The Ear in the Wall

by Arthur B. Reeve

  IV

  THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

  "What do you make of that?" inquired Carton half an hour later as hemet us breathlessly at the laboratory.

  He unfolded a letter over which he had evidently been puzzlingconsiderably. It was written, or rather typewritten, on plain paper.The envelope was plain and bore no marks of identification, exceptpossibly that it had been mailed uptown.

  The letter ran:

  DEAR SIR:

  Although this is an anonymous letter, I beg that you will not considerit such, since it will be plain to you that there is good reason for mywishing to remain nameless.

  I want to tell you of some things that have taken place recently at alittle hotel in the West Fifties. No doubt you know of the placealready--the Little Montmartre.

  There are several young and wealthy men who frequent this resort. I donot dare tell you their names, but one is a well-known club-man and manabout town, another is a banker and broker, also well known, and athird is a lawyer. I might also mention an intimate friend of theirs,though not of their position in society--a doctor who has somewhat of areputation among the class of people who frequent the LittleMontmartre, ready to furnish them with anything from a medicalcertificate to drugs and treatment.

  I have read a great deal in the newspapers lately of the disappearanceof Betty Blackwell, and her case interests me. I think you will findthat it will repay you to look into the hint I have given. I don'tthink it is necessary to say any more. Indeed it may be dangerous tome, and I beg that you will not even show this letter to anyone exceptthose associated with you and then, please, only with the understandingthat it is to go no farther.

  Betty Blackwell is not at this hotel, but I am sure that some of thosewhose wild orgies have scandalized even the Little Montmartre knowsomething about her.

  Yours truly, AN OUTCAST.

  Kennedy looked up quickly at Carton as he finished reading the letter.

  "Typical," he remarked. "Anonymous letters occasionally are of afriendly nature, but usually they reflect with more or less severityupon the conduct or character of someone. They usually receive littleattention, but sometimes they are of the most serious character. Inmany instances they are most important links in chains of evidencepointing to grave crimes.

  "It is possible to draw certain conclusions from such letters at once.For instance, it is a surprising fact that in a large number of casesthe anonymous letter writer is a woman, who may write what it does notseem possible she could write. Such letters often by their writing,materials used, composition and general form indicate at once the sexof the writer and frequently show nationality, age, education, andoccupation. These facts may often point to the probable author.

  "Now in this case the writer evidently was well educated. Assumedilliteracy is a frequent disguise, but it is impossible for an authorto assume a literacy he or she does not possess. Then, too, women aremore apt to assume the characteristics of men than men of women. Thereare many things to be considered. Too bad it wasn't in ordinaryhandwriting. That would have shown much more. However, we shall try ourbest with what we have here. What impressed you about it?"

  "Well," remarked Carton, "the thing that impressed me was that as usualand as I fully expected, the trail leads right back to protected viceand commercialized graft. This Little Montmartre is one of the swellestof such resorts in the city, the legitimate successor to the scores andhundreds of places which the authorities and the vice investigatorshave closed recently. In fact, Kennedy, I consider it more dangerous,because it is run, on the surface at least, just like any of thefirst-class hotels. There's no violation of law there, at least notopenly."

  Craig had continued to examine the letter closely. "So, you havealready investigated the Little Montmartre?" he queried, drawing fromhis pocket a little strip of glass and laying it down carefully overthe letter.

  "Indeed I have," returned the District Attorney, watching Kennedycuriously. "It is a place with a very unsavoury reputation. And yet Ihave been able to get nothing on it. They are so confounded clever.There is never any outward violation of law; they adhere strictly tothe letter of the rule of outward decency."

  Over the typewritten characters Kennedy had placed the strip of glassand I could see that it was ruled into little oblongs, into each ofwhich one of the type of the typewritten sheet seemed to fall.Apparently he had forgotten the contents of the letter in his interestin the text itself. He held the paper up to the light and seemed tostudy its texture and thickness. Then he examined the typed charactersmore closely with a little pocket magnifying glass, his lips moving asif he were counting something. Next he seized a mass of correspondenceon his desk and began comparing the letter with others, apparently todetermine just the shade of writing of the ribbon. Finally he gave itup and leaned back in his chair regarding us.

  "It is written in the regular pica type," he remarked thoughtfully,"and on a machine that has seen considerable rough usage, although itis not an old machine. It will take me a little time to identify themake, but after I have done that, I think I could identify theparticular machine itself the moment I saw it. You see, it is only aclue that would serve to fix it once you found that machine. The pointis, after all, to find it. But once found, I am sure we shall be closeto the source of the letter. I may keep this and study it at myleisure?"

  "Certainly."

  For a moment Carton was silent. Then it seemed as though the matter ofBetty Blackwell brought to mind what he had read in the morning papers.

  "That robbery of Langhorne's safe was a most peculiar thing, wasn'tit?" he meditated. "I suppose you know what Miss Blackwell was?"

  "Langhorne's stenographer and secretary, of course," I replied quickly.

  "Yes, I know. But I mean what she had actually done? I don't believeyou do. My county detectives found out only last night." Kennedy pausedin his rummaging among some bottles to which he had turned at themention of the safe robbery. "No--what was it?" he asked.

  Carton bent forward as if our own walls might have ears and said in alow voice: "She was the operator who took down the detectaphoneconversations at the other end of the wire in a furnished room in thehouse next to Gastron's."

  He drew back to see what effect the intelligence had on us, thenresumed slowly: "Yes, I've had my men out on the case. That is whatthey think. I believe she often executed little confidentialcommissions for Langhorne, sometimes things that took her on shorttrips out of town. There is a possibility that she may be on a missionof that sort. But I think--it's this Black Book case that involves hernow."

  "Langhorne wouldn't talk much about anything," I put in, hastilyremembering his manner. "He may not be responsible--but from hisactions I'd wager he knows more about her than appears."

  "Just so," agreed Carton. "If my men can find out that she was theoperator who 'listened in' and got the notes and the transcript of theBlack Book, then she becomes a person of importance in the case and thefact must be known to others who are interested. Why," he pursued,"don't you see what it means? If she is out of the way, there is no oneto swear to the accuracy of the notes in the record, no one to identifythe voices--even if we do manage finally to locate the thing."

  "Dorgan and the rest are certainly leaving nothing undone to shake thevalidity of the record," ruminated Kennedy, accepting for the moment atleast Carton's explanation of the disappearance of Miss Blackwell."Have you any idea what might have happened to her?"

  Carton shook his head negatively. "There are several explanations," hereplied slowly. "As far as we have been able to find out she led amodel life, at home with her mother and sister. Except for the fewcommissions for Langhorne and lately when she was out rather latetaking the detectaphone notes, she was very quiet,--in fact devoted toher mother and the education of her younger sister."

  "What sort of place was it in which the receivers of the detectaphonewere located--do you know?" asked Kennedy quickly.

  "Yes, it seems to be a very respectable boardinghouse," answeredCar
ton. "She came there with a grip about a week ago and hired a room,saying she was out of town a great deal. Just about the same time ayoung man, who posed as a student in electrical engineering at someschool uptown, left. It must have been he who installed thedetectaphone--perhaps with the aid of a waiter in Gastron's. At anyrate, she seems to have been alone in the boarding-house--that is, Imean, not acquainted with any of the other guests--during the time whenshe was taking down the record. Dorgan traced the wires, outside thetwo buildings, to her rooms, but she was not there. In fact there wasnothing there but a grip with a few articles that give no clue toanything. Somehow she must have heard of it, for no one knows anythingabout her, since then."

  "Perhaps Langhorne is keeping her out of the way so that no one cantamper with her testimony," I suggested.

  "It's possible," said Carton in a tone that showed that he did notbelieve in that explanation. "How about that safe robbery, Kennedy?Some of the papers hinted that she might have known something of that.I had a man down there watching, afterwards, but I had cautioned him tobe careful and keep under cover. One of the elevator boys told him thatthe robbers had made a hole in the safe. What did he mean? Did you seeit?"

  Rapidly Kennedy sketched what we had done, telling the story of how thedynamometer had at least partly exonerated Betty Blackwell.

  When he reached the description of the hole in the safe, Carton wasabsolutely incredulous. As for myself, it presented a mystery which Ifound absolutely inexplicable. How it was possible in such a short timeto make a hole in a safe by any known means, I could not understand. Infact, if I had not seen it myself, I should have been even moresceptical than Carton.

  Kennedy, however, made no reply immediately to our expressions ofdoubt. He had found and set apart from the rest a couple of littleglass bottles with ground glass stoppers. Then he took a thick piece ofsteel and laid it across a couple of blocks of wood, under which was asecond steel plate.

  Without a word of explanation, he took the glass stopper out of thelarger bottle and poured some of the contents on the upper plate ofsteel. There it lay, a little mound of reddish powder. Then he took alittle powder of another kind from the other bottle.

  He lighted a match and ignited the second pile of powder.

  "Stand back--close to the wall--shield your eyes," he called to us.

  He had dropped the burning mass on the red powder and in two or threeleaps he joined us at the far end of the room.

  Almost instantly a dazzling, intense flame broke out. It seemed tosizzle and crackle. With bated breath we waited and, as best we could,shielding our eyes from the glare, watched.

  It was almost incredible, but that glowing mass of powder seemedliterally to be sinking, sinking right down into the cold steel. Intense silence we waited. On the ceiling we could see the reflection ofthe molten mass in the cup which it had burned for itself in the coldsteel plate.

  At last it fell through to the lower piece of steel, on which it burntitself out--fell through as the burning roof of a frame building mighthave fallen into the building.

  Neither Carton nor I spoke a word, but as we now cautiously advancedwith Kennedy and peered over the steel plate we instinctively turned toCraig for an explanation. Carton seemed to regard him as if he weresome uncanny mortal. For, there in the steel plate, was a hole. As Ilooked at the clean-cut edges, I saw that it was smaller but identicalin nature with that which we had seen in the safe in Langhorne's office.

  "Wonderful!" ejaculated Carton. "What is it?"

  "Thermit," was all Kennedy said, as just a trace of a smile ofsatisfaction flitted over his face.

  "Thermit?" echoed Carton, still as mystified as before.

  "Yes, an invention of a chemist named Goldschmidt, of Essen, Germany.It is composed of iron oxide, such as conies off a blacksmith's anvilor the rolls of a rolling-mill, and powdered metallic aluminum. Youcould thrust a red-hot bar into it without setting it off, but when youlight a little magnesium powder and drop it on thermit, a combustion isstarted that quickly reaches fifty-four hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Ithas the peculiar property of concentrating its heat to the immediatespot on which it is placed. It is one of the most powerful oxidizingagents known, and it doesn't even melt the rest of the steel surface.You see how it ate its way directly through this plate. Steel, hard orsoft, tempered, annealed, chrome, or Harveyized--it all burns just asfast and just as easily. And it's comparatively inexpensive, also. Thisis an experiment Goldschmidt it fond of showing his students--burningholes in one--and two-inch steel plates. It is the same with asafe--only you need more of the stuff. Either black or red thermit willdo the trick equally well, however."

  Neither of us said anything. There was nothing to say except to feeland express amazement.

  "Someone uncommonly clever or instructed by someone uncommonly clever,must have done that job at Langhorne's," added Craig. "Have you anyidea who might pull off such a thing for Dorgan or Murtha?" he asked ofCarton.

  "There's a possible suspect," answered Carton slowly, "but since I'veseen this wonderful exhibition of what thermit can do, I'm almostashamed to mention his name. He's not in the class that would be likelyto use such things."

  "Oh," laughed Kennedy, "never think it. Don't you suppose the crooksread the scientific and technical papers? Believe me, they have knownabout thermit as long as I have. Safes are constructed now that areproof against even that, and other methods of attack. No indeed, yourmodern scientific cracksman keeps abreast of the times in his fieldbetter than you imagine. Our only protection is that fortunatelyscience always keeps several laps ahead of him in the race--andbesides, we have organized society to meet all such perils. It may bethat the very cleverness of the fellow will be his own undoing. Theunusual criminal is often that much the easier to run down. It narrowsthe number of suspects."

  "Well," rejoined Carton, not as confident now as when he had first metus in the laboratory, "then there is a possible suspect--a fellow knownin the underworld as 'Dopey' Jack--Jack Rubano. He's a cleverfellow--no doubt. But I hardly think he's capable of that, although Ishould call him a rather advanced yeggman."

  "What makes you suspect him?" asked Kennedy eagerly.

  "Well," temporized Carton, "I haven't anything 'on' him in thisconnection, it's true. But we've been trying to find him and can't seemto locate him in connection with primary frauds in Murtha's owndistrict. Dopey Jack is the leader of a gang of gunmen over there andis Murtha's first lieutenant whenever there is a tough political battleof the organization either at the primaries or on Election Day."

  "Has a record, I suppose?" prompted Kennedy.

  "Would have--if it wasn't for the influence of Murtha," rejoined Carton.

  I had heard, in knocking about the city, of Dopey Jack Rubano. That wasthe picturesque title by which he was known to the police and hisenemies as well as to his devoted followers. A few years before, he hadbegun his career fighting in "preliminaries" at the prize fight clubson the lower East Side.

  He had begun life with a better chance than most slum boys, for he hadrugged health and an unusually sturdy body. His very strength had beenhis ruin. Working decently for wages, he had been told by other pettygang leaders that he was a "sucker," when he could get many times asmuch for boxing a few rounds at some "athletic" club. He tried out thegame with many willing instructors and found that it was easy money.

  Jack began to wear better clothes and study the methods of other youngmen who never worked but always seemed to have plenty of money. Theywere his pals and showed him how it was done. It wasn't long before helearned that he could often get more by hitting a man with a blackjackthan by using his fists in the roped ring. Then, too, there werevarious ways of blackmail and extortion that were simple, safe, andlucrative. He might be arrested, but he early found that by makinghimself useful to some politicians, they could fix that minordifficulty in the life.

  Thus because he was not only strong and brutal, but had a sort ofability and some education, Dopey Jack quickly rose to a position ofminor
leadership--had his own incipient "gang," his own "lobbygows."His following increased as he rose in gangland, and finally he came tobe closely associated with Murtha himself on one hand and the "guns"and other criminals of the underworld who frequented the stuss games,where they gambled away the products of their crimes, on the other.

  Everyone knew Dopey Jack. He had been charged with many crimes, butalways through the aid of "the big fellows" he avoided the penitentiaryand every fresh and futile attempt to end his career increased thenumbers and reverence of his followers. His had been the history and hewas the pattern now of practically every gang leader of consequence inthe city. The fight club had been his testing ground. There he hadlearned the code, which can be summarized in two words, "Don't squeal."For gangland hates nothing so much as a "snitch." As a beginner hecould be trusted to commit any crime assigned to him and go to prison,perhaps the chair, rather than betray a leader. As a leader he hadthose under him trained in the same code. That still was his code tothose above him in the System.

  "We want him for frauds at the primaries," repeated Carton, "at least,if we can find him, we can hold him on that for a time. I thoughtperhaps he might know something of the robbery--and about thedisappearance of the girl, too.

  "Oh," he continued, "there are lots of things against him. Why, onlylast week there was a dance of a rival association of gang leaders.Against them Dopey Jack led a band of his own followers and in theensuing pistol battle a passer-by was killed. Of course we can'tconnect Dopey Jack with his death, but--then we know as well as we knowanything in gangland that he was responsible."

  "I suppose it isn't impossible that he may know something about thedisappearance of Miss Blackwell," remarked Kennedy.

  "No," replied Carton, "not at all, although, so far, there isabsolutely no clue as far as I can figure out. She may have been boughtoff or she may have been kidnapped."

  "In either case the missing girl must be found," said Craig. "We mustget someone interested in her case who knows something about what mayhappen to a girl in New York."

  Carton had been revolving the matter in his mind. "By George," heexclaimed suddenly, "I think I know just the person to take up thatcase for us--it's quite in her line. Can you spare the time to run downto the Reform League headquarters with me?"

  "Nothing could be more important, just at the minute," replied Craig.

  The telephone buzzed and he answered it, a moment later handing thereceiver to Carton.

  "It's your office," he said. "One of the assistant district attorneyswants you on the wire."

  As Carton hung up the receiver he turned to us with a look of greatsatisfaction.

  "Dopey Jack has just been arrested," he announced. "He has shut up likean oyster, but we think we can at least hold him for a few days thistime until we sift down some of these clues."