On Secret Service

by William Nelson Taft

  XXIII

  THE CASE OF MRS. ARMITAGE

  To look at him no one would have thought that Bill Quinn had a trace ofsentiment in his make-up. Apparently he was just the grizzled oldveteran of a hundred battles with crime, the last of which--a raid on acounterfeiter's den in Long Island--had laid him up with a game leg anda soft berth in the Treasury Department, where, for years he had been anintegral part of the United States Secret Service.

  But in the place of honor in Quinn's library-den there hung thephotograph of a stunningly handsome woman, her sable coat thrown backjust enough to afford a glimpse of a throat of which Juno might havebeen proud, while in her eyes there sparkled a light which seemed tohint at much but reveal little. It was very evident that she belonged toa world entirely apart from that of Quinn, yet the very fact that herphotograph adorned the walls of his den proved that she had beenimplicated in some case which had necessitated Secret Serviceinvestigation--for the den was the shrine of relics relating to cases inwhich Quinn's friends had figured.

  Finally, one evening I gathered courage to inquire about her.

  "Armitage was her name," Quinn replied. "Lelia Armitage. At least thatwas the name she was known by in Washington, and even the investigationswhich followed Melville Taylor's exposure of her foreign connectionsfailed to reveal that she had been known by any other, save her maidenname of Lawrence."

  "Where is she now?" I asked.

  "You'll have to ask me something easier," and Quinn smiled, a triflewistfully, I thought. "Possibly in London, perhaps in Paris, maybe inRio or the Far East. But wherever she is, the center of attention is notvery far away from her big violet-black eyes. Also the police of thecountry where she is residing probably wish that they had never beenburdened with her."

  "You mean--"

  "That she was a crook? Not as the word is usually understood. But morethan one string of valuable pearls or diamonds has disappeared whenmilady Armitage was in the neighborhood--though they were never able toprove that she had lifted a thing. No, her principal escapade in thiscountry brought her into contact with the Secret Service, rather thanthe police officials--which is probably the reason she was nailed withthe goods. You remember the incident of the 'leak' in the peace note,when certain Wall Street interests cleaned up millions of dollars?"

  "Perfectly. Was she to blame for that?"

  "They never settled who was to blame for it, but Mrs. Armitage wasdealing through a young and decidedly attractive Washington broker atthe time and her account mysteriously multiplied itself half a dozentimes.

  "Then there was the affair of the Carruthers Code, the one whichultimately led to her exposure at the hands of Taylor and MadelaineJames."

  * * * * *

  The Carruthers Code [Quinn went on] was admittedly the cleverest and yetthe simplest system of cipher communication ever devised on this sideof the Atlantic, with the possible exception of the one mentioned inJules Verne's "Giant Raft"--the one that Dr. Heinrich Albert used withsuch success. Come to think of it, Verne wasn't an American, was he? Heought to have been, though. He invented like one.

  In some ways the Carruthers system was even more efficient than theVerne cipher. You could use it with less difficulty, for one thing, andthe key was susceptible of an almost infinite number of variations. Itsonly weakness lay in the fact that the secret had to be writtendown--and it was in connection with the slip of paper which containedthis that Mrs. Armitage came into prominence.

  For some two years Lelia Armitage had maintained a large and expensiveestablishment on Massachusetts Avenue, not far from Sheridan Circle.Those who claimed to know stated that there had been a Mr. Armitage, butthat he had died, leaving his widow enough to make her luxuriouslycomfortable for the remainder of her life. In spite of the incidents ofthe jeweled necklaces, no one took the trouble to inquire into Mrs.Armitage's past until the leak in connection with the peace note and thesubsequent investigation of Paul Connor's brokerage house led to thediscovery that her name was among those who had benefited most largelyby the advance information.

  It was at that time that Melville Taylor was detailed to dig back intoher history and see what he could discover. As was only natural, he wentat once to Madelaine James, who had been of assistance to the Service inmore than one Washington case which demanded feminine finesse, plus anintimate knowledge of social life in the national capital.

  "Madelaine," he inquired, "what do you know of a certain Mrs. LeliaArmitage?"

  "Nothing particularly--except that one sees her everywhere. Apparentlyhas plenty of money. Supposed to have gotten it from her husband, whohas been dead for some time. Dresses daringly but expensively,and--while there are at least a score of men, ranging all the way fromlieutenants in the army to captains of industry, who would like to marryher--she has successfully evaded scandal and almost gotten away fromgossip."

  "Where'd she come from?"

  "London, I believe, by way of New York. Maiden name was Lawrence and thelate but not very lamented Mr. Armitage was reputed to have made hismoney in South Africa."

  "All of which," commented Taylor, "is rather vague--particularly forpurposes of a detailed report."

  "Report? In what connection?"

  "Her name appears on the list of Connor's clients as one of the ones whocleaned up on the 'leak.' Sold short and made a barrel of money whenstocks came down. The question is, Where did she get the tip?"

  "Possibly from Paul Connor himself."

  "Possibly--but I wish you'd cultivate her acquaintance and see if youcan pick up anything that would put us on the right track."

  But some six weeks later when Taylor was called upon to make a report ofhis investigations he had to admit that the sheet was a blank.

  "Chief," he said, "either the Armitage woman is perfectly innocent orelse she's infernally clever. I've pumped everyone dry about her, and acertain friend of mine, whom you know, has made a point of getting nextto the lady herself. She's dined there a couple of times and has talkedto her at a dozen teas and receptions. But without success. Mrs.Armitage has been very frank and open about what she calls her 'goodfortune' on the stock market. Says she followed her intuition and soldshort when everyone else was buying. What's more, she says it with sucha look of frank honesty that, according to Madelaine, you almost have tobelieve her."

  "Has Miss James been able to discover anything of the lady's pasthistory?"

  "Nothing more than we already know--born in England--husband made afortune in South Africa--died and left it to her. Have you tried tracingher from the other side?"

  "Yes, but they merely disclaim all knowledge of her. Don't evenrecognize the description. That may mean anything. Well," and chiefsighed rather disconsolately, for the leak puzzle had been a knotty onefrom the start, "I guess we'd better drop her. Too many other thingsgoing on to worry about a woman whose only offense seems to be anintuitive knowledge of the way Wall Street's going to jump."

  It was at that moment that Mahoney, assistant to the chief, came in withthe information that the Secretary of State desired the presence of thehead of the Secret Service in his office immediately.

  In answer to a snapped, "Come along--this may be something that you cantake care of right away!" Taylor followed the chief to the StateDepartment, where they were soon closeted with one of the undersecretaries.

  "You are familiar with the Carruthers Code?" inquired the AssistantSecretary.

  "I know the principle on which it operates," the chief replied, "but Ican't say that I've ever come into contact with it."

  "So far as we know," went on the State Department official, "it is themost efficient cipher system in the world--simple, easy to operate,almost impossible to decode without the key, and susceptible of beingchanged every day, or every hour if necessary, without impairing itsvalue. However, in common with every other code, it has thisweakness--once the key is located the entire system is practicallyvalueless.

  "When did you discover the disappearance of the code
secret?" askedTaylor, examining his cigarette with an exaggerated display of interest.

  "How did you know it was lost?" demanded the Under Secretary.

  "I didn't--but the fact that your chief sent for mine and then youlaunch into a dissertation on the subject of the code itself is open tobut one construction--some one has lifted the key to the cipher."

  "Yes, some one has. At least, it was in this safe last night"--here awave of his hand indicated a small and rather old-fashioned strong boxin the corner--"and it wasn't there when I arrived this morning. Ireported the matter to the Secretary and he asked me to give you thedetails."

  "You are certain that the cipher was there last evening?" asked thechief.

  "Not the cipher itself--at least not a code-book as the term isgenerally understood," explained the Under Secretary. "That's one of thebeauties of the Carruthers system. You don't have to lug a bulky bookaround with you all the time. A single slip of paper--a cigarette paperwould answer excellently--will contain the data covering a man'sindividual code. The loss or theft of one of these would beinconvenient, but not fatal. The loss of the master key, which was inthat safe, is irreparable. If it once gets out of the country it meansthat the decoding of our official messages is merely a question of time,no matter how often we switch the individual ciphers."

  "What was the size of the master key, as you call it?"

  "Merely a slip of government bond, about six inches long by some twoinches deep."

  "Was it of such a nature that it could have been easily copied?"

  "Yes, but anything other than a careful tracing or a photographic copywould be valueless. The position of the letters and figures mean as muchas the marks themselves. Whoever took it undoubtedly knows this and willendeavor to deliver the original--as a mark of good faith, if nothingelse."

  "Was this the only copy in existence?"

  "There are two others--one in the possession of the Secretary, the otherin the section which has charge of decoding messages. Both of these aresafe, as I ascertained as soon as I discovered that my slip wasmissing."

  A few more questions failed to bring out anything more about the mysterybeyond the fact that the Assistant Secretary was certain that he hadlocked the safe the evening before and he knew that he had found itlocked when he arrived that morning.

  "All of which," as Taylor declared, "means but little. The safe is ofthe vintage of eighteen seventy, the old-fashioned kind where you canhear the tumblers drop clean across the room. Look!" and he pointed tothe japanned front of the safe where a circular mark, some two inches indiameter, was visible close to the dial.

  "Yes, but what is it?" demanded the Secretary.

  "The proof that you locked the safe last night," Taylor responded."Whoever abstracted the cipher key opened the safe with the aid of someinstrument that enabled them clearly to detect the fall of the tumblers.Probably a stethoscope, such as physicians use for listening to apatient's heart. Perfectly simple when you know how--particularly withan old model like this."

  Finding that there was no further information available, Taylor and thechief left the department, the chief to return to headquarters, Taylorto endeavor to pick up the trail wherever he could.

  "It doesn't look like an inside job," was the parting comment of thehead of the Secret Service. "Anyone who had access to the safe wouldhave made some excuse to discover the combination, rather than rely onlistening to the click of the tumblers. Better get after the nightwatchman and see if he can give you a line on any strangers who werearound the building last night."

  But the night watchman when roused from his sound forenoon's sleep wascertain that no one had entered the building on the previous eveningsave those who had business there.

  "Everybody's got to use a pass now, you know," he stated. "I was on thejob all night myself an' divvle a bit of anything out of the ordinarydid I see. There was Mr. McNight and Mr. Lester and Mr. Greene on thejob in the telegraph room, and the usual crowd of correspondents over inthe press room, and a score of others who works there regular, an' Mrs.Prentice, an'--"

  "Mrs. who?" interrupted Taylor.

  "Mrs. Prentice, wife of th' Third Assistant Secretary. She comes downoften when her husband is working late, but last night he must have gonehome just before she got there, for she came back a few minutes laterand said that the office was dark."

  Whatever Taylor's thoughts were at the moment he kept them tohimself--for Prentice was the man from whose safe the cipher key hadbeen abstracted!

  So he contented himself with inquiring whether the watchman was certainthat the woman who entered the building was Mrs. Prentice.

  "Shure an' I'm certain," was the reply. "I've seen her and that greenevening cape of hers trimmed with fur too often not to know her."

  "Do you know how long it was between the time that she entered thebuilding and the time she left?" persisted Taylor.

  "That I do not, sir. Time is something that you don't worry about muchwhen it's a matter of guarding the door to a building--particularly atnight. But I'd guess somewhere about five or ten minutes?"

  "Rather long for her to make her way to the office of her husband, findhe wasn't there, and come right back, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, sir--but you must remember I wasn't countin' the minutes, so tospeak. Maybe it was only three--maybe it was ten. Anyhow, it was justnine-thirty when she left. I remember looking at the clock when she wentout."

  From the watchman's house, located well over in the northeastern sectionof the city, Taylor made his way to Madelaine James's apartment onConnecticut Avenue, discovering that young lady on the point of settingoff to keep a luncheon engagement.

  "I won't keep you a minute, Madelaine," promised the Secret Serviceoperative. "Just want to ask what you know about Mrs. Mahlon Prentice?"

  "Wife of the Third Assistant Secretary of State?"

  Taylor nodded.

  "She's a Chicago woman, I believe. Came here a couple of years ago whenher husband received his appointment. Rather good-looking and verypopular. I happened to be at a dinner with her last evening and--"

  "You what?"

  "I was at a dinner at the Westovers' last night," repeated the Jamesgirl, "and Mrs. Prentice was among those present. Looked stunning, too.What's the trouble?"

  "What time was the dinner?" Taylor countered.

  "Eight o'clock, but of course it didn't start until nearlyeight-thirty."

  "And what time did Mrs. Prentice leave?"

  "A few minutes after I did. She was just going up for her wraps as Icame downstairs at eleven o'clock."

  "You are certain that she was there all evening--that she didn't slipout for half an hour or so?"

  "Of course I'm sure, Mell," the girl replied, a trace of petulance inher voice. "Why all the questions? Do you suspect the wife of the ThirdAssistant Secretary of State of robbing a bank?"

  "Not a bank," Taylor admitted, "but it happens that the safe in herhusband's office was opened last night and a highly important slip ofpaper abstracted. What's more, the watchman on duty in the building isready to swear that Mrs. Prentice came in shortly before nine-thirty,and went out some five or ten minutes later, stating that her husbandhad evidently finished his work and left."

  "That's impossible! No matter what the watchman says, there are a scoreof people who dined with Mrs. Prentice last evening and who know thatshe didn't leave the Westovers' until after eleven. Dinner wasn't overby nine-thirty, and she couldn't have gotten to the State Department andback in less than twenty minutes at the inside. It's ridiculous, that'sall!"

  "But the watchman!" exclaimed Taylor. "He knows Mrs. Prentice and sayshe couldn't miss that green-and-fur coat of hers in the dark. Besides,she spoke to him as she was leaving."

  Madelaine James was silent for a moment, and a tiny frown appearedbetween her eyes, evidence of the fact that she was doing some deepthinking.

  Then: "Of course she spoke! Anyone who would go to the trouble ofcopying Mrs. Prentice's distinctive cloak would realize that someadd
itional disguise was necessary. Last night, if you remember, wasquite cold. Therefore it would be quite natural that the woman whoimpersonated Mrs. Prentice should have her collar turned up around herface and probably a drooping hat as well. The collar, in addition toconcealing her features, would muffle her voice, while the watchman, notsuspecting anything, would take it for granted that the green cloak wasworn by the wife of the Under Secretary--particularly when she spoke tohim in passing."

  "You mean, then, that some one deliberately impersonated Mrs. Prenticeand took a chance on getting past the watchman merely because she wore acloak of the same color?"

  "The same color--the same style--practically the same coat," argued MissJames. "What's more, any woman who would have the nerve to try thatwould probably watch Prentice's office from the outside, wait for thelight to go out, and then stage her visit not more than five minuteslater, so's to make it appear plausible. How was the safe opened?"

  "Stethoscope. Placed the cup on the outside, and then listened to thetumblers as they fell. Simplest thing in the world with an antiquatedbox like that."

  "What's missing?"

  By this time Taylor felt that their positions had been reversed. He, whohad come to question, was now on the witness stand, while MadelaineJames was doing the cross-examining. But he didn't mind. He knew the waythe girl's mind worked, quickly and almost infallibly--her knowledge ofwomen in general and Washington society in particular making her aninvaluable ally in a case like this.

  "A slip of paper some six inches long and two inches wide," he said,with a smile. "The key to the Carruthers Code, probably the mostefficient cipher in the world, but now rendered worthless unless theoriginal slip is located before it reaches some foreign power."

  "Right!" snapped Miss James. "Get busy on your end of the matter. Seewhat you can find out concerning this mysterious woman in the greencloak. I'll work along other and what you would probably call strictlyunethical lines. I've got what a man would term a 'hunch,' but in awoman it is 'intuition'--and therefore far more likely to be right. Seeyou later!" and with that she was off toward her car.

  "But what about your luncheon engagement?" Taylor called after her.

  "Bother lunch," she laughed back over her shoulder. "If my hunch isright I'll make your chief pay for my meals for the next year!"

  The next that Taylor heard from his ally was a telephone call on thefollowing evening, instructing him to dig up his evening clothes and tobe present at a certain reception that evening.

  "I have reason to believe," said Madelaine's voice, "that the lady ofthe second green cloak will be present. Anyhow, there'll be several ofyour friends there--including myself, Mrs. Armitage, and an ambassadorwho doesn't stand any too well with the Administration. In fact, I haveit on good authority that he's on the verge of being recalled. Naturallywe don't want him to take a slip of paper, some six inches by two, withhim!"

  "How do you know he hasn't it already?"

  "He doesn't return from New York until six o'clock this evening, and thepaper is far too valuable to intrust to the mails or to an underling.Remember, I'm not certain that it is he who is supposed to get the papereventually, but I do know who impersonated Mrs. Prentice, and I likewiseknow that the lady in question has not communicated with any foreignofficial in person. Beyond that we'll have to take a chance on theevening's developments," and the receiver was replaced before Taylorcould frame any one of the score of questions he wanted to ask.

  Even at the reception that night he was unable to get hold of MadelaineJames long enough to find out just what she did know. In fact, it wasnearly midnight before he caught the signal that caused him to enter oneof the smaller and rather secluded rooms apart from the main hall.

  There he found a tableau that was totally unexpected.

  In one corner of the room, her back against the wall and her teeth baredin a snarl which distorted her usually attractive features into a maskof hate, stood Mrs. Armitage. Her hands were crossed in front of her inwhat appeared to be an unnatural attitude until Taylor caught a glimpseof polished steel and realized that the woman had been handcuffed.

  "There," announced Madelaine, "in spite of your friend the watchman,stands 'Mrs. Prentice.' You'll find the green cloak in one of theclosets at her home, and the stethoscope is probably concealed somewherearound the house. However, that doesn't matter. The main thing is thatwe have discovered the missing slip of paper. You'll find it on thetable over there."

  Taylor followed the girl's gesture toward a table at the side of theroom. But there, instead of the cipher key that he had expected, he sawonly--a gold bracelet!

  "What's the idea?" he demanded. "Where's the paper?"

  "Snap open the bracelet," directed the girl. "What do you see?"

  "It looks like--by gad! it is!--a tightly wrapped spindle of paper!" anda moment later the original of the Carruthers Code reposed safely in theSecret Service agent's vest pocket. As he tossed the empty bracelet backon the table he heard a sound behind him and turned just in time to seethe woman in the corner slip to the floor in a dead faint.

  "Now that we've got her," inquired Madelaine James, "what'll we do withher?"

  "Take off the handcuffs, leave the room, and close the door," directedTaylor. "She'll hardly care to make any fuss when she comes to, and thefact that she is unconscious gives us an excellent opportunity fordeparting without a scene."

  "But what I'd like to know," he asked, as they strolled back toward themain ballroom, "is how you engineered the affair?"

  "I told you I had an intuition," came the reply, "and you laughed at me.Yes you did, too! It wasn't apparent on your face, but I could feel thatinside yourself you were saying, 'Just another fool idea.' But Mrs.Armitage was preying on my mind. I didn't like the way she had slippedone over on us in connection with the leak on the peace note. Then, too,she seemed to have no visible means of support, but plenty of money.

  "I felt certain that she wasn't guilty of blackmail or any of the moresordid kinds of crime, but the fact that she was on terms of familiaritywith a number of diplomats, and that she seemed to have a fondness forarmy and navy officials, led me to believe that she was a sort of superspy, sent over here for a specific purpose. The instant you mentionedthe Carruthers Code she sprang to my mind. A bill, slipped into thefingers of her maid, brought the information about the green cloak, andthe rest was easy.

  "I figured that she'd have the cipher key on her to-night, for it washer first opportunity of passing it along to the man I felt certain shewas working for. Sure enough, as she passed him about half an hour agoshe tapped her bracelet, apparently absent-mindedly. As soon as he wasout of sight I sent one of the maids with a message that some one wantedto see her in one of the smaller rooms. Thinking that it was theambassador, she came at once. I was planted behind the door, handcuffedher before she knew what I was doing, and then signaled you!

  "Quite elementary, my dear Melville, quite elementary!"

  * * * * *

  "That," added Quinn, "was the last they heard of Mrs. Armitage. Taylorreported the matter at once, but the chief said that as they had thecode they better let well enough alone. The following day the woman leftWashington, and no one has heard from her since--except for a packagethat reached Taylor some months later. There was nothing in it exceptthat photograph yonder, and, as Taylor was interested only in his bride,_nee_ Madelaine James, he turned it over to me for my collection."

  XXIV

  FIVE INCHES OF DEATH

  "Quinn," I said one evening when the veteran of the United States SecretService appeared to be in one of his story-spinning moods, "you've toldme of cases that have to do with smuggling and spies, robberies andfingerprints and frauds, but you've never mentioned the one crime thatis most common in the annals of police courts and detective bureaus."

  "Murder?" inquired Quinn, his eyes shifting to the far wall of hislibrary-den.

  "Precisely. Haven't government detectives ever been instrumental insolving a
murder mystery?"

  "Yes, they've been mixed up in quite a few of them. There was the littlematter of the Hallowell case--where the crime and the criminal wereconnected by a shoelace--and the incident of 'The Red Circle.' Butmurder, as such, does not properly belong in the province of thegovernment detective. Only when it is accompanied by some breach of thefederal laws does it come under the jurisdiction of the men fromWashington. Like the Montgomery murder mystery, for example."

  "Oh yes, the one connected with the postmark that's framed on your wallover there!" I exclaimed. "I'd forgotten about that. Hal Preston handledit, didn't he--the same man responsible for running down 'The Trail ofthe White Mice'?"

  "That's the one," said Quinn, and I was glad to see him settleluxuriously back in his old armchair--for that meant that he waspreparing to recall the details of an adventure connected with a memberof one of the government detective services.

  * * * * *

  If it hadn't been for the fact that Preston was in California at thetime, working on the case of a company that was using the mails forillegal purposes, it is extremely doubtful if the mystery would everhave been solved [Quinn continued]; certainly not in time to prevent theescape of the criminal.

  But Hal's investigations took him well up into the foot-hills of theSierra Nevadas, and one morning he awoke to find the whole town in whichhe was stopping ablaze with a discussion of the "Montgomery mystery," asthey called it.

  It appeared from the details which Preston picked up in the lobby of hishotel that Marshall Montgomery had settled down in that section of thecountry some three years before, but that he had surrounded himself withan air of aloofness and detachment which had made him none too popular.Men who had called to see him on matters of business had left smartingunder the sting of an ill-concealed snub, while it was as much as a bookagent's life was worth to try to gain entrance to the house.

  "It wasn't that he was stingy or close-fisted," explained one of the menwho had known Montgomery. "He bought more Liberty Bonds than anyone elsein town--but he bought them through his bank. Mailed the order in, justas he did with his contributions to the Red Cross and the othercharitable organizations. Wouldn't see one of the people who went out tohis place. In fact, they couldn't get past the six or eight bulldogsthat guard the house."

  "And yet," said Preston, "I understand that in spite of his precautionshe was killed last night?"

  "Nobody knows just when he was killed," replied the native, "or how.That's the big question. When his servant, a Filipino whom he broughtwith him, went to wake him up this morning he found Montgomery's doorlocked. That in itself was nothing unusual--for every door and window inthe place was securely barred before nine o'clock in the evening. Butwhen Tino, the servant, had rapped several times without receiving anyreply, he figured something must be wrong. So he got a stepladder,propped it up against the side of the house, and looked in through thewindow. What he saw caused him to send in a hurry call for the police."

  "Well," snapped Preston, "what did he see?"

  "Montgomery, stretched out on the floor near the door, stone dead--witha pool of blood that had formed from a wound in his hand!"

  "In his hand?" Preston echoed. "Had he bled to death?"

  "Apparently not--but that's where the queer angle to the case comes in.The door was locked from the inside--not only locked, but bolted, sothere was no possibility of anyone having entered the room. The windowswere tightly guarded by a patented burglar-proof device which permittedthem to be open about three inches from the bottom, but prevented theirbeing raised from the outside."

  "Was there a chimney or any other possible entrance to the room?"

  "None at all. Three windows and a door. Montgomery's body was sprawledout on the rug near the doorway--a revolver in his right hand, a bullethole through the palm of his left. The first supposition, of course,was that he had accidentally shot himself and had bled to death. Butthere wasn't enough blood for that. Just a few drops on the table and asmall pool near the body. They're going to hold an autopsy later in theday and--"

  It was at that moment that the Post-office operative became consciousthat some one was calling his name, and, turning, he beckoned to thebell-boy who was paging him.

  "Mr. Preston? Gentleman over there'd like to speak to you." Then the boyadded in a whisper, "Chief o' police."

  Excusing himself, Preston crossed the lobby to where a large andofficial-looking man was standing, well out of hearing distance of theguests who passed.

  "Is this Mr. Preston of the Postal Inspection Service?" inquired thehead of the local police force, adding, after the government operativehad nodded. "I am the chief of police here."

  "Glad to meet you, Chief," was Preston's response. "I haven't had thepleasure of making your acquaintance, though of course I know you bysight." (He neglected to add how recently this knowledge had beenacquired.) "What can I do for you?"

  "Have you heard about the murder of Montgomery Marshall?"

  "Only the few details that I picked up in the lobby just now. But a caseof that kind is entirely out of my line, you know."

  "Ordinarily it would be," agreed the other, "but here's something that Ithink puts a different complexion on things," and he extended abloodstained scrap of paper for Preston to examine.

  "That was found under the dead man's hand," the chief continued. "As youwill note, it originally formed part of the wrapping of aspecial-delivery parcel which reached Montgomery about eight o'clocklast night--just before the house was locked up, in fact. Tino, theFilipino servant, signed for it and took it in, placing it upon thetable in the room in which his master was found this morning. The scrapof paper you are holding is just enough to show the postmark'Sacramento'--but it's quite evident that the package had something todo with the murder."

  "Which is the reason that you want me to look into it, eh?"

  "That's the idea. I knew that you were in town, and the very fact thatthis box came through the mails makes it necessary for the Post-officeDepartment to take cognizance of what otherwise would be a job for thepolice force alone. Am I right?"

  "Perfectly," replied Preston. "Provided you have reason to believe thatthere was some connection between the special-delivery package and thecrime itself. What was in the box?"

  "Not a thing!"

  "What?"

  "Not a thing!" repeated the chief. "Perfectly empty--at least when wefound it. The lid was lying on the table, the rest of the box on thefloor. The major portion of the wrapping paper had been caught under aheavy paper weight and it appears that Montgomery, in falling, caught atthe table to save himself and probably ripped away the scrap of paper Ihave just given you."

  "But I thought his body was found near the door?"

  "It was, but that isn't far from the table, which is jammed against thewall in front of one of the windows. Come on up to the house with meand we'll go over the whole thing."

  Glad of the excuse to look into a crime which appeared to beinexplicable, Preston accompanied the chief to the frame dwelling on theoutskirts of town where Montgomery Marshall, hermit, had spent the lastthree years of his life.

  The house was set well back from the road, with but a single gateway ina six-foot wall of solid masonry, around the top of which ran severalstrands of barbed wire.

  "Montgomery erected the wall himself," explained the chief. "Had it putup before he ever moved into the house, and then, in addition, kept abunch of the fiercest dogs I ever knew."

  "All of which goes to prove that he feared an attack," Preston muttered."In spite of his precautions, however, they got him! The question nowis: Who are 'they' and how did they operate?"

  The room in which the body had been found only added to the air ofmystery which surrounded the entire problem.

  In spite of what he had been told Preston had secretly expected to findsome kind of an opening through which a man could have entered. Butthere was none. The windows, as the Postal operative took care to testfor himself, were tigh
tly locked, though open a few inches from thebottom. The bolt on the door very evidently had been shattered by theentrance of the police, and the dark-brown stain on the rug near thedoor showed plainly where the body had been found.

  "When we broke in," explained the chief, "Montgomery was stretched outthere, facing the door. The doctor said that he had been dead abouttwelve hours, but that it was impossible for the wound in his hand tohave caused his death."

  "How about a poisoned bullet, fired through the opening in the window?"

  "Not a chance! The only wound on the body was the one through the palmof his hand. The bullet had struck on the outside of the fleshy partnear the wrist and had plowed its way through the bone, coming out nearthe base of the index finger at the back. And it was a bullet from hisown revolver! We found it embedded in the top of the table there." Andthe chief pointed to a deep scar in the mahogany and to the marks madeby the knives of the police when they had dug the bullet out.

  "But how do you know it wasn't a bullet of the same caliber, fired fromoutside the window?" persisted Preston.

  For answer the chief produced Montgomery's revolver, with fivecartridges still in the chambers.

  "If you'll note," he said, "each of these cartridges is scored orseamed. That's an old trick--makes the lead expand when it hits andtears an ugly hole, just like a 'dum-dum.' The bullet we dug out of thetable was not only a forty-five, as these are, but it had been alteredin precisely the same manner. So, unless you are inclined to thecoincidence that the murderer used a poisoned bullet of the same sizeand make and character as those in Montgomery's gun, you've got todiscard that theory."

  "Does look like pulling the long arm of coincidence out of its socket,"Preston agreed. "So I guess we'll have to forget it. Where's the box youwere talking about?"

  "The lid is on the table, just as we found it. The lower portion of thebox is on the floor, where the dead man apparently knocked it when hefell. Except for the removal of the body, nothing in the room has beentouched."

  Stooping, Preston picked up the box and then proceeded to study it inconnection with the lid and the torn piece of wrapping paper upon thetable. It was after he had examined the creases in the paper, fittingthem carefully around the box itself, that he inquired: "Do you noticeanything funny about the package, Chief?"

  "Only that there's a hole at one end of it, just about big enough to puta lead pencil through."

  "Yes, and that same hole appears in the wrapping paper," announcedPreston. "Couple that with the fact that the box was empty when youfound it and I think we will have--"

  "What?" demanded the chief, as Preston paused.

  "The solution to the whole affair," was the reply. "Or, at least, asmuch of it as refers to the manner in which Montgomery met his death. Bythe way, what do you know about the dead man?"

  "Very little. He came here some three years ago, bought this place,paying cash for it; had the wall built, and then settled down. Neverappeared to do any work, but was never short of money. Has a balance ofwell over fifty thousand dollars in the bank right now. Beyond the factthat he kept entirely to himself and refused to allow anyone but Tino,his servant, to enter the gate, he really had few eccentricities. Somefolks say that he was a miser, but there are a dozen families here thatwouldn't have had any Christmas dinner last year if it hadn't been forhim--while his contribution to the Red Cross equaled that of anyone intown."

  "Apart from his wanting to be alone, then, he was pretty close to beinghuman?"

  "That's it, exactly--and most of us have some peculiarity. If we didn'thave we'd be even more unusual."

  "What about Tino, the servant?" queried Preston.

  "I don't think there's any lead there," the chief replied. "I hammeredaway at him for an hour this morning. He doesn't speak English any toowell, but I gathered that Montgomery picked him up in the Philippinesjust before he came over here. The boy was frightened half out of hissenses when I told him that his master had been killed. You've got toremember, though, that if Tino had wanted to do it he had a thousandopportunities in the open. Besides, what we've got to find out first ishow Montgomery met his death?"

  "Does the Filipino know anything about his master's past?" askedPreston, ignoring the chief's last remark.

  "He says not. Montgomery was on his way back to the States from Africaor some place--stopped off in the islands--spent a couple of monthsthere--hired Tino and sailed for San Francisco."

  "Africa--" mused the Postal operative. Then, taking another track, heinquired whether the chief had found out if Montgomery was in the habitof getting much mail, especially from foreign points.

  "Saunders, the postmaster, says he didn't average a letter a month--andthose he did get looked like advertisements. They remembered thisspecial-delivery package last night because it was the first time thatthe man who brought it out had ever come to the house. He rang the bellat the gate, he says, turned the box over to Tino, and went along."

  "Any comment about the package?"

  "Only that it was very light and contained something that wabbledaround. I asked him because I figured at the time that the revolvermight have been in it. But the Filipino has identified that asMontgomery's own gun. Says he'd had it as long as he'd known him."

  "Then all we know about this mysterious box," summarized Preston, "isthat it was mailed from Sacramento, that it wasn't heavy, that it had ahole about a quarter-inch wide at one end, and that it containedsomething that--what was the word the special-delivery manused--'wabbled'?"

  "That's the word. I remember because I asked him if he didn't mean'rattled,' and he said, 'No, wabbled, sort o' dull-like.'"

  "At any rate, that clears up one angle of the case. The box was notempty when it was delivered! Granting that the Filipino was telling thetruth, it was not empty when he placed it on the table in this room!That means that it was not empty when Marshall Montgomery, after lockingand bolting his door, took off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid!You've searched the room thoroughly, of course?"

  "Every inch of it. We didn't leave a--"

  But the chief suddenly halted, his sentence unfinished. To the ears ofboth men there had come a sound, faint but distinct. The sound of therattling of paper somewhere in the room.

  Involuntarily Preston whirled and scrutinized the corner from which thesound appeared to have come. The chief's hand had slipped to his hippocket, but after a moment of silence he withdrew it and a slightlyshamefaced look spread over his face.

  "Sounded like a ghost, didn't it?" he asked.

  "Ghosts don't rattle papers," snapped Preston. "At least self-respectingones don't, and the other kind haven't any right to run around loose. Sosuppose we try to trap this one."

  "Trap it? How?"

  "Like you'd trap a mouse--only with a different kind of bait. Is thereany milk in the house?"

  "Possibly--I don't know."

  "Go down to the refrigerator and find out, will you? I'll stay hereuntil you return. And bring a saucer with you."

  A few moments later, when the chief returned, bearing a bottle of milkand a saucer, he found Preston still standing beside the table, his eyesfixed upon a corner of the room from which the sound of rattling paperhad come.

  "Now all we need is a box," said the Postal operative. "I saw one out inthe hall that will suit our purposes excellently."

  Securing the box, he cut three long and narrow strips from the sides,notched them and fitted them together in a rough replica of the figure4, with the lower point of the upright stick resting on the floor besidethe saucer of milk and the wooden box poised precariously at thejunction of the upright and the slanting stick.

  "A figure-four trap, eh?" queried the chief. "What do you expect tocatch?"

  "A mixture of a ghost and the figure of Justice," was Preston'senigmatic reply. "Come on--we'll lock the door and return later to seeif the trap has sprung. Meanwhile, I'll send some wires to Sacramento,San Francisco, and other points throughout the state."

  The telegram, of which he gave a
copy to the local chief of police, "inorder to save the expense of sending it," read:

  Wire immediately if you know anything of recent arrival from Africa--probably American or English--who landed within past three days. Wanted in connection with Montgomery murder.

  The message to San Francisco ended with the phrase "Watch outgoing boatsclosely," and that to Sacramento "Was in your city yesterday."

  Hardly an hour later the phone rang and a voice from policeheadquarters in Sacramento asked to speak to "Postal Inspector Preston."

  "Just got your wire," said the voice, "and I think we've got your man.Picked him up on the street last night, unconscious. Hospital people sayhe's suffering from poisoning of some kind and don't expect him to live.Keeps raving about diamonds and some one he calls 'Marsh.' Papers on himshow he came into San Francisco two days ago on the _Manu_. Won't tellhis name, but has mentioned Cape Town several times."

  "Right!" cried Preston. "Watch him carefully until I get there. I'llmake the first train out."

  That afternoon Preston, accompanied by two chiefs of police, made hisway into a little room off the public ward in the hospital inSacramento. In bed, his face drawn and haggard until the skin seemedlike parchment stretched tightly over his cheekbones, lay a man at thepoint of death--a man who was only kept alive, according to thephysicians, by some almost superhuman effort of the will.

  "It's certain that he's been poisoned," said the doctor in charge of thecase, "but he won't tell us how. Just lies there and glares and demandsa copy of the latest newspaper. Every now and then he drifts off intodelirium, but just when we think he's on the point of death herecovers."

  Motioning to the others to keep in the background, Preston made his wayto the bedside of the dying man. Then, bending forward, he said, veryclearly and distinctly: "Marshall Montgomery is dead!"

  Into the eyes of the other man there sprang a look of concentratedhatred that was almost tangible--a glare that turned, a moment later,into supreme relief.

  "Thank God!" he muttered. "Now I'm ready to die!"

  "Tell me," said Preston, quietly--"tell me what made you do it."

  "He did!" gasped the man on the bed. "He and his damned brutality. WhenI knew him his name was Marsh. We dug for diamonds together in SouthAfrica--found them, too--enough to make us both rich for life. But ourwater was running low--barely enough for one of us. He, the skunk, hitme over the head and left me to die--taking the water and the stoneswith him."

  He paused a moment, his breath rattling in his throat, and thencontinued:

  "It took me five years to find him--but you say he's dead? You're notlying?"

  Preston shook his head slowly and the man on the bed settled back andclosed his eyes, content.

  "Ask him," insisted the chief of police, "how he killed Montgomery?"

  In a whisper that was barely audible came the words: "Sheep-stinger. Gotme first." Then his jaws clicked and there was the unmistakable gurglewhich meant that the end had come.

  "Didn't he say 'sheep-stinger'?" asked the chief of police, after thedoctor had stated that the patient had slipped away from the hands ofthe law.

  "That's what it sounded like to me," replied Preston. "But suppose we goback to Montgomery's room and see what our ghost trap has caught. I toldyou I expected to land a figure of Justice--and if ever a man deservedto be killed it appears to have been this same Montgomery Marshall, orMarsh, as this man knew him."

  The instant they entered the room it was apparent that the trap hadsprung, the heavy box falling forward and completely covering the saucerof milk and whatever had disturbed the carefully balanced sticks.

  Warning the chief to be careful, Preston secured a poker from anadjoining room, covered the box with his automatic, and then carefullylifted the box, using the poker as a lever.

  A second later he brought the head of the poker down on something thatwrithed and twisted and then lay still, blending in with the pattern ofthe carpet in such a manner as to be almost invisible.

  "A snake!" cried the chief. "But such a tiny one! Do you mean to saythat its bite is sufficiently poisonous to kill a man?"

  "Not only one, but two," Preston declared, "as you've seen for yourself.See that black mark, like an inverted V, upon the head? That'scharacteristic of the cobra family, and this specimen--common to theveldts of South Africa where he is known as the 'sheep stinger'--isfirst cousin to the big king cobras. Montgomery's former partnerevidently brought him over from Africa with this idea in mind. But whenhe was packing him in the box--the airhole in the end of it gave me thefirst inkling, by the way--he got careless and the snake bit him. Onlymedical attention saved his life until this afternoon, else he'd havepassed along before Montgomery. I think that closes the case, Chief, andin spite of the fact that the mails were used for a distinctly illegalpurpose, I believe your department ought to handle the matter--notmine."

  "But the trap--the milk? How'd you happen to hit on that?"

  "When you told me what the special-delivery man said about the contentsof the package 'wabbling' I figured that the box must have contained asnake," explained the Postal operative. "An animal would have made somenoise, while a snake, if well fed, will lie silent for hours at a time.The constant motion, however, would have made it irritable--so that itstruck the moment Montgomery removed the lid of the box. That explainsthe wound in his hand. He knew his danger and deliberately fired, hopingto cauterize the wound and drive out the poison. It was too quick forhim, though, or possibly the shock stunned him so that he fell.

  "Then, in spite of the fact that your men claimed to have searched theroom thoroughly, that noise in the corner warned me that whatever killedMontgomery was still here. Going on the theory that the majority ofsnakes are fond of milk, I rigged up the trap. And there you are!"

  * * * * *

  "Yes," concluded Quinn, "the majority of the cases handled by governmentdetectives have to do with counterfeiting or smuggling or other crimesagainst the federal law--offenses which ought to be exciting but whichare generally dull and prosaic. Every now and then, though, they stumbleacross a real honest-to-goodness thrill, a story that's worth thetelling.

  "I've got to be away for the next couple of months or so, but droparound when I get back and I'll see if I can't recall some more of theproblems that have been solved by one of the greatest, though leastknown, detective agencies on the face of the earth."

  THE END

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes:

  Contents page changes made to agree with chapter headings:"Lost--$100,000!"--quotes and exclamation point added. "The DoubleCode"--quotes added. "Thirty Thousand," and again on P. 253--hyphenremoved (more frequent without).

  After Contents page, "On Secret Service" displays twice--once alone ona page, and again above the Chapter I heading. One of the redundancieshas been deleted.

  Missing or incorrect punctuation repaired.

  Spelling errors fixed.

  Hyphenation variants changed to most frequently used version.

  P. 54 "Simpson lives" original reads "Simpson lived."

  P. 58 Thought break added for consistency.

  P. 89 "Douglass" changed to more frequently used "Douglas."

  P. 177 Code table: Original shows first number under q as "19."Corrected to "17."

  P. 198 "well dressed" changed to "well-dressed."

  P. 221 two occurrences of "blonde" changed to more frequently used"blond."

  Abbreviations "sub." and "ad." in original retained.

  "Charleston" and "Charlestown," "down town" and "downtown" (usedequally), "everyone" and "every one [of]," "resume" (for summary) and"resume" (for assume anew), "loath" (for unwilling) and "loathe" (forabhor), "mix-up" and "mixup" (used equally), "anyone" and "any one" (asingle, particular one) were used in this text and retained.

  Also retained "flivvered" (P. 104).

 
rchive.