The Ear in the Wall

by Arthur B. Reeve

  XX

  THE METRIC PHOTOGRAPH

  Murtha's escape from the sanitarium had again thrown our calculationsinto chaos. We rode back to the city in silence, and even Kennedy hadno explanation to offer.

  Even at a late hour that night, although a widespread alarm had beensent out for him, no trace of the missing man could be found. The nextmorning's papers, of course, were full of the strange disappearance,but gave no hint of his discovery. In fact, all day the search wascontinued by the authorities, but without result.

  On the face of it, it seemed incredible that a man who was so wellknown, especially to the thousands of police and others in the officialand political life of the city, could remain at large unrecognized.Still, I recalled other cases where prominent men had disappeared. Thefacts in Murtha's case spoke for themselves.

  Comparatively little occurred during the day, although the politicalcampaign which had begun with the primaries many weeks before was nowdrawing nearer its close and the campaigners were getting ready for thefinal spurt to the finish.

  With Kennedy's unmasking of the unprincipled activities of Kahn, thatworthy changed his tactics, or at least dropped out of our sight. Mrs.Ogleby lunched with Langhorne and I began to suspect that the shadowthat had been placed on her could not have been engaged by MartinOgleby, for he was not the kind who would take reports of the sortcomplaisantly. Someone else must be interested.

  As for the Black Book itself, I wondered more as time went on that noone made use of it. Even though we gained no hint from Langhorne afterthe peculiar robbery of his safe, it was impossible to tell whether ornot he still retained the detectaphone record. On the other hand, ifDorgan had obtained it by using the services of someone in the criminalhierarchy that Murtha had built up, it would not have been likely thatwe would have heard anything about it. We were in the position of menfighting several adversaries in the dark without knowing exactly whomwe fought.

  We had just finished dinner, that night, Kennedy and I, and, as hadbeen the case in most of the waking hours of the previous twenty-four,had been speculating on the possible solution of the mysteriousdropping out of sight of Murtha. The evening papers had containednothing that the morning papers had not already published and Kennedyhad tossed the last of an armful into the scrap basket when the buzzeron the door of our apartment sounded.

  A young man stood there as I opened the door, and handed me a note, ashe touched his hat. "A message for Professor Kennedy from Mr. Carton,sir," he announced.

  I recognized him as Carton's valet as he stood impatiently waiting forCraig to read the letter.

  "It's all right--there's no answer--I'll see him immediately," noddedKennedy, tossing the hasty scrawl over to me as the valet disappeared.

  "My study at home has been robbed, probably by sneak thieves," read thenote. "Would you like to look it over? I can't find anything missingexcept a bundle of old and valueless photographs. Carton."

  "Looks as if someone thought Carton might have got that Black Book fromLanghorne," I commented, following the line on which I had beenthinking at the time.

  "And the taking of the photographs was merely a blind, after notfinding it?" Kennedy queried, I cannot say much impressed by my theory.

  "Perhaps," I acquiesced weakly, as we went out.

  Instead of turning in the direction of Carton's immediately, Kennedywalked across the campus toward the Chemistry Building. At thelaboratory we loaded ourselves with a large and heavy oblong casecontaining a camera and a tripod.

  The Cartons lived in an old section of the city which still retainedsomething of its aristocratic air, having been passed by, as it were,like an eddy in the stream of business that swirled uptown, engulfingeverything.

  It was an old four-story brownstone house which had been occupied byhis father and grandfather before him, and now was the home of Carton,his mother, and his sister.

  "I'm glad to see you," Carton met us at the door. "This isn't quite asclassy a robbery as Langhorne's--but it's just as mysterious. Must havehappened while the family were at dinner. That's why I said it was arobbery by a sneak thief."

  He was leading the way to his study, which was in an extension of thehouse, in the rear.

  "I hope you've left things as they were," ventured Craig.

  "I did," assured Carton. "I know your penchant for such things andalmost the first thought I had was that you'd prefer it that way. So Ishut the door and sent William after you. By the way, what have youdone with him?"

  "Nothing," returned Craig. "Isn't he back yet?"

  "No--oh, well I don't need him right away."

  "And nothing was taken except some old photographs?" asked Craig,looking intently at Carton's face.

  "That is all I can find missing," he returned frankly.

  Kennedy's examination of the looted study was minute, taking in thewindow through which the thief had apparently entered, the cabinet hehad forced, and the situation in general. Finally he set up his camerawith most particular care and took several flashlight pictures of thewindow, the cabinet, the doors--including the study--from every angle.Outside he examined the extension and back of the house carefully,noting possible ways of getting from the side street across the fencesinto the Carton yard.

  With Carton we returned to Craig's splendidly equipped photographicstudio and while Carton and I made the best of our time by discussingvarious phases of the case, Kennedy employed the interval in developinghis plates.

  He had ten or a dozen prints, all of exactly the same size, mounted onstiff cardboard in a space with scales and figures on all four margins.Carton and I puzzled over them.

  "Those are metric photographs, such as Bertillon of Paris used totake," Craig explained. "By means of the scales and tables and othermethods that have been worked out, we can determine from those picturesdistances and many other things almost as well as if we were on thespot ourselves. Bertillon cleared up many crimes with this help, suchas the mystery of the shooting in the Hotel Quai d'Orsay and othercases. The metric photograph, I believe, will in time rank with otherdevices in the study of crime."

  He was going over the photographs carefully.

  "For instance," he continued, "in order to solve the riddle of a crime,the detective's first task is to study the scene topographically. Plansand elevations of a room or house are made. The position of each objectis painstakingly noted. In addition, the all-seeing eye of the camerais called into requisition. The plundered room is photographed, as inthis case. I might have done it by placing a foot rule on a table andtaking that in the picture. But a more scientific and accurate methodhas been devised by Bertillon. His camera lens is always used at afixed height from the ground and forms its image on the plate at anexact focus. The print made from the negative is mounted on a card in aspace of definite size, along the edges of which a metric scale isprinted. In the way he has worked it out, the distance between any twopoints in the picture can be determined. With a topographical plan anda metric photograph one can study a crime, as a general studies the mapof a strange country. There were several peculiar things that Iobserved at your house, Carton, and I have here an indelible record ofthe scene of the crime. Preserved in this way, it cannot be questioned.You are sure that the only thing missing is the photographs?"

  Carton nodded, "I never keep anything valuable lying around."

  "Well," resumed Kennedy, "the photographs were in this cabinet. Thereare other cabinets, but none of them seems to have been disturbed.Therefore the thief must have known just what he was after. The marksmade in breaking the lock were not those of a jimmy, but of ascrewdriver. No amazing command of the resources of science is neededso far. All that is necessary is a little scientific common sense."

  Carton glanced at me, and I smiled, for it always did seem so easy,when Craig did it, and so impossible when we tried to go it alone.

  "Now, how did the robber get in?" he continued, thoroughly engrossed inhis study. "All the windows were supposedly locked. I saw that a panehad been partly cut f
rom this window at the side--and the pieces werethere to show it. But consider the outside, a moment. To reach thatwindow even a tall man must have stood on a ladder or something. Therewere no marks of a ladder or even of any person in the soft soil of thegarden under the window. What is more, that window was cut from theinside. The marks of the diamond which cut it plainly show that.Scientific common sense again."

  "Then it must have been someone in the house or at least familiar withit?" I exclaimed.

  Kennedy shook his head affirmatively.

  I had been wondering who it could be. Certainly this was not the workof Dopey Jack, even if the far cleverer attempt on Langhorne's safe hadbeen. But it might have been one of his gang. I had not got as far astrying to reason out the why of the crime.

  "Call up your house, Carton," asked Craig. "See if William, your valet,has returned."

  Carton did so, and a moment later turned to us with a look ofperplexity on his face. "No," he reported, "he hasn't come back yet. Ican't imagine where he is."

  "He won't come back," asserted Kennedy positively. "It was an insidejob--and he did it."

  Carton gasped astonishment.

  "At any rate," pursued Kennedy, "one thing we have which the policegreatly neglect--a record. We have made some progress in reconstructingthe crime, as Bertillon used to call it."

  "Strange that he should take only photographs," I mused.

  "What were they?" asked Kennedy, and again I saw that he was lookingintently at Carton's face.

  "Nothing much," returned Carton unhesitatingly, "just some personalphotographs--of no real value except to me. Most of them were amateurphotographs, too, pictures of myself in various groups at differenttimes and places that I kept for the associations."

  "Nothing that might be used by an enemy for any purpose?" suggestedKennedy.

  Carton laughed. "More likely to be used by friends," he replied frankly.

  Still, I felt that there must have been some sinister purpose back ofthe robbery. In that respect it was like the scientific cracking ofLanghorne's safe. Langhorne, too, though he had been robbed, had beencareful to disclaim the loss of anything of value. I frankly had notbelieved Langhorne, yet Carton was not of the same type and I felt thathis open face would surely have disclosed to us any real loss that hesuffered or apprehension that he felt over the robbery.

  I was forced to give it up, and I think Kennedy, too, had decided notto worry over the crossing of any bridges until at least we knew thatthere were bridges to be crossed.

  Carton was worried more by the discovery that one he had trusted evenas a valet had proved unfaithful. He knew, however, as well as we didthat one of the commonest methods of the underworld when they wished topull off a robbery was to corrupt one of the servants of a house.Still, it looked strange, for the laying of such an elaborate planusually preceded only big robberies, such as jewelery or silver. Formyself, I was forced back on my first theory that someone had concludedthat Carton had the Black Book, had concocted this elaborate scheme toget what was really of more value than much jewelry, and had found outthat Carton did not have the precious detectaphone record, after all. Iknew that there were those who would have gone to any length to get it.

  A general alarm was given, through the police, for the apprehension ofWilliam, but we had small hope that anything would result from it, forat that time Carton's enemies controlled the police and I am not surebut that they would have been just a little more dilatory inapprehending one who had done Carton an injury than if it had beensomeone else. It was too soon, that night, of course, to expect tolearn anything, anyhow.

  It was quite late, but it had been a confining day for Kennedy who hadspent the hours while not working on Carton's case in some of theceaseless and recondite investigations of his own to which he wasalways turning his restless mind.

  "Suppose we walk a little way downtown with Carton?" he suggested.

  I was not averse, and by the time we arrived in the white light belt ofBroadway the theatres were letting out.

  Above the gaiety of the crowds one could hear the shrill cry of somebelated newsboys, calling an "Extra Special"--the only superlative leftto one of the more enterprising papers whose every issue was an "Extra."

  Kennedy bought one, with the laughing remark, "Perhaps it's about yourrobbery, Carton."

  It was only a second before the smile on his face changed to a look ofextreme gravity. We crowded about him. In red ink across the head ofthe paper were the words:

  "BODY OF MURTHA, MISSING, FOUND IN MORGUE"

  Down in a lower corner, in a little box into which late news could bedropped, also in red ink, was the brief account:

  This morning the body of an unknown man was found in The Bronx near theWestchester Railroad tracks. He had been run over and badly mutilated.After lying all day in the local morgue, it was transferred, stillunidentified, to the city Morgue downtown.

  Early this evening one of the night attendants recognized theunidentified body as that of Murtha, "the Smiling Boss," whose escapeday before yesterday from an asylum in Westchester has remained amystery until now.

  "Well--what do you--think of that!" ejaculated Carton."Murtha--dead--and I thought the whole thing was a job they wereputting up on me!"

  Kennedy crooked his finger at a cabby who was alertly violating the newordinance and soliciting fares away from a public cab stand.

  "The Morgue--quick!" he ordered, not even noticing the flabbergastedlook on the jehu's face, who was not accustomed to carrying peoplethither from the primrose path of Broadway quite so rapidly.