"I want to use your telephone for a minute," Morgan said to Marsh, as they went down the stairs. "I want to have men put on duty here as soon as possible, and I think it would be well to send out that description you have of Atwood. We might catch him at one of the railway stations, trying to leave the city."
Marsh unlocked the door of his apartment and Morgan immediately went to the telephone. He gave the Detective Bureau a description of Atwood, added that the man would probably be carrying a suitcase, and suggested that all outgoing trains be watched. Then he got the captain of the precinct on the telephone, and after explaining the attacks that had taken place, was assured that two men would be placed on duty to watch the house within a few minutes.
"Good Lord, I'm starving to death!" cried Tierney, as Morgan left the telephone. "What time is it, anyway?"
Morgan glanced at his watch.
"Three-thirty," he replied. "Now you speak of it, Tierney, I feel kind of hungry, myself. How about you, Marsh?"
"It was on my mind to suggest a little luncheon," returned Marsh. "Suppose we run down to Sally's Waffle Shop. It's only a block south, and it would be a quiet place to talk things over while we are eating. It is a good place to eat, too. I've had nearly all of my meals there since I took this apartment."
The others agreeing, the three men then walked down to the little restaurant. As it was an off hour they were able to get a table in a secluded corner where their conversation could not be overheard.
"I think this lunch should be on me," said Morgan, as he looked at Marsh with a twinkle in his eye.
"No," objected Marsh, "I should hardly call you a loser. Your work has really disclosed a lot."
"Anyway, Headquarters will think you're doing something, Morgan," broke in Tierney. "All those descriptions you shot over the 'phone today looked as if you were getting the dope on somebody."
"I suggest," said Marsh, "that as you fellows have been my guests most of the day, you now be my guests for luncheon. Order what you like. You can get anything here from waffles to a full meal."
"A big, fat, juicy steak for mine!" cried. Tierney.
"Yes, you're an invalid, aren't you!" scoffed Morgan.
Tierney rubbed the bump on his head and grinned.
They gave their orders to the waitress, and while waiting, Morgan explained Marsh's participation in the work in reply to an anxious reminder from Tierney. The startling shattering of the net, which they believed they had drawn around Marsh, for once stunned Tierney into silence. When their hunger had been partly satisfied, Morgan reminded Marsh that they had not yet analysed the peculiar situation discovered in the Atwood apartment.
"I hurried you fellows out so we could talk over that suitcase," Morgan explained. "Of course, I've got some ideas of my own, but I'd like to know what you think, Marsh."
"Well," replied Marsh, "if you and Tierney will tell me exactly what you discovered, I'll tell you what I think."
"My part's easy to tell," said Tierney. "I didn't find anything suspicious. I spent most of the time turning over a lot of pink silk and lace things that almost made me blush. There were no letters or photographs, and as far as I could see, none of the things had been disturbed until I turned them over myself."
"And I," said Morgan, "found the mess that you saw in the maid's room. I also discovered that the back door was unlocked."
"I had a theory," explained, Marsh, "and what you say about the back door clinches it. Now, suppose you were a crook, and had committed a crime that, through careless management, had brought the police right next door to your headquarters; the place you had hoped to reserve for emergencies, as a matter of fact. Suppose you had reason to believe that they would begin to suspect you. You have long had a plan ready to throw the police off the scent, if anything should ever happen, by pretending to make away with yourself. You put the first step of this plan into execution by sending a letter stating that you are now as good as dead. Then you suddenly remember that at your refuge you have left some important evidence; something that, if discovered, might offset your well-laid plans. What would you do? You'd try to get that evidence, wouldn't you?"
"That is precisely what happened. Atwood, accompanied by one of his men, who was to stand guard, returned to his apartment to secure that almost forgotten evidence. Now, the man he left on guard heard some familiar voices, or perhaps a name he recognized. He overlooked his duty for the moment and tried to listen. He was discovered. Naturally, his first thought was of himself, and he made his escape. Up in his apartment, Atwood, who had secured what he sought, is ready to go, but is delayed by this disturbance in the hall. He doesn't know exactly, what it is, so he sticks close. Then he thinks of making his escape down the back stairs, but unfortunately some of his feminine neighbors are gossiping on the stairs below. He could not go down that way without attracting attention that might prove awkward later. Suddenly he hears the door of his apartment open, and some person enter. He watches, and discovers that his daughter has come home, alone. Now, if she should see him, his well-laid plan is ruined. Its greatest success lies in her honest conviction that he is really dead. He is trapped; front, rear and on the premises. He is desperate. Something must be done quickly. In a favorable moment he springs upon the girl from behind and renders her unconscious with chloroform. He finds the back stairs still closed to him, and in his haste forgets to lock the door as he closes it. He finds a man keeping guard on the front stairs. He decides quickly that he can deal better with this man than the women of the back. He watches and waits, leaving the door open for a quick retreat. His opportunity comes when this man's attention is directed to the lighting of a pipe. In a flash he is down the stairs, knocks the man unconscious, and goes out the front door. The next minute he is lost in the crowds on the street and is free."
"That, gentlemen, is my explanation of what happened in the house today. Of course, it is largely theory, but I believe it fits the case uncommonly well."
"I'll say you're there!" cried Tierney.
"Yes," Morgan agreed. "You talk as if you had been a spectator of the whole occurrence. I doubt if a clearer explanation could be made, and I think you came pretty near the truth when you said a little while ago that we actually had uncovered something today. There is still a mystery of some kind, but thanks to you, we are now in a position to take some definite steps toward solving it."
"Still, there is one illogical point in your surmise. The letter from St. Louis arrived sometime this morning. If Atwood was in Chicago Tuesday morning, how did he get that letter off, so quickly?"
"The trouble with an analysis based chiefly on speculation, Morgan, is that many points may seem illogical and unexplained. We can only rely definitely upon the outstanding features. However, I never adopt any explanation unless it has a basis in possibility. You remember that a while ago I told you I thought that shot was a mistake—that it was never intended a shot should be fired. Whoever was engaged in that occurrence knew that the shot would lead to a police investigation, and once the police start, there is no telling where the matter may end. To head them off quickly, is it not possible that someone left immediately for St. Louis to post that letter?"
Morgan nodded. "It's straining a point, but it's quite possible, Marsh. At least, we have no better explanation."
They had finished their meal, and after Marsh settled the bill, parted on the sidewalk; Marsh to return to his apartment and await developments there, while Morgan and Tierney undertook some investigations which Morgan had in mind.
On his return to the house, Marsh noted with satisfaction that a policeman in uniform was already on duty. However, he wanted to make sure that the girl was all right, so instead of going directly to his apartment, he continued on up the stairs to the Atwood apartment and rang the bell. After a slight pause, Miss Atwood opened the door. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she held her handkerchief so as to partly conceal her face.
"I called to see if everything was all right," explained Marsh. "Why, what has happened?"
He knew perfectly well the cause of the girl's trouble, and he had to struggle hard to assume an air of ignorance. It tore his heart to see this girl, for whom he felt a growing affection, in such distress, knowing that all the time he possessed the knowledge to sweep away her grief. And yet would it? Was it not probable that a girl like her would feel even greater grief at the knowledge that her father was a hunted criminal instead of merely dead? She presented a most pitiable figure standing there, absolutely alone in the world. She had gone through experiences that day which would have made the average woman collapse, and to cap it all she had received the final blow in the news of her father's death.
Marsh's heart went out to her: He longed to take her into his arms and ask her to allow him to henceforward be her protector. It was hard to hold himself in check, yet he knew that it was no time for this disclosure of his own feelings. Instead, he stepped quietly through the door and sat down in the living room, where the girl joined him. She wept silently for a few moments, while Marsh sat and waited. At last she spoke.
"My father is dead, Mr. Marsh."
"What a shock!" he exclaimed. "I am so sorry. How did it happen?"
"You know I received a letter from him this morning. It said that his health had failed, that he could no longer work, and that by the time the letter reached me he world have committed suicide."
Marsh's life had been devoted to running down criminals. He had had very little to do with women except those of the criminal type. He was at a loss, therefore, for words to comfort this delicate girl. He was further embarrassed by the knowledge of facts which he dared not divulge. Everything he said sounded crude and rough in his ears, but somehow his words seemed to have a soothing effect on the girl and eventually her weeping ceased.
"She's a wonder!" thought Marsh. "The bravest little woman I ever knew." Then addressing her, he said, "Miss Atwood, after all that has happened, it is not possible for you to stay here alone tonight. You should go to an hotel, where you will feel protected and secure, and at least know that, even though they are not your friends, you have people all about you." He hesitated a moment, then added, "I hope you will receive my offer in the spirit in which it is intended. If you are in any way financially embarrassed at the moment, I would be glad to take care of your hotel expenses until you can straighten out your affairs."
"Thank you, Mr. Marsh," she returned. "I appreciate both your offer and the spirit in which you make it, but I am well provided with funds. Father was always generous with me, and even in his last letter he said that he had left me well provided for."
"Then pack up a bag at once, Miss Atwood, and let me escort you to some hotel. I suggest the Monmouth. It is only a couple of blocks away and I know it to be a nice, quiet family hotel where the people would be congenial. In this time of trouble you would find it a comfort to have a few women friends. I think you have made a mistake in devoting so much time to your musical studies, while neglecting social opportunities."
The girl considered a moment, then, springing up, said, "I will follow your suggestion. It would be dreadful to stay here alone tonight. In fact, now that I have no one to make a home for, it would probably be better for me to stay permanently at an hotel."
She went to her room and prepared to leave the house. She soon reappeared with a bag, which Marsh took from her. A few minutes later they parted at the desk of the Monmouth Hotel, and Marsh returned to his apartment.
It was strange how lonely the place seemed, 'now that he knew the girl was no longer under the same roof with him.
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