Charles Ealy scraped back his chair.
“Wait a minute,” said Rodney, the cigarette in his mouth wabbling in a smoky zigzag as he talked. “I may have a hunch that’s worth while. Will you give me a break on it, captain, if it’s a lead?”
The police captain nodded wearily.
“Shoot,” he said.
Rodney grinned at the two reporters.
“This stuff is off the record,” he admonished. “You two can scoop it if anything comes of it. Right now it’s on the q.t.”
The reporters nodded.
They were there, in the first place, because the two papers were “in right” with the administration. And they kept in right with the police department by printing what the police were willing they should print, and by keeping that confidential which was given to them in confidence.
Sid Rodney went to the trouble of removing his cigarette from the corner of his mouth, sure sign of earnestness.
“I’ve got a funny angle on this thing. I didn’t say anything before, because I think it’s a whole lot more grave than many people think. I have a hunch we’re doing business with a man who has a lot more sense than the average kidnapper. I have a hunch he’s dangerous. And if there was any chance of the bank coming to the front, then letting us try to recover the money afterward, I wanted to play it that way.
“But the bank’s out, so it’s everything to gain and nothing to lose. Now here’s the situation. I ran down every one I could find who might have a motive. One of the things the agency did, which the police also did, was to run down every one who might profit by the disappearance or death of P. H. Dangerfield.
“But one thing our agency did that the police didn’t do, was to try and find out whether or not any person had been trying to interest Dangerfield in a business deal and been turned down.
“We found a dozen leads and ran ’em down. It happened I was to run down a list of three or four, and the fourth person on the list was a chap named Albert Crome. Ever hear of him?”
He paused.
Captain Harder shook his head.
Ruby Orman looked blank. Charles Ealy puckered his brows.
“You mean the scientist that claimed he had some sort of a radium method of disrupting ether waves and forming an etheric screen?”
Rodney nodded. “That’s the chap.”
“Sort of cuckoo, isn’t he? He tried to peddle his invention to the government, but they never took any particular notice of him. Sent a man, I believe, and Crome claimed the man they sent didn’t even know elemental physics.”
Sid Rodney nodded again.
There was a rap at the door.
Captain Harder frowned, reached back a huge arm, twisted the knob, and opened the door a crack.
“I left orders . . .” He paused in mid-sentence as he saw the face of Bob Sands.
“Oh, come in, Sands. I left orders only five people could come in here, and then I didn’t want to be disturbed . . . Lord, man, what’s the matter? You look as though you’d seen a ghost!”
Sands nodded.
“Look what happened. I started for home. My roadster was parked out in front of headquarters. I got in and drove it out Claremont Street, and was just turning into Washington when another car came forging alongside of me.
“I thought it would go on past, but it kept crowding me over. Then I thought of all the talk I’d heard of gangsters, and I wondered if there was any chance I was going to be abducted, too.
“I slammed on the brakes. The other car pushed right in beside me. There was a man sitting next to the driver, sort of a foreign looking fellow, and he tossed something.
“I thought it was a bomb, and I yelled and put my hand over my eyes. The thing thudded right into the seat beside me. When I grabbed it to throw it out, I saw it was a leather sack, weighted, and that there was crumpled paper on the inside. I opened the sack and found—this!”
Dramatically he handed over the piece of typewritten paper.
“Read it aloud,” begged Ealy.
“Take a look,” invited Captain Harder, spreading the sheet of paper on the desk.
They clustered about in a compact group, read the contents of that single spaced sheet of typewriting.
Sands:
You are a damned fool. The banker would have given in if you hadn’t been so hostile. And the police bungled the affair, as they nearly always do. I’ve got a method of hearing and seeing what goes on in Captain Harder’s office. I’m going to tell you folks right now that you didn’t do Dangerfield any good. When I showed him on the screen what was taking place, and he heard your words, he was beside himself with rage.
You’ve got one more chance to reach that banker. If he doesn’t pay the sum within twelve hours there won’t be any more Dangerfield.
And the next time I kidnap a man and hold him for ransom I don’t want so much powwow about it. Just to show you my power, I am going to abduct you, Sands, after I kill Dangerfield, and then I’m going to get Arthur Soloman, the banker. Both of you will be held for a fair ransom. Soloman’s ransom will be seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. So he’d better get ready to pay.
This is the final and last warning.
X.
Captain Harder’s eyes were wide.
“Good Lord, has that man got a dictograph running into this office?”
Sands made a helpless gesture with the palms of his hands. He was white, his teeth were chattering, and his knees seemed utterly devoid of strength.
“I don’t know. He’s a devil. He’s always seemed to know just what was going on. And he surely must have known Dangerfield’s habits from A to Z. I’m frightened.”
Captain Harder walked to the door.
“Send in a couple of men to search this place for a dictograph,” he said. Then he turned on his heel, gave a swing of his arm. “Come on in another room, you folks. We’ll go into this thing.”
The little group trooped into one of the other offices.
“All right, Rodney. You were mentioning a scientist. What of him?”
“I went to his office,” said Rodney, “and tried to engage him in conversation. He wouldn’t talk. I asked him what he knew about Dangerfield, and he all but frothed at the mouth. He said Dangerfield was a crook, a pirate, a robber. Then he slammed the door.
“But, here’s the point. I got a peep at the inside of his office. There was a Royal portable in there, and these letters that were received demanding ransom were written on a Royal portable.
“It’s not much of a lead, and it’s one that the police will have to run down—now. If it’s a matter of life and death, and working against time, then it’s too big for our agency to handle. But my opinion is that Albert Crome was violently insane, at least upon the subject of Dangerfield.”
The police captain whirled to Sands.
“What sort of a car were these men using?”
“You mean the men who tossed the letter?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t tell you. I know it’s stupid of me, but I just got too rattled to notice. It was a big car, and it looked as though it might have been a Cadillac, or a Buick, or a Packard. It might even have been some other make. I was rattled.”
The captain snorted.
“What do you know about Crome?”
Sands blinked.
“I know Mr. Dangerfield was negotiating for the purchase of some patent rights, or the financing of some formula or something, but that’s about all. The deal fell through.” “Ever meet Crome?”
The secretary hesitated, knitted his brows.
“You’ll have to let me think ... Yes, yes, of course I did. I met him several times. Some of the negotiations were carried on through me;”
“Impress you as being a little off?” asked Sid Rodney, drawling the question, his inevitable cigarette dangling loosely from the corner of his mouth as he talked.
“No. He impressed me as being a pretty wide awake sort of a chap, very much of a gentleman, with a high
sense of honor.”
* * *
Captain Harder pressed a button.
“Take these letters. Have ’em photographed,” he told the man who answered the buzzer. “Check the typewriting with the others. Then get me everything you can get on Albert Crome. I want to know what he’s been doing with his time the last few days, who he associates with, who’s seen him lately, where he lives, what he’s doing with his work, everything about him.
“And if you can get a man into his offices and laboratory, I want a specimen of the typewriting that comes from the portable machine he’s got—a Royal.”
The man nodded, withdrew.
Captain Harder grinned at the little group.
“Well, we might go down to T-Bone Frank’s and have a cup of coffee and some eats. Maybe we’ll have something new when we get back.”
Sands fidgeted.
“I don’t want anything to eat.”
“Well, you’d better wait a little while, Sands. You know that threat may mean nothing. Then again, it may mean a lot.”
Sands nodded.
“Are you going to tell Soloman?”
“Yes. I’ll give him a ring, I guess. Maybe I’d better do it before he gets home and to bed. Let’s see, I’ve got his number here. I’ll give him a buzz and break the glad tidings and then put a couple of the boys on guard in front of the place. It’ll make him think a little. Didn’t like his attitude, myself . . . Oh, well!”
He gave the exchange operator the number, replaced the receiver, fished a cigar from his pocket, and scraped a noisy match along the sole of his shoe.
Ruby Orman scribbled on her pad of paper: “In tense silence, these men waited grimly for the dawn.”
Charles Ealy put a matter-of-fact question.
“Can we get these letters for the noon editions, Harry?”
“What’s the deadline?” asked the captain.
“We’d have to have them by eight o’clock in order to get the plates ready.”
“I guess so. It ain’t eight o’clock yet.”
Ealy perked up his ears.
“You speak as though you had something up your sleeve,” he said.
The officer nodded grimly.
“I have,” he said.
The telephone rang. Captain Harder cupped his ear to the receiver.
“Funny,” he said, “Soloman’s residence says he’s not home yet.” Then: “Keep calling. Tell him I want to speak to him. It’s important.”
They went to the all-night restaurant, lingered over coffee and sandwiches. They were all nervous, with the exception of Sid Rodney. That individual seemed to be utterly relaxed, but it was the inactivity of a cat who is sprawled in the sun, keeping a lazy eye upon a fluttering bird, trying to locate the nest.
Charles Ealy watched Sid Rodney narrowly. Once he nodded slowly.
They finished their meal, returned to headquarters.
“Heard from Soloman?” asked Captain Harder.
Sergeant Green, at the desk, shook his head.
“They keep saying he hasn’t returned. But we’ve unearthed some stuff about Crome from ou* department files. He wanted a permit to establish an experimenting station in a loft building downtown. Had the lease on the place and was all ready to go ahead when he found out he had to have a permit to operate the sort of a place he wanted.
“He was turned down on the permit after it appeared that his experiments were likely to increase the fire hazard, and he was bitter about it.”
Captain Harder grunted.
“That doesn’t help much.”
“Did he send in any typewritten letters?” asked Sid Rodney.
“Maybe. I’ll look in the files. Most of those things would be in another file.”
“Got the address of the loft building?”
“Yes—632 Grant Street. That’s down near the wholesale district, a little side street.”
Sid nodded.
“Yeah. I know. What say we take a run down there, captain?”
“Why? He was turned down on his permit. There’s nothing there for us.”
Rodney lit a fresh cigarette and resumed.
“The man’s a scientist. He hates Dangerfield. He impresses me as being very much unbalanced. He’s got a loft that isn’t being used. Now if he should happen to be mixed up in the kidnaping, where would be a better place to keep a prisoner than in an unused loft building, that had been taken over and fitted up as an experimental laboratory?”
Captain Harder grinned.
“You win,” he said. “Get me half a dozen of the boys out, sergeant. I’m going down there myself and give it a once over. Better take along a bunch of keys.”
“Do we go along?” asked Ealy, his eyes twinkling.
Captain Harder grinned.
“Certainly not,” he said.
Sands took him seriously.
“I’m glad of that. I’m simply all in. I want to go and get some sleep, a bath, and a shave.”
Captain Harder looked sympathetic.
“I know, Sands. Ealy and I were kidding. But if you feel all in, go home and get some sleep. We’ve got your number. We’ll call you if there’s anything there.”
“How about an escort?” asked Rodney. “Those threats, you know . .
Sands vehemently shook his head.
“No. I don’t want to advertise to the neighborhood that I’m afraid. I’ll go on home and sleep. I’m safe for twelve hours yet, anyway. If you think there’s any danger at the end of that time, I’ll move into a hotel and you can give me a guard.” Captain Harder nodded in agreement.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER 3
Into Thin Air
The two police cars slid smoothly to the curb before the loft building.
The first streaks of dawn were tingeing the buildings in the concrete canon of loft buildings, wholesale houses and nondescript apartments.
Captain Harder jerked his thumb.
“This is the place. No use standin’ on formality. Let’s go up. He had the whole building leased. Looks vacant now.”
The men moved across the echoing sidewalk in a compact group. There was the jingle of keys against the brass lock plate, and then the click of a bolt. The door opened. A flight of stairs, an automatic elevator, a small lobby, showed in the reddish light of early morning. There was a musty smell about the place.
“Take the elevator,” said Captain Harder. “Then we won’t have so much trouble . . . funny he leased the whole building in advance of a permit. This lease cost him money.”
No one said anything. They opened the door of the elevator. Then they drew back with an exclamation.
“Look there!” said one of the men.
There was a stool in the elevator. Upon that stool was a tray, and upon the tray was some food, remnants of sandwiches, a cup of coffee, the sides stained where trickles of the liquid had slopped over the side of the cup.
Captain Harder smelled the cup, jabbed a finger into the crust of the sandwiches.
“Looks like it’s less than twenty-four hours old,” he said.
The men examined the tray.
Captain Harder snapped into swift activity. It was plainly apparent that the curiosity which had sent him down to the loft building for a “look around” merely because there were no other clues to run down, had given place to well-defined suspicion.
“Here, Bill. You take one of the boys with you and watch the steps. Frank, get out your gun and watch the fire escape. Go around the back way, through the alley. We’ll keep quiet and give you three minutes to get stationed. Then we’re going up.
“If you see any one, order him to stop. If he doesn’t obey, shoot to kill. George, you go with Frank. The rest of us are going up in the elevator.”
He took out his watch.
“Three minutes,” he said.
The men snapped into action.
Captain Harder held a thumb nail upon the dial of his big watch, marking the time.
“Okay,” he said, at
length. “Let’s go. You two birds on the stairs, make sure you don’t get above the first floor without covering every inch of ground you pass. We don’t want any one to duck out on us. If you hear any commotion, don’t come unless I blow my whistle. Watch those stairs!”
He closed the door of the elevator, jabbed the button marked by the figure “1.”
The elevator creaked and swayed upward at a snail’s pace, came to the first floor, and stopped. Captain Harder propped the door open, emerged into a hallway, found himself facing two doors.
Both were unlocked. He opened first one, and then the other.
There were disclosed two empty lofts, littered with papers and rubbish. They were bare of furniture, untenanted. Even the closet doors were open, and they could see into the interiors of them.
“Nothing doing,” said the officer. “Guess it’s a false alarm, but we’ll go on up.”
They returned to the elevator, pressed the next button.
There were three floors, narrow, but deep.
The second floor was like the first as far as the doors were concerned. But as soon as Captain Harder opened the first door, it was at once apparent they were on a warm trail.
The place was fitted up with benches, with a few glass jars, test tubes, some rather complicated apparatus enclosed in a glass case. There were a few jars of chemical, and there were some more trays with food remnants upon them.
“Somebody,” said Captain Harder grimly, making sure his service revolver was loose in its holster, “is living here. Wonder what’s in that room on the comer. Door looks solid enough.”
He pushed his way forward through the litter on the floor, twisted the knob of the door.
“Locked,” he said, “and feels solid as stone.”
And, at that moment, sounding weak and faint, as though coming from a great distance, came a cry, seeping through the door from the room beyond, giving some inkling of the thickness of the door.
The Human Zero- The Science Fiction Stories Of Erle Stanley Gardner Page 3