Kitabı oku: «The Secret Toll», sayfa 2
CHAPTER III – ENGINEERING-CRIMINOLOGY
Although the yearly hegira from town to suburb was well on, the Forresters had delayed their departure and were still residing in the town house on Bellevue Place. To a man of Forrester's active disposition Bellevue Place meant a comparatively easy walk from the downtown section. Moreover, in the present troubled condition of his mind, the exercise would be conducive to clearer thinking, so he started out with the intention of walking home. As he was crossing the Michigan Avenue bridge over the Chicago River, a motor car slowed up by the curb and Forrester heard someone call to him. Glancing around, he saw that it was Prentice.
"On your way home?" inquired Prentice.
Forrester answered in the affirmative.
"Then jump in with me," said Prentice.
"Thanks," returned Forrester, "but I had decided to walk home."
"Better change your mind," urged Prentice. "It's a fairly long walk, and I should like your company. Remember that after you leave me I have a long and lonesome drive."
"You are out on the North Shore now, are you?" queried Forrester, as he climbed into the car.
"Yes," answered Prentice. "We closed the town house on the first. I'm surprised that your folks are still in the city."
"We hope to leave soon. The decorators are still busy at our place. We gave 'Woodmere' a good overhauling this spring. I should think you would rather take the train than have such a long drive when you are alone."
"I very seldom use the train," explained Prentice. "You know that time is of no great value to me, and I enjoy the motor ride. The cool lake air and the scent of the woods are really very refreshing after being in the hot city – and certainly preferable to the gas, smoke and cinders that are inseparable from the train.
"By the way," continued Prentice, after a pause, "have you done anything further about that message we were discussing today?"
"Yes," replied Forrester. "I have taken very definite action since I left you."
"Drawn the money from the bank, I suppose."
"I certainly did not!" declared Forrester. "I went first to the police, and then engaged a private detective agency to look into the matter."
"What did the police say?" inquired Prentice.
"Oh, I guess it was the same old stuff," admitted Forrester. "Although they did say that they believed they had a clue at last."
"Well, I hope it is a better clue than some of the others they have pretended to discover. It is certainly time they did something. And what is your private detective going to do?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid," said Forrester. "He proposes to keep his eye on this mysterious oak, which I believe is just what all the detectives have done so far without results."
"Exactly," agreed Prentice. "But it is the first time, I think, that anyone has employed a private detective. Perhaps he will be more successful than the police. Well, here you are," he added, as he swung the car to the curb and stopped.
"Thank you for the lift," said Forrester, as he stepped out. "I'll let you know how my private detective gets on."
"Yes, do," urged Prentice. "I should certainly like to get some revenge for the money those people took from me. I suppose I shall see you at the club as usual tomorrow."
"No," returned Forrester, "between now and Saturday I am going to be very busy on this 'Friends of the Poor' matter. I don't intend to let any grass grow under my feet in running them to earth." Then he added, laughing, "However, after Saturday I may have to hang around the club for protection."
"If I can be of any help, don't fail to call upon me," offered Prentice. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye!" called Forrester, as the car shot off up the drive.
Forrester was glad that his mother and sister were not at home. His mind was concentrated on the peculiar situation in which he now found himself, and he felt little inclination to talk. His mother certainly would have noticed his preoccupation and guessed that something was wrong. It would have been difficult to keep up the pretense of having nothing on his mind. At this time he did not intend to tell his family anything about the warning he had received, for it would worry them unnecessarily, especially after the fate which had overtaken Mr. Nevins.
After dinner Forrester went to the library, hunted up his pipe and sat down to think. He had just settled back in his chair when he heard the door-bell, and a minute later a maid announced that a reporter from theTimes wished to see him. Forrester hesitated as he ran the matter over in his mind. He disliked publicity and this call certainly meant publicity. On the other hand, he was seeking all the information and help which he could get, and it was a well-known fact that newspaper reporters frequently solved mysteries which baffled the police. Forrester decided, therefore, that he really had little to lose and perhaps much to gain by allowing the reporter to interview him, so he instructed the maid to send the man in.
The young man entered the library briskly, giving a quick and comprehensive glance around the room before addressing Forrester.
"Mr. Forrester?" he inquired.
"Yes," replied Forrester, affably. "Take this chair and make yourself at home."
As the young man sat down, Forrester turned back the lid of a humidor and pushed it along the library table.
"Gee!" said the young man, selecting a cigar. "You seem glad to see me. I don't always get a greeting like this."
"Well," explained Forrester, smiling, "I'm in deep trouble and you, as a newspaper man, may prove to be a friend in need."
The young man visibly expanded as he remarked, "That's right! We newspaper men can be a lot of help sometimes. If there is anything I can do, say the word. My name's Humphrey."
"I'm very glad to know you," said Forrester. "Now, may I inquire how you happened to call on me?"
"Sure thing," returned Humphrey. "You see, our police reporter informed us that you had been to the detective bureau today – that you had received one of those notices from the 'Friends of the Poor.' Owing to the death of a prominent man like Mr. Nevins, which is attributed to these people, our paper is going to run a special feature article tomorrow morning, reviewing the whole history of this affair. Naturally, we want to know all the details of each case, and what every one connected with it has to say. As you seem to be the latest victim, we are interested in the particulars of your case, and your personal views regarding it."
"I am afraid," declared Forrester, "that the details of one case correspond very closely to those of any other case. I have merely received a warning to put ten thousand dollars in a certain tree by midnight Saturday or take the consequences."
"You're quite right," agreed Humphrey. "The method in each case is the same. But the outcome is not always the same. What do you propose doing in the matter?"
"Well, for one thing," asserted Forrester, "I do not intend to pay!"
"That's the stuff!" approved Humphrey. "If everyone would fight, we'd soon put those fellows out of business. But," he added, leaning confidentially toward Forrester, "how do you propose to fight them?"
"That," said Forrester, "is a question I have not entirely settled as yet. As you know, I went to the detective bureau this afternoon."
"Poof!" grunted Humphrey, leaning back and flicking the ashes from his cigar.
"And I have also engaged a private detective," added Forrester.
"Who?" queried Humphrey.
"A man named Green – Benjamin F. Green."
"There are detectives – and there are detectives," commented Humphrey. "Green falls in the first class."
"I think I get your meaning," smiled Forrester, "and I am inclined to agree with you. That, in fact, is the great problem which confronts me now – how to get a good detective at work on the case. Any suggestions, Mr. Humphrey?"
"I'm a better knocker than I am a suggester," explained Humphrey. "I can tell you the faults of detectives as easily as I could run over my A-B-Cs. I'll admit, though, that there are some good ones. Sooner or later one of them will get on this case and solve it. I wouldn't care to take the responsibility of recommending anyone."
"I know you came here for an interview, Mr. Humphrey," said Forrester, "and I realize how dangerous it is to tell all your plans to a man who is seeking news. But on the other hand, I have a very high opinion of the ability and cleverness of newspaper men. That is why I am going to take you into my confidence."
"I'm enjoying it," assured Humphrey, selecting and lighting another cigar.
"The fact is," announced Forrester, "I am thinking of becoming a detective in this matter myself. The question is, can I do it – have I the ability to be a detective?"
"Why not?" queried Humphrey.
"Well, what, in your opinion, makes a good detective?"
"Brains!" shot back Humphrey. "Look here, Mr. Forrester. As a reporter I can scent the biggest story ever scooped up by a Chicago newspaper. A rich man, in the face of dangerous threats, turning detective and running down a criminal band which has defied the best efforts of the police department. All I ask is that you give me the dope first!"
"Then I may count on you to keep my plans quiet and give me a certain amount of assistance?" questioned Forrester.
"You bet!" exclaimed Humphrey. "To tell you the truth, you've actually got me going. I can see real possibilities to the idea. Now, look here, Mr Forrester; my paper assigned the 'Friends of the Poor' story to me the first time the matter came up. They have kept me at it since because I was familiar with the details. I don't pretend to have any detective instincts, but just my share of common sense, and I have thought the whole matter over pretty carefully. The police, of course, would laugh at any theories from me, but you, perhaps, might like to hear my ideas on the subject."
"Go ahead," urged Forrester.
"In my opinion," Humphrey explained, "the police have fallen down so far on this case because they are sticking too close to the rules. The average city detective becomes familiar with the ways of the average thug-type of criminal. Give him an ordinary murder, burglary, or blackmailing case and he knows just about where to go to get his hands on the people he wants. But when a different class of criminal begins to operate, the average detective cannot see the new conditions. He goes floundering along the same old lines and lets real clues slip through his fingers."
Humphrey paused to relight his cigar.
"Go on," again urged Forrester. "I am learning something."
"Now," continued Humphrey, "the crooks that compose the 'Friends of the Poor' have been operating for about one year. In that time they have received various sums running from ten thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars. I venture to say that in one year's time they have taken in pretty close to two hundred thousand dollars! Now, I ask you, Mr. Forrester; if you were taking in that amount of money, where would you have your hangout? In some West Side saloon or tenement, or in a high class neighborhood – perhaps even in some fine hotel? Do you get my thought, Mr. Forrester?"
"I think I do," said Forrester.
"All right, then," went on Humphrey. "I happen to know what the police are doing in this matter. They are dividing their time between watching an old oak up on the North Shore, and rummaging around West Side dives. Somewhere, in between, our men sit laughing at them!"
"I am strongly inclined to believe you are right, Mr. Humphrey," assented Forrester. "But the important question is: How are we going to locate that place which lies in between?"
"That's where you come in," maintained Humphrey. "That's where your money, social position, training and brains are going to enable you to give the ordinary detectives the go-by. When you mentioned becoming a detective, an idea hit me with an awful wallop. Now, Mr. Forrester, you're an engineer."
"How did you know that?" queried Forrester.
"We usually look up a man before we interview him. We know all about you."
"I see," smiled Forrester. "Well, then, as an engineer how am I going to solve this problem in crime?"
"By triangulation!" exclaimed Humphrey.
Forrester laughed. "Now you have got me guessing, Mr. Humphrey. As a civil engineer I have used triangulation in my surveying work on many occasions, but how I can apply it to a criminal problem is beyond me."
"Well," explained Humphrey, "the first thing to do in a criminal case is to take a good survey of the problem and the ground it covers – just as you do when you build a bridge, a dam, or open up a mine. The higher type of criminal investigator usually falls back upon his study and knowledge of criminology, which is a broader and more scientific development of the ordinary facts with which the city detective starts to work. What I am going to suggest to you is a new branch of criminology. For want of a better name at this time we'll call it Engineering-Criminology. I am not an engineer myself, and what I know about surveying and triangulation could be put into a thimble, but I think I know enough to give you an idea of what I mean.
"As I said before, the detectives are wallowing around in the mire of the lower West Side – they are in the valley, so to speak. Now, if you, as an engineer, were about to survey a certain unknown and inaccessible territory, you'd go up on the nearest high hill and pick out two other prominent points in the landscape, so as to form a triangle. Then you'd take sights, or whatever you would call it, from one point to another. A little figuring would give you the exact distance from one point to another, and a lot of information about the lay of the land in between. Am I not right?"
"You've put it very roughly, but I think I can see what you are driving at," returned Forrester.
"Continue the idea a little further, Mr. Forrester," went on Humphrey. "If you were making a mine survey you would first lay out your boundaries, tunnels and so on, on the surface, wouldn't you?"
Forrester nodded.
"Then you would carry those lines below the surface. In other words, the lines you had laid out on the surface would be a guide to you when you got below it."
Again Forrester nodded.
"All right," said Humphrey. "I think you've got my idea about this case, and what I mean by solving it by triangulation. You will take the people, and the events which have occurred, and use them as your prominent landmarks; that is, points for your triangles. You will then study what lies between those landmarks, and also what lies under the surface. By that means I think you will eventually discover some clues that will be worth while.
"For example; take Mr. Nevins, who was the last victim of the 'Friends of the Poor,' as the first point of your triangle. Take his bank as the second, and his home as the third point. Instead of measuring the distance between these points by feet or rods, measure it by people and events. Set down, just as you would the figures of a survey, the names of his friends and acquaintances, the men with whom he has done business, and any little out-of-the-way events which have taken place in his life, so far as you can ascertain them. Do this with the other people who have been concerned in the blackmailing activities of this band. By arranging your triangles so they will overlap if possible, you will get at a starting point. Somewhere the lines will cross, and at the point of intersection a definite clue may form."
"Mr. Humphrey," laughed Forrester, "you are giving me a man's-size job."
"I know it!" admitted Humphrey. "But the man who solves this case has got to put more than ordinary brains and ability into it. You have got to forget the old rules and theories and formulas. That is why the experienced detectives are falling down. They can't forget the rules! When you suggested a while ago that you thought of turning detective, I immediately saw its possibilities. Your engineering training has taught you how to study cause and effect, and work out plans for meeting unusual conditions. You start with a mind trained to solve difficult problems, but at the same time your mind is free of all the traditions of the detective craft. Things they wouldn't notice, or consider important if they did, will impress themselves upon you and start a train of thought.
"Now then," exclaimed Humphrey, jumping to his feet, "I have over-stayed my welcome and I must get back to the office and write up my story for tomorrow's paper. You can rest assured, however, that the important details of this conversation will not get into print until you say the word. But remember, when the big scoop comes —it belongs to me!"
"I promise you that," returned Forrester, rising and extending his hand. "We'll shake hands on it."
"And you may count on me to help all I can in the meantime," declared Humphrey, as he grasped Forrester's hand.
"Let me offer you a suggestion for that article which is to appear tomorrow," said Forrester.
"Shoot!" replied Humphrey.
"Announce that I have given up all idea of fighting the 'Friends of the Poor,' and say that Saturday, before midnight, I shall place a package containing the money in that tree."
"I get you," smiled Humphrey. "I'll be there!"
CHAPTER IV – THE CAR IN THE FOG
Forrester glanced at his watch. It was just nine o'clock, not too late to make his promised call on the Nevins.
The Nevins' residence was on Dearborn Parkway, only a fifteen-minute walk for Forrester, so he sauntered west after leaving the house. A heavy mist was gathering on Lake Michigan and rolling through the streets before a gentle breeze from the east, completely shutting from view all but the nearest street lights and any pedestrians who might be abroad at this hour. Always a quiet neighborhood, the mist-hidden streets now seemed somber and deserted, and so still were his surroundings that Forrester's attention was presently attracted to the soft chug-chug of a motor somewhere in the fog behind him.
When the sound first caught his ear it had made little impression, but as the purring of the engine continued, apparently always at the same distance, it struck him as peculiar that the car did not catch up with and pass him. The threat which now hung over his head, as well as his recent interviews with detectives and the reporter from the Times, had made Forrester more alert than usual. He was keenly on the watch for anything that might appear out of the ordinary in character. Although he continued at the same pace without looking back, Forrester listened attentively to the sound of the motor and noted instantly that as he turned north on Dearborn Parkway, the motor followed him. He was convinced that he was under surveillance, and as detectives were not likely to keep guard over him from a motor car, it was clear that the persons who followed him had some other motive.
Forrester was well aware that auto bandits were active at all times in the city streets, and it was more than likely that a foggy night would prove especially inviting. Still, he could not recollect ever having heard of a hold-up of this character in his immediate neighborhood. As he deliberated on the matter, the suspicion grew stronger that the car which now followed him through the fog was connected in some way with the "Friends of the Poor." If that were so, there seemed little risk in allowing them to follow him, for it was certain that the ten thousand dollars they had demanded was of more importance to them at this time than his life, and as they had given him until midnight Saturday to pay the money, it did not appear likely that they would harm him before that time.
On the other hand, he realized that he had been especially active that day in taking steps to thwart them. It was not improbable that an organized band of this kind would have underground methods of gaining information and therefore might be familiar with everything he had done. Forrester recollected with a start that he had taken Humphrey for granted. Might it not be possible that Humphrey had merely been a spy sent to ascertain his attitude? As he recalled the young man's discourse it seemed strangely fanciful and might have been planned merely to add to his perplexities in seeking a solution. He had been extremely frank with Humphrey, and the supposed reporter would have a very comprehensive tale to unfold to his associates. Informed that Forrester planned to go further in his fight against them than any previous victim they had selected, was it not possible that they had decided to disregard his money, which might be easily replaced by a demand upon someone else, and make away with him before he had an opportunity to disrupt their plans? Forrester admitted to himself that he felt decidedly nervous and quickened his pace. He glanced back once or twice and saw the blurred but unmistakable outlines of a motor car without lights. Although the speed of the car had been slightly increased when he hastened his steps, the distance between them was maintained, and Forrester's mind grew easier as he became convinced that the sole purpose of the car behind him was to watch his movements. Very probably, he reflected, the "Friends of the Poor" kept track of their victims so that they could not escape by leaving the city or concealing themselves in some out-of-the-way place. Though he was probably safe for the moment, Forrester realized more fully now the dangerous nature of the task he had set himself.
By the time Forrester reached the Nevins home and rang the door-bell, the lesson had had its effect. He had acquired part of the attributes of a good detective – caution, and a suspicion of everybody and everything. In the future, so he assured himself, he would be more guarded in his conversation, not only with new acquaintances, but with his friends as well. At this moment a servant opened the door and Forrester stepped into the brilliantly lighted hallway with a feeling of relief.
As he was well known in this home he went immediately to the library without being announced. There he found his mother and sister with the Nevins family. Evidences of grief were apparent on all their faces and after a general exchange of subdued greetings, young Nevins led Forrester to a sofa in a corner and said, "I suppose you've heard about Father, Bob?"
"Yes," replied Forrester, "and I'm mighty sorry, old man. It must have been a great blow."
"It was a dreadful shock to Mother. You know when a person is ill, and death is momentarily expected, you are sort of prepared for the final end, but when you find your father dead on the front steps, and you know that he has been murdered, it is an awful stroke."
"If you don't mind talking about it, Charlie, I should like to hear some of the details."
"I don't mind, Bob. The fact is, that is about all we have been able to talk about. There is very little to tell, however.
"It seems that Father received a notice about two weeks ago from this damnable blackmailing society which calls itself the 'Friends of the Poor.' About that notice, and what happened subsequently, we know practically nothing outside of the few details we read in the newspapers, and a little that the police were willing to tell us. Father never said a word to either Mother or myself about it. I believe he did not even tell his business associates, simply putting the matter into the hands of the police and going on about his business as usual. The Chief of Detectives called in person this morning, and during his visit, told me that he had offered Father a police guard, but that Father refused it.
"Last night Father attended a dinner of the Midland Bankers' Association, and as we naturally did not expect him home until quite a late hour, Mother and I retired at our usual time. The first we knew, therefore, that Father had not been home all night, was when we missed him at breakfast. When a maid went up to call him she found his bedroom door open and saw that the bed had not been occupied. I was just about to call up the police when the patrolman on our street rang the door-bell and asked the maid who answered the door if she knew the man who was lying on our steps. Of course, she immediately recognized Father, and when we heard her scream we all hurried to the door. The patrolman helped me carry him in. This man waited until the doctor came, as he said he would have to make a report and he wanted to know if foul play were suspected.
"Our doctor lives just across the street. He was here in five minutes, but there was nothing that he could do. He said that Father had unquestionably been dead for many hours."
"Could he tell the cause of death?" inquired Forrester.
"Yes," returned Nevins, "he stated that it was clearly a case of asphyxia. Father, of course, had been murdered by the same method as all the other victims of the 'Friends of the Poor.'"
"But," protested Forrester, "how could they get at your father? It was my impression that he always went about in his car with a chauffeur driving."
"That is quite right," answered Nevins, "but Fate was with these people last night. They had evidently been watching for just such an opportunity. When our chauffeur drove the car up at nine o'clock this morning, which was his custom, to take Father down to the bank, I called him in and questioned him about last night.
"He said he had called for Father at eleven o'clock, as he had been instructed to do, and they started for home. Just as they reached Oak Street something went wrong with the motor. The chauffeur spent a half-hour trying to discover the trouble and he says that Father grew very impatient. Father, it seems, tried to get a taxicab, but all the cabs that passed were going north and had people in them. You know it is not much of a walk from Oak Street up to the house, and the chauffeur said that Father finally told him to take his time in fixing the car and he would walk home. The chauffeur saw him start off up the Lake Shore Drive and that was the last anyone saw or heard of Father until he was found on our steps this morning."
Forrester's thoughts reverted to the car which had followed him through the fog. There was little doubt in his mind that this same car had followed the elder Nevins, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Forrester did not question that the banker's murderers were in that car now. At this very moment they might be waiting outside for Forrester to reappear. It flashed through his mind what a simple matter it would be for him to notify the police and have them ready when he started out.
"Mother," said Forrester, "how soon do you expect to go home?"
"I suppose we could leave at any time now, Son," replied Mrs. Forrester.
"How did you plan to go home? I did not see the car outside when I came in."
"No," explained Mrs. Forrester, "it was such a pleasant evening that I told William he need not return. After the excitement and worry we have been through I thought it would be good for us to walk home."
"It is not at all nice out now," said Forrester. "A heavy fog has come up. I think I would better call a taxicab."
Forrester went to the telephone and ordered a taxicab. Then he whispered to Nevins, "May I use a phone upstairs where I can talk without being overheard?"
"Yes," informed Nevins, "you will find a phone in Father's room."
Forrester went upstairs and called police headquarters. He briefly explained who he was, what had occurred on his walk over, and suggested that they watch for the strange car as he returned home.
"Leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes," instructed the man at headquarters, "and we'll be ready for you."
After returning to the library Forrester took an occasional surreptitious look at his watch and was pleased to hear the taxi driver ring the door-bell just as the fifteen minutes expired.
As Forrester assisted his mother down the steps he glanced hastily around. The fog was still heavy. He could make out nothing save the taxicab at the curb, but just as he was giving the address to the taxi driver he noticed a small man of slight build appear out of the fog. This man stopped quite near to him and lit a cigarette. Aside from noting the man's build and the fact that he wore a cap and had very dark hair, Forrester could make out no other details, for the man stood with his back to Forrester and the lighted match really served only to throw him out in silhouette. Forrester entered the cab and it started off. As he leaned back he reflected that the man he had seen was of too small a stature to be a detective. His act of stopping so close to them might have been mere accident, but to Forrester the thing had a significance which could not be overlooked. He was confident that this was one of the men they wanted. He hoped that the police, although not visible in the fog, had arrived as promised. If so, he felt that their problems were pretty close to a final solution.
They reached Bellevue Place without incident. The whir of the taxicab's engine had effectually drowned any sound of pursuit and though he had glanced back several times, Forrester had been able to see nothing save a wall of fog back of the cab. Yet somewhere in that fog-draped street he was sure the murderers' car was lurking.
There appeared to be no one around as they left the cab, but Forrester, after his mother and sister had gone into the house, lingered for a moment in the dark doorway. He could hear the hum of the taxicab's engine as it passed down the street toward the Lake Shore Drive. Otherwise the night was silent.
Suddenly Forrester heard the roar of opened mufflers in the other direction, and the next instant two black shapes passed swiftly by through the fog. Red flashes leaped out of the darkness and sharp reports resounded through the street as they passed the door.
"The police are on the job!" exulted Forrester.
He hastily stepped inside and closed the door, for his army experience had shown him the danger of stray bullets.
