, and I just thought perhaps you’d like to know what he was doing. I thought perhaps the information might interest you.”
Zoom ceased speaking.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the buzzing of the telephone connection, then Paul Stapleton’s voice, calmly, suave and courteous.
“I’m sure,” he said, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. It is true that a man named Zoom called upon me, but I wasn’t interested in the proposition he had to offer, and he left at once. I’m certainly not interested in any of Mr. Zoom’s subsequent activities.”
And the receiver at the other end of the line clicked onto the hook.
Sidney Zoom strode to his automobile, drove to a point half a block from the apartment house, where he could leave the automobile in the shadows of the driveway, then sat on the running board and watched the entrance to the Richmore Apartments.
He sat smoking calmly and contentedly, apparently without the slightest trace of nervous tension. Everything about the man seemed relaxed, save his eyes, which were keen and hawk-like. Those eyes stared in a concentration of scrutiny that was cold and unwinking.
Sidney Zoom was half way through his third cigarette when there was the sound of a roaring motor. Tires skidded on the pavement as a machine lurched around the corner. The machine came to a stop, and a tall, well knit individual stepped from the machine and looked about him.
Apparently the entire street was deserted, and the man, having assured himself of that fact, moved toward the entrance of the apartment house with calm assurance.
Zoom gave the man a head start of approximately five seconds, and then beckoned to the police dog.
Master and dog moved with swift, silent strides, gliding along the pavement like shadows of the night.
Zoom didn’t wait for the elevator, but took the stairs, two at a time, running up with light, springy steps, the police dog padding along at his side.
Zoom went at once down the corridor to the door of apartment 38E.
He could hear the sounds of surreptitious motion behind the closed door.
Sidney Zoom indicated the door to the police dog.
“Watch, Rip,” he said. “Let no one out.”
The dog dropped to his stomach, pointing his sensitive nostrils toward the door, his eyes staring in fixed concentration.
Zoom turned back down the corridor, raced down the steps, and was half way to the lobby when he heard the sound of a pistol shot booming from the upper corridor. A moment later there was another shot.
Zoom sprinted down the street, jumped in his car, stepped on the starter and threw in the clutch. He pressed his hand on the horn button and roared through the quiet apartment district.
Three blocks from the apartment house he found a uniformed officer. Zoom pulled into the curb.
“Passing along the street here,” he said, “and I heard shots.”
“Where?” asked the officer.
“Back at an apartment house. The Richmore, I think, was the name.”
The officer loosened his service revolver in its holster, climbed to the running board of the car.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Zoom whipped the car into an abrupt turn and stepped on the throttle. As he approached the apartment house, he drew into the curb and slowed.
“This is the place,” he said.
The officer jumped to the sidewalk.
“Better wait here,” he said.
Lights were on in the apartments. As the officer pushed his way into the lobby, a woman screamed.
Sidney Zoom waited.
Three minutes later a police radio car swung around the corner at high speed and pulled into the curb.
An officer pushed his way into the apartment house.
Another officer debouched from the car and strode over to Sidney Zoom.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Zoom. “I heard shots when I was going past here, and I picked up an officer three or four blocks up the street. He came back with me and told me to wait here.”
The officer nodded and then pushed his way into the apartment house.
Sidney Zoom placed his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill, penetrating whistle.
Ten seconds later there was a tawny streak which flashed through the lobby of the apartment house. Rip jumped to the sidewalk, gathered himself, and hit the back of the roadster in a long arc of graceful motion. Sidney Zoom stepped to the back of the car, pushed the back of the rumble seat forward.
“Down, Rip,” he said, “and stay there.”
The back of the car latched into place. Sidney Zoom got back into the car.
An officer came puffing down the stairs and stood in the doorway of the apartment looking up and down the street. Then he crossed to Sidney Zoom.
“See anything of a police dog that came out here?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Zoom, “a big one. He busted out of the place and swung around the comer. What’s the matter, officer?”
“You’re the man that brought Mike here?” asked the policeman.
“I guess so. I’m the man who picked up the uniformed officer on the beat and brought him here.”
The officer nodded, then looked back at the apartment house.
“Funny thing,” he said.
“What is?”
“A man who gave his name as Richard Horton was trapped in an apartment by a mad dog. The man fired six shots at the dog, but none of them took effect. The dog dodged every time he pointed the revolver.”
“Did he bite the man?” asked Zoom.
“Bit him on the wrists a couple of times, but seemed to be trying to make him stay in the room. The door was open i
nto the corridor, and the shots were heard in some of the other apartments. The tenants put in a call for the police. We picked it up in the radio car and came out here.”
“The man live in the apartment?” asked Zoom.
“No,” said the officer, “nobody lives there. We’re holding the man for questioning. Documents in his pockets indicate that his name is Paul Stapleton. He can’t give a satisfactory account of what he’s doing there.”
“Perhaps,” said Sidney Zoom, smiling, “he has a secretary who lives in the building, or something.”
“Well, he’s been visiting somewhere,” said the officer, “and he’s going to tell the truth before he gets out.”
“Going to put a charge against him?”
“We’ll want to find out a little more about how he happened to have the gun and what he’s doing in the apartment,” answered, the officer.
“And the dog ran away?” asked Zoom.
“Yes,” the officer said. “We didn’t think he was mad. He seemed to be all right, but he just wouldn’t let the man out of the apartment. We figured that he was a trained police dog, and had detected an apartment house thief. Naturally, we supposed he belonged to the manager of the apartment. It wasn’t until just a minute ago we thought he was mad. The dog seemed all right in every way, until all of a sudden he jumped to his feet and went down the corridor like a streak of greased lightning. We heard him banging down the stairs, and that’s the last we’ve seen of him.”
“He went around the corner like a streak of lightning,” said Zoom, “I guess there’s no need for me to wait for that officer.”
“No, there’s nothing he’ll need you for, and thanks for going out of your way to report the shooting and bring him here.”
Sidney Zoom bowed his head.
“Not at all,” he said. “It was a pleasure.”
The roadster purred into motion and slipped out into the middle of the street. The officer from the radio car looked up and down the street once more, then shrugged his shoulders and turned to the apartment house.
Chapter V
Zoom Goes Fishing
Sidney Zoom’s powerful sea-going yacht, the Alberta F., creaked against the mooring float with wind and tide.
In the main cabin, Sidney Zoom paced back and forth, irritably, impatiently.
At a table, Vera Thurmond, his secretary, regarded him with eyes that were warm and maternal, despite the fact that she was some five years his junior.
Seated beside Vera Thurmond, her eyes filled with gratitude, was Ruby Allison.
“I really can’t let you do this for me,” she said. “I know enough about law to know that you are likely to get in serious trouble over this.”
Zoom shook his head with a single swift gesture of impatience, and continued pacing the floor.
At the forward end of the cabin, a radio with loudspeaker made little sputtering noises of static.
“Why the devil don’t they discover the body?” said Sidney Zoom.
There was no answer. The two young women stared at him in silence. Something in the very impatient savagery of the man made them keep a watchful silence.
Abruptly, there was the whirring noise of a siren whistle over the radio. Then a masculine voice said:
“Calling all cars for a further report on the shooting at the Richmore Apartments.”
Sidney Zoom breathed a sigh of relief.
“Here it comes,” he said.
The masculine voice droned through facts in a weary monotone. “The man who fired the shots and who gave the name of Richard Horton, and who claimed to be a tenant in the building, has been identified positively as Paul Stapleton, in charge of narcotic investigations relating to incoming ocean liners. A check-up on the tenants of the Richmore Apartments showed that a Ruby Allison had apartment 35B, and was employed by Paul Stapleton in the capacity of stenographer and secretary.
“When she failed to answer her door, detectives effected an entrance and found the dead body of Frank Venard, a private detective, lying sprawled on the floor. Venard had evidently been shot, but there was no weapon found within the apartment.
“The ballistic department is making a series of experiments with the gun found in the possession of Paul Stapleton, to determine if the bullet was fired from that gun.
“In the meantime, all cars are warned to be on the lookout for Ruby Allison, a young woman, age twenty-three, height five feet four and a half inches, weight one hundred and seventeen pounds, hair dark, eyes dark. When last seen, wearing a tweed coat. She has been traced to the Union Depot, and positively identified as having purchased a ticket for Midvale; but a search of the train discloses that she did not remain on the train, but evidently left it en route. She is wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Frank Venard.
“We will repeat the description of the girl: Ruby Allison...”
Sidney Zoom strode to the instrument and snapped over the switch which cut it off.
“That,” he said, “is that”
The two women stared at him in silence.
“Now,” said Sidney Zoom, “it remains to collect from Stapleton.”
“How do you mean?” asked Vera Thurmond.
“I mean,” he said, “that I am convinced the story told me by Miss Allison is correct, and that it is true in every particular. It remains, therefore, for me to assess some contribution against Paul Stapleton — a contribution which will compensate this young woman in some measure for the publicity, the humiliation, and the expense which will doubtless become necessary in connection with securing legal representation.”
He turned and strode purposefully toward the door.
Rip, the police dog, who had been lying by the radio, raised his head and cocked his ears inquiringly.
Sidney Zoom shook his head.
“No, Rip,” he said, “you are going to stay there. This is one time when I must resort to subterfuge and disguise.”
“You’re not going to do anything dangerous?” asked Vera Thurmond anxiously.
Sidney Zoom smiled grimly at her.
“Everything that one does is dangerous,” he said. “And perhaps the most certain way to court danger is to try to avoid it. The man who allows his style to be cramped because he fears consequences, is one who never gets any place.”
Sidney Zoom pushed his way out into the early dawn, and if he was conscious of the warm tenderness in the eyes of Vera Thurmond, he did not show it, but strode grimly forth as a warrior going into battle, his mind concentrated only upon a plan of attack.
The sun was not yet up, but there was sufficient light to show something of color. The East was blazing into a golden hue. Birds were commencing to flit restlessly about from house top to tree top. The air was fresh, buoyant and life-giving.
Sidney Zoom strode entirely around the house of Paul Stapleton, paused before the side door of the house, and gave the lock some careful attention. A moment later he inserted a skeleton key, and twisted the bolt back. He stepped into the house and listened. There was no sound.
Zoom knew that there was at least one servant in the house. He also knew that the servant would have no hesitancy about shooting first and asking questions afterwards. Therefore, Sidney Zoom made no attempt at being quiet.
He adjusted a mask over his features, slipped a revolver into his right hand, and stepped into a closet which opened from the library. He saw that there was ample room for concealment in this closet, then boldly walked out into the center of the library, and toppled over a bookcase.
The books fell to the floor with a terrific crash of breaking glass, splintering wood and thudding volumes.
Zoom stepped back and waited.
He had not long to wait. There was the sound of hurried steps running down the stairs, and then the figure of the man who had stood at the elbow of Paul Stapleton the night before entered the room. The man was attired in pajamas and slippers, and carried a heavy caliber revolver in his right hand.
Zoom, hiding in the
closet, his eyes glued to a crack between the partially open door and the casement, saw the man enter the room; saw the expression of puzzled bewilderment on his face; then saw the expression of bewilderment gradually change to one of annoyance. The gun was slightly lowered as the man stepped forward to inspect the damage.
He looked around the room, then bent over the wreckage of the bookcase and the scattered books. Sidney Zoom pushed the door of the closet open and noiselessly stepped out. The first intimation that the man had of Zoom’s presence was when the muzzle of Zoom’s gun made a cold pressure against the back of the bare neck.
“Stick ’em up!” said Zoom.
The man grew rigid. For a moment he hesitated, then slowly his hands moved up in the air.
“Drop the gun,” Zoom told him.
The gun dropped, struck a book, glanced and skidded along the floor.
“Put your hands behind your back with your wrists together,” Zoom said.
When his command had been obeyed, Zoom took handcuffs from his hip pocket, fitted them over the wrists and clicked them shut.
“Now,” said Zoom, “you can tell me where Stapleton had the marked money concealed.”
The man turned a curious head over his shoulder, saw the tall form, with the mask covering the features.
“There wasn’t any marked money,” he said.
Sidney Zoom laughed, and the laugh was grim.
“Do you know?” he asked.
“Of course I don’t know. I tell you there wasn’t any.”
Sidney Zoom spoke after the manner of one who thinks out loud.
“Not the usual servant,” he said. “Either an intimate of your master or one of the conspirators who works with him.”
The man grunted a comment that caused Zoom to prod his pistol into the tender short ribs.
“That’ll do,” he said. “Shut up if you can’t speak decently.”
The man winced, and Zoom’s hawk-like eyes looked swiftly around the room.
“Were you here,” he asked, “when the search was made?”
The man muttered a grudging assent.
The Casebook of Sidney Zoom Page 31