On Secret Service

by William Nelson Taft

  XVII

  THE POISON-PEN PUZZLE

  Beside the bookcase in the room which Bill Quinn likes to dignify by thename of "library"--though it's only a den, ornamented with relics ofscores of cases in which members of the different government detectiveservices have figured--hangs a frame containing four letters, each in adifferent handwriting.

  Beyond the fact that these letters obviously refer to some secret in thelives of the persons to whom they are addressed, there is little aboutthem that is out of the ordinary. A close observer, however, would notethat in none of the four is the secret openly stated. It is only hintedat, suggested, but by that very fact it becomes more mysterious andalarming.

  It was upon this that I commented one evening as I sat, discussingthings in general, with Quinn.

  "Yes," he agreed, "the writer of those letters was certainly a genius.As an author or as an advertising writer or in almost any otherprofession where a mastery of words and the ability to leave much to theimagination is a distinct asset, they would have made a big success."

  "They?" I inquired. "Did more than one person write the letters?"

  "Don't look like the writing of the same person, do they?" counteredQuinn. "Besides, that was one of the many phases of the matter whichpuzzled Elmer Allison, and raised the case above the dead level ofordinary blackmailing schemes."

  * * * * *

  Allison [Quinn went on, settling comfortably back in his big armchair]was, as you probably remember, one of the star men of the PostalInspection Service, the chap who solved the mystery of the lost onehundred thousand dollars in Columbus. In fact, he had barely cleared upthe tangle connected with the letters when assigned to look into theaffair of the missing money, with what results you already know.

  The poison-pen puzzle, as it came to be known in the department, firstbobbed up some six months before Allison tackled it. At least, that waswhen it came to the attention of the Postal Inspection Service. It'smore than likely that the letters had been arriving for some timeprevious to that, because one of the beauties of any blackmailingscheme--such as this one appeared to be--is that 90 per cent of thevictims fear to bring the matter to the attention of the law. They muchprefer to suffer in silence, kicking in with the amounts demanded, thanto risk the exposure of their family skeletons by appealing to theproper authorities.

  A man by the name of Tyson, who lived in Madison, Wisconsin, was thefirst to complain. He informed the postmaster in his city that his wifehad received two letters, apparently in a feminine handwriting, which heconsidered to be very thinly veiled attempts at blackmailing.

  Neither of the letters was long. Just a sentence or two. But theiringenuity lay in what they suggested rather than in their actualthreats.

  The first one read:

  Does your husband know the details of that trip to Fond du Lac? He might be interested in what Hastings has to tell him.

  The second, which arrived some ten days later, announced:

  The photograph of the register of a certain hotel in Fond du Lac for June 8 might be of interest to your husband--who can tell?

  That was all there was to them, but it doesn't take an expert in plotbuilding to think of a dozen stories that could lie back of thatsupposedly clandestine trip on the eighth of June.

  Tyson didn't go into particulars at the time. He contented himself withturning the letters over to the department, with the request that thematter be looked into at once. Said that his wife had handed them to himand that he knew nothing more about the matter.

  All that the postal authorities could do at the time was to instruct himto bring in any subsequent communications. But, as the letters stoppedsuddenly and Tyson absolutely refused to state whether he knew of anyonewho might be interested in causing trouble between his wife and himself,there was nothing further to be done. Tracing a single letter, or eventwo of them, is like looking for a certain star on a clear night--you'vegot to know where to look before you have a chance of finding it--andthe postmark on the letters wasn't of the least assistance.

  Some three or four weeks later a similar case cropped up. This time itwas a woman who brought in the letters--a woman who was red-eyed fromlack of sleep and worry. Again the communications referred to a definiteescapade, but still they made no open demand for money.

  By the time the third case cropped up the postal authorities in Madisonwere appealing to Washington for assistance. Before Bolton and Clarke,the two inspectors originally assigned to the case, could reach theWisconsin capital another set of the mysterious communications had beenreceived and called to the attention of the department.

  During the three months which followed no less than six complaints werefiled, all of them alleging the receipt of veiled threats, and neitherthe local authorities nor the men from Washington could find a singlenail on which to hang a theory. Finally affairs reached such a stagethat the chief sent for Allison, who had already made something of aname for himself, and told him to get on the job.

  "Better make the first train for Madison," were the directions whichElmer received. "So far as we can tell, this appears to be the scheme ofsome crazy woman, intent upon causing domestic disturbances, rather thana well-laid blackmailing plot. There's no report of any actual demandfor money. Just threats or suggestions of revelations which would causefamily dissension. I don't have to tell you that it's wise to keep thewhole business away from the papers as long as you can. They'll get nextto it some time, of course, but if we can keep it quiet until we'velanded the author of the notes it'll be a whole lot better for thereputation of the department.

  "Bolton and Clarke are in Madison now, but their reports are far fromsatisfactory, so you better do a little investigating of your own.You'll have full authority to handle the case any way that you see fit.All we ask is action--before somebody stirs up a real row about theinefficiency of the Service and all that rot."

  Elmer smiled grimly, knowing the difficulties under which the departmentworked, difficulties which make it hard for any bureau to obtain thefull facts in a case without being pestered by politicians and harriedby local interests which are far from friendly. For this reason youseldom know that Uncle Sam is conducting an investigation until thewhole thing is over and done with and the results are ready to bepresented to the grand jury. Premature publicity has ruined many casesand prevented many a detective from landing the men he's after, whichwas the reason that Allison slipped into town on rubber heels, and hisappearance at the office of the postmaster was the first indication thatofficial had of his arrival.

  "Mr. Gordon," said Allison, after they had completed the usualpreliminaries connected with credentials and so forth, "I want to tacklethis case just as if I were the first man who had been called in. Iunderstand that comparatively little progress has been made--"

  "'Comparatively little' is good," chuckled the postmaster.

  "And I don't wish to be hindered by any erroneous theories which mayhave been built up. So if you don't mind we'll run over the whole thingfrom the beginning."

  "Well," replied the postmaster, "you know about the Tyson letters and--"

  "I don't know about a thing," Elmer cut in. "Or at least we'll work onthe assumption that I don't. Then I'll be sure not to miss any pointsand at the same time I'll get a fresh outline of the entire situation."

  Some two hours later Postmaster Gordon finished his resume of thevarious cases which were puzzling the police and the postal officials,for a number of the best men on the police force had been quietly atwork trying to trace the poison-pen letters.

  "Are these all the letters that have been received?" Allison inquired,indicating some thirty communications which lay before him on the desk.

  "All that have been called to the attention of this office. Of course,there's no telling how many more have been written, about which nocomplaint has been made. Knowing human nature, I should say that atleast three times that number have been received and possibly paid for.But the recipients did
n't report the matter--for reasons best known tothemselves. As a matter of fact--But you're not interested in gossip."

  "I most certainly am!" declared Allison. "When you're handling a matterof this kind, where back-stairs intrigue and servants-hall talk islikely to play a large part, gossip forms a most important factor. Whatdoes Dame Rumor say in this case?"

  "So far as these letters are concerned, nothing at all. Certaininfluences, which it's hardly necessary to explain in detail, have keptthis affair out of the papers--but gossip has it that at least threedivorces within as many months have been caused by the receipt ofanonymous letters, and that there are a number of other homes which areon the verge of being broken up for a similar reason."

  "That would appear to bear out your contention that other people havereceived letters like these, but preferred to take private action uponthem. Also that, if blackmail were attempted, it sometimesfailed--otherwise the matter wouldn't have gotten as far as the divorcecourt."

  Then, after a careful study of several of the sample letters on thedesk, Allison continued, "I suppose you have noted the fact that no twoof these appear to have been written by the same person?"

  "Yes, but that is a point upon which handwriting experts fail to agree.Some of them claim that each was written by a different person. Othersmaintain that one woman was responsible for all of them, and a thirdschool holds that either two or three people wrote them. What're yougoing to do when experts disagree?"

  "Don't worry about any of 'em," retorted Allison. "If we're successfulat all we won't have much trouble in proving our case without theassistance of a bunch of so-called experts who only gum up the testimonywith long words that a jury can't understand. Where are the envelopes inwhich these letters were mailed?"

  "Most of the people who brought them in failed to keep the envelopes.But we did manage to dig up a few. Here they are," and the postmastertossed over a packet of about half a dozen, of various shapes and sizes.

  "Hum!" mused the postal operative, "all comparatively inexpensivestationery. Might have been bought at nearly any corner drug store. Anyclue in the postmarks?"

  "Not the slightest. As you will note, they were mailed either at thecentral post office or at the railroad station--places so public thatit's impossible to keep a strict watch for the person who mailed 'em. Inone case--that of the Osgoods--we cautioned the wife to say nothingwhatever about the matter, and then ordered every clerk in the postoffice to look out for letters in that handwriting which might beslipped through the slot. In fact, we closed all the slots save one andplaced a man on guard inside night and day."

  "Well, what happened?" inquired Allison, a trifle impatiently, as thepostmaster paused.

  "The joke was on us. Some two days later a letter which lookedsuspiciously like these was mailed. Our man caught it in time to dartoutside and nail the person who posted it. Fortunately we discoveredthat she was Mrs. Osgood's sister-in-law and that the letter was aperfectly innocent one."

  "No chance of her being mixed up in the affair?"

  "No. Her husband is a prominent lawyer here, and, besides, we've watchedevery move she's made since that time. She's one of the few people intown that we're certain of."

  "Yet, you say her handwriting was similar to that which appears on theseletters?"

  "Yes, that's one of the many puzzling phases of the whole matter. Everysingle letter is written in a hand which closely resembles that of arelative of the person to whom it is addressed! So much so, in fact,that at least four of the complainants have insisted upon the arrest ofthese relatives, and have been distinctly displeased at our refusal toplace them in jail merely because their handwriting is similar to thatof a blackmailer."

  "Why do you say blackmailer? Do you know of any demand for money whichhas been made?"

  "Not directly--but what other purpose could a person have than toextract money? They'd hardly run the risk of going to the pen in orderto gratify a whim for causing trouble."

  "How about the Tysons and the Osgoods and the other people who broughtthese letters in--didn't they receive subsequent demands for money?"

  "They received nothing--not another single letter of any kind."

  "You mean that the simple fact of making a report to your officeappeared to stop the receipt of the threats."

  "Precisely. Now that you put it that way, it does look odd. But that'swhat happened."

  Allison whistled. This was the first ray of light that had penetrated avery dark and mysterious case, and, with its aid, he felt that he might,after all, be successful.

  Contenting himself with a few more questions, including the names ofthe couples whom gossip stated had been separated through the receipt ofanonymous communications, Allison bundled the letters together andslipped them into his pocket.

  "It's quite possible," he stated, as he opened the door leading out ofthe postmaster's private office, "that you won't hear anything more fromme for some time. I hardly think it would be wise to report here toooften, or that if you happen to run into me on the street that you wouldregister recognition. I won't be using the name of Allison, anyhow, butthat of Gregg--Alvin Gregg--who has made a fortune in the operation ofchain stores and is looking over the field with a view to establishingconnections here. Gregg, by the way, is stopping at the Majestic Hotel,if you care to reach him," and with that he was gone.

  Allison's first move after establishing his identity at the hotel, wasto send a wire to a certain Alice Norcross in Chicago--a wire whichinformed her that "My sister, Mrs. Mabel Kennedy, requests your presencein Madison, Wisconsin. Urgent and immediate." The signature was "AlvinGregg, E. A.," and to an inquisitive telegraph operator who inquired themeaning of the initials, Allison replied: "Electrical Assistant, ofcourse," and walked away before the matter could be further discussed.

  The next evening Mrs. Mabel Kennedy registered at the Majestic Hotel,and went up to the room which Mr. Gregg had reserved for her--the onenext to his.

  "It's all right, Alice," he informed her a few moments later, after acareful survey had satisfied him that the hall was clear of prying ears."I told them all about you--that you were my sister 'n' everything. Soit's quite respectable."

  "Mrs. Kennedy," or Alice Norcross, as she was known to the members ofthe Postal Service whom she had assisted on more than one occasion whenthe services of a woman with brains were demanded, merely smiled andcontinued to fix her hair before the mirror.

  "I'm not worrying about that," she replied. "You boys can always betrusted to arrange the details--but traveling always did play thedickens with my hair! What's the idea, anyhow? Why am I Mrs. MabelKennedy, and what's she supposed to do?"

  In a few words Allison outlined what he was up against--evidently theoperation of a very skillful gang of blackmailers who were not onlyperfectly sure of their facts, but who didn't run any risks until theirvictims were too thoroughly cowed to offer any resistance.

  "The only weak spot in the whole plan," concluded the operative, "isthat the letters invariably cease when the prospective victims lay theircase before the postmaster."

  "You mean that you think he's implicated?"

  "No--but some one in his office is!" snapped Allison. "Else how wouldthey know when to lay off? That's the only lead we have, and I don'twant to work from it, but up to it. Do you know anyone who's sociallyprominent in Madison?"

  "Not a soul, but it's no trick to get letters of introduction--even forMrs. Mabel Kennedy."

  "Fine! Go to it! The minute you get 'em start a social campaign here.Stage several luncheons, bridge parties, and the like. Be sure to createthe impression of a woman of means--and if you can drop a few hintsabout your none too spotless past, so much the better."

  "You want to draw their fire, eh?"

  "Precisely. It's unfortunate that we can't rig up a husband foryou--that would make things easier, but when it's known that I, AlvinGregg, am your brother, I think it's more than likely that they'll riska couple of shots."

  It was about a month later that Mrs. Kenne
dy called up her brother atthe Hotel Majestic and asked him to come over to her apartment at once.

  "Something stirring?" inquired Allison as he entered the drawing-room ofthe suite which his assistant had rented in order to bolster up hersocial campaign.

  "The first nibble," replied the girl, holding out a sheet ofviolet-tinted paper, on which appeared the words:

  Of course your brother and your friends know all about the night you spent alone with a certain man in a cabin in the Sierras?

  "Great Scott!" ejaculated Allison. "Do you mean to say it worked?"

  "Like clockwork," was the girl's reply. "Acting on your instructions, Imade a special play for Snaith, the postmaster's confidential secretaryand general assistant. I invited him to several of my parties and paidparticular attention to what I said when he was around. The first nightI got off some clever little remark about conventions--laughing at thefact that it was all right for a woman to spend a day with a man, buthardly respectable for her to spend the evening. The next time he wasthere--and he was the only one in the party who had been present on theprevious occasion--I turned the conversation to snowstorms and admittedthat I had once been trapped in a storm in the Sierra Nevadas and hadbeen forced to spend the night in a cabin. But I didn't say anythingthen about any companion. The third evening--when an entirely differentcrowd, with the exception of Snaith, was present--some one brought upthe subject of what constitutes a gentleman, and my contribution was aspeech to the effect that 'one never knows what a man is until he isplaced in a position where his brute instincts would naturally come tothe front.'

  "Not a single one of those remarks was incriminating or evensuspicious--but it didn't take a master mind to add them together andmake this note! Snaith was the only man who could add them, because hewas the only one who was present when they were all made!"

  "Fine work!" applauded Allison. "But there's one point you'veoverlooked. This letter, unlike the rest of its kind, is postmarkedKansas City, while Snaith was here day before yesterday when this wasmailed. I know, because Clarke's been camping on his trail for the pastthree weeks."

  "Then that means--"

  "That Snaith is only one of the gang--the stool-pigeon--or, in thiscase, the lounge-lizard--who collects the information and passes it onto his chief? Exactly. Now, having Mr. Snaith where I want him andknowing pretty well how to deal with his breed, I think the rest will beeasy. I knew that somebody in the postmaster's office must be mixed upin the affair and your very astute friend was the most likely prospect.Congratulations on landing him so neatly!"

  "Thanks," said the girl, "but what next?"

  "For you, not a thing. You've handled your part to perfection. The restis likely to entail a considerable amount of strong-arm work, and I'drather not have you around. Might cramp my style."

  That night--or, rather, about three o'clock on the followingmorning--Sylvester Snaith, confidential secretary to the postmaster ofMadison, was awakened by the sound of some one moving stealthily aboutthe bedroom of his bachelor apartment. Before he could utter a soundthe beam of light from an electric torch blazed in his eyes and a curtvoice from the darkness ordered him to put up his hands. Then:

  "What do you know about the anonymous letters which have been sent to anumber of persons in this city?" demanded the voice.

  "Not--not a thing," stammered the clerk, trying to collect his badlyscattered senses.

  "That's a lie! We know that you supplied the information upon whichthose letters were based! Now come through with the whole dope or, byhell I'll--" the blue-steel muzzle of an automatic which was visiblejust outside the path of light from the torch completed the threat.Snaith, thoroughly cowed, "came through"--told more than even Allisonhad hoped for when he had planned the night raid on a man whom he hadsized up as a physical coward.

  Less than an hour after the secretary had finished, Elmer was on his wayto Kansas City, armed with information which he proceeded to lay beforethe chief of police.

  "'Spencerian Peter,' eh?" grunted the chief. "Sure, I know where to laymy hands on him--been watching him more or less ever since he got out ofLeavenworth a couple of years back. But I never connected him with thiscase."

  "What do you mean--this case?" demanded Allison. "Did you know anythingabout the poison-pen letters in Madison?"

  "Madison? No--but I know about the ones that have set certain peoplehere by the ears for the past month. I thought that was what you wantedhim for. Evidently the game isn't new."

  "Far from it," Elmer replied. "I don't know how much he cleaned up inWisconsin, but I'll bet he got away with a nice pile. Had a social petthere, who happened to be the postmaster's right-hand man, collect thescandal for him and then he'd fix up the letters--faking some relative'shandwriting with that infernal skill of his. Then his Man Friday wouldtip him off when they made a holler to headquarters and he'd look forother suckers rather than run the risk of getting the department on histrail by playing the same fish too long. That's what finally gave himaway--that and the fact that his assistant was bluffed by an electrictorch and an empty gun."

  "Well, I'll be hanged," muttered the chief. "You might have beenexplaining the situation here--except that we don't know who his societyinformant is. I think we better drop in for a call on 'Spencerian' thisevening."

  * * * * *

  "The call was made on scheduled time," Quinn concluded, "but it washardly of a social nature. You wouldn't expect a post-office operative,a chief of police, and half a dozen cops to stage a pink tea. Theirmethods are inclined to be a trifle more abrupt--though Pete, as ithappened, didn't attempt to pull any rough stuff. He dropped his gun themoment he saw how many guests were present, and it wasn't very longbefore they presented him with a formal invitation to resume his nonetoo comfortable but extremely exclusive apartment in Leavenworth.Snaith, being only an accomplice, got off with two years. The man whowrote the letters and who was the principal beneficiary of the moneywhich they produced, drew ten."

  "And who got the credit for solving the puzzle?" I inquired. "Allison orthe Norcross girl?"

  "Allison," replied Quinn. "Alice Norcross only worked on condition thather connection with the Service be kept quite as much of a secret asthe fact that her real name was Mrs. Elmer Allison."

  "What? She was Allison's wife?" I demanded.

  "Quite so," said the former operative. "If you don't believe me, there'sa piece of her wedding dress draped over that picture up there," and hepointed to a strip of white silk that hung over one of the framedphotographs on the wall.

  "But I thought you said--"

  "That that was part of the famous thirty thousand yards which was nailedjust after it had been smuggled across the Canadian border? I did. ButAllison got hold of a piece of it and had it made up into a dress forAlice. So that bit up there has a double story. You know one of them.Remind me to tell you the other sometime."