Up to this time the case had seemed one of the most mysterious with which Marsh had ever had to deal. Now, however, while elements of mystery still remained, he had certain definite clues upon which to work. The little notebook in his pocket might prove to be a key that would unlock the final barrier. The most important thing before him now, therefore, was to secure a solution to the cipher. It was of too important a nature to trust to the mails so Marsh decided to put it directly into official hands. He glanced at his watch. It was after six, and being Saturday, it was likely that these men had left their offices in the Federal Building. At the same time, this was a very busy branch of the Government and it was just possible that someone might be lingering late. Marsh decided to take a chance.
It had been clearly impressed upon him by this time that he was no longer free to come and go unnoticed. At this very moment there might be a pair of eyes somewhere in that hurrying throng on La Salle Street ready to follow his every move. However much they might suspect him, his exact status in the case was probably still a puzzle to them. He did not believe it safe as yet to betray his connection with the Government. The problem then was to reach the Federal Building without being followed.
Marsh called a taxi, and loudly giving an address on the South Side, was whirled away. Taking out a bill, he laid it on the seat. In a couple of blocks the taxi was held up for a moment by traffic and Marsh stepped hastily out and softly closed the door. He dashed up the street, turned down an alleyway, and half way down the block turned again through another alley that brought him to a different street. In these dark, deserted byways he could have instantly detected any attempt to follow him. A few minutes later he entered the Federal Building, quite sure that any possible pursuers had been thrown off the trail.
He found a hard working official still in his office, and showing his credentials and explaining the object of his visit, Marsh turned over the notebook. Then he slipped out of the Federal Building, and went to a nearby restaurant to get his dinner. After dinner he proceeded by devious routes to keep his appointment with Morgan. Climbing to Morgan's apartment, Marsh gave three raps, the signal agreed upon.
Tierney opened the door, but after an exchange of greetings, put on his cap and passed out into the hall to stand guard.
"Both of us must have important information," said Morgan. "Which of us, shall tell it first?"
"Let me hear your story first," returned Marsh.
"All right," agreed Morgan. "Here goes. My chief information lies in the fact that we now have two men who are undoubtedly connected with Atwood. Both of these men are known to the police, and once we get our eyes on them they will probably lead us to the men we want. It is only a question of hours, perhaps, because every man on the force now has their descriptions and will keep his eyes open. The first of these is Wagner, the man you saw in the hotel lobby. The other is the man who attacked Miss Atwood. With her description in mind, Tierney and I looked over the photographs at Headquarters. We picked out a man known as 'Baldy' Newman as best answering the description. I took a copy of the photograph to Miss Atwood at her hotel, and while she was not sure, she said it was enough like the man she saw to be the same person. Now, this 'Baldy' Newman is a well known West Side gunman, and we know his usual hangouts. He's a little bit of a shrimp, but an expert with his gun, and therefore a dangerous customer to handle, so Tierney and I were mighty vigilant. We found, however, that for nearly two years he has shown up only twice at his old hangouts. That time ties up in a significant way with your story, Marsh. The last time was early on Monday night, when he showed a roll of money and boasted that he was going to pull off a real job that night. We got this from the bartender, who was mighty sore at 'Baldy.' It seems that our friend had slipped a five dollar bill off his roll to pay for drinks for the crowd, and the bartender still has this bill as a souvenir. IT WAS A COUNTERFEIT. Of course, there's enough in all that to positively tie 'Baldy' up with our case, even if Miss Atwood had not been fairly confident of her identification."
"Now," continued Morgan. "Here's some stuff I brought for you. Sooner or later I believe you can make use of it." Morgan handed some photographs to Marsh, which he explained as Marsh looked them over.
"The first," he said, "is a photograph of 'Baldy' Newman. He's a good man for you to keep your eye out for, because if he ever shot first it would be all day with you. The second photograph is of Wagner. You have already seen him, but this picture will fix him more firmly in your mind. The next photograph is the one our man made of Atwood's letter. Of course, the letter doesn't tell us much, but the handwriting may. That last photograph is of the hand marks on the dining room table in the Ames apartment. Ordinarily, marks of that kind would tell very little. Our finger print expert, however, called my attention to the fact that there is a scar on the right hand. Of course, a scar in that position might be found on many hands, but if you look carefully at that photograph you will see that the scar forms a sort of acute angle. It is, therefore, not an ordinary scar. The man whose hand we find it on is pretty sure to be one of the men who was in the Ames apartment that night."
"High class crooks like Atwood, while they work alone, are often hard to get, but sooner or later they grow ambitious. They want to be the brains of an organization. Then they call in second-rate crooks like 'Baldy' and Wagner, to do the dirty work. These men are never so clever, and some day, through them, the police get their hands on the man higher up. I think, Marsh, that in this case that is what we are going to do."
"You have done well, Morgan," praised Marsh. "I believe on the whole that, while I have secured some valuable information, your work has really brought us the nearest to the man we want."
"That was pretty sharp of you to tie up Merton with the case," commented Morgan. "Of course, when you mentioned it to me I saw its possibilities. Before that I was thrown off the track by the fact that Merton was reported to have been missing for ten days, whereas this supposed crime occurred at two o'clock last Tuesday morning. Why do you suppose that fellow Hunt threw us off like that?"
"Probably he did not do it intentionally," answered Marsh. "Hunt is running the business for Merton, and very likely saw little of him outside of the once. It may have been ten days since Merton had appeared at his office, although only a few days since he was missing from the hotel."
"What made you suspect it in the first place?" inquired Morgan.
"I'll tell you the whole story," said Marsh. "Naturally, I was watching the papers for missing people. When I saw that announcement this morning, and remembered the 'M' on the cuff button, it began to look like a possibility. At any rate, it was worth looking up. To get at the real facts, I knew that I would have to be on the inside, so I presented myself to Hunt this morning as a private investigator who was anxious to get the job of looking up Merton in the interest of his office. I think I got closer to Hunt than any policeman ever would. In fact, I was furnished with inside information that may or may not be significant. This man Hunt holds a power of attorney from Merton, and Merton's will names him as sole executor, Of course, to a criminal investigator that sounds bad on its face. On the other hand, if Hunt possessed such power with Merton there could be no object in his wanting to get him out of the way. Certainly, a man in Hunt's position would not have had dealings with a crook like Atwood. Furthermore, if Hunt did want to make away with Merton, he would more likely do it himself than take the risk of employing others, and so place himself in a position to be blackmailed later. Carrying the thought still further, would a clever man like Atwood take a chance of upsetting his own plans by hiring himself out to Hunt as a common thug?"
"I am positive that Atwood either killed or kidnapped Merton, for I have discovered, through the telephone girl at the hotel, that Merton received a telephone call at twelve o'clock Monday night, summoning him out. That telephone call was supposed to come from the Ames apartment. At two o'clock Tuesday morning the shot was fired in that apartment and Merton has not been seen since. We know definitely that Atwood occupies the apartment across the hall, but at this time I cannot see any possible connection between the two men. Hunt is evidently nervous, because it is my opinion that he used undue influence over Merton, and this disappearance has placed him in a peculiar position. I particularly called this phase of the case to his attention this morning, and subtly suggested that my work would be of value to him in preventing suspicion on the part of the police. That feature was plainly what made him decide to employ me, and I am relying upon it to eventually get further valuable information."
"The little book, with notes in cipher, which we discovered in Merton's room, is somewhat of a puzzle to me just now. It may contain information that will be helpful, or it may prove just a memoranda of business deals. We must not overlook the fact that a man in Merton's line of work, and the men with whom he did business, have many big plans which must be kept secret until they are launched. That book may have contained data along such lines, and Merton may have simply been referring to it when suddenly called out. You will recall that we found a memorandum regarding business transactions covering the book."
"But," protested Morgan, "there must have been some connection between Merton and Atwood or else Atwood would not have taken such a dangerous step against him. Even you will admit that Atwood was not an ordinary crook. Doubtless, then, every step he took was the result of a definite plan."
"Quite true," agreed Marsh, "but there was never a plan yet that didn't have possibilities of failure. You remember what I have said before; that I believed that shot to have been a mistake. If the shot was a mistake, could not other mistakes have also crept in? Get Atwood and I believe that many things will be cleared up."
"Now there is one thing more," went on Marsh. "I cannot tell you where I got the tip, and the information is only general. Still it helps. There are at least four men in the gang we seek, and their headquarters is in some suburban house near Chicago. The most important point, however, is this: they know positively that we are after them, and have made arrangements to get out at the first opportunity. That means WE must work fast."
Morgan was sitting in his favorite chair by the table. Marsh was seated at the front of the room with his back to the window. At this moment the window glass above his head cracked, a dull thud sounded on the wall across the room, and bits of paper and plaster dropped to the floor.
Instantly Marsh slipped down in his chair, so that his head came below its back, while Morgan's hand shot out and snapped off the electric lamp on the table, throwing the room into darkness. Aside from the slight cracking of the window glass, and the dull crash as the missile struck the plastered wall, there had been no other sound.
Morgan left his chair and felt his way through the darkened room. Opening the hall door he cautiously peered out. Tierney, with his hands in his trouser pockets, was leaning with his back against the wall. He glanced up quickly as the door opened.
"Everything all right, Tierney?" inquired Morgan.
"Sure thing."
"Haven't seen or heard anybody?"
"Nope."
Morgan closed the door and moved back into the room.
"'Dead men tell no tales'," said Marsh, lightly.
"Was it that, or just a warning?" questioned Morgan.
"People do not go to all that trouble just to deliver a warning, Morgan. They wanted to get me."
"Why you?" protested Morgan. "I was here, too."
"They couldn't possibly have seen you where you sat, Morgan. On the other hand, my head, sticking above the back of this chair, and showing against the lamp-light, made an excellent target."
Marsh now rose and examined the window. "A nice, clean hole," he commented, "and not more than two inches above my head. A mighty good marksman, with a high-powered rifle, evidently."
"Rifle!" exclaimed Morgan. "We didn't hear a sound!"
"Come here," Marsh called. Morgan joined him at the window. "From here you can see the grand stand in the ball park. The upper tiers are on a line with this window."
"But," objected Morgan, "that is too far away for any man to get a good sight; and remember, we heard no shot."
"Don't forget," Marsh reminded him, "that we live in scientific times. With a telescopic sight, and a Maxim Silencer on his rifle, a good marksman could steady it on the back of one of those seats and pick us off at twice the distance without a sound."
"It is very discouraging," groaned Morgan. "To think that we may be picked off before we've even began to get near our man."
"On the contrary," returned Marsh, "it is very encouraging. When a criminal gets as desperate as that you are not very far away from him."
Marsh then pulled down the shades and instructed Morgan to light the lamp once more.
"Seems kind of dangerous, under the circumstances," remonstrated Morgan.
"On the contrary, the man who fired that shot is probably miles away by this time. He is doubtless laughing to think of fat policemen crawling around over the benches up there right now."
"They would have been," admitted Morgan, "if I had been alone. As it was, I left it to you to do what you thought best."
"I have a special reason, however, for lighting the lamp and pulling down the shades," explained Marsh. "It is just possible that another member of the gang is watching out there for me to leave. Pulling down the shades and lighting up will lead him to think I am still here. In the meantime, I am about to slip down your back stairs."
"Where are you going to stay tonight?" inquired Morgan.
"Home, of course."
"I admire your nerve!" exclaimed Morgan. "Sleeping up in that place all alone, with these fellows hot on your trail."
Marsh laughed. "Seems to me they're pretty close to your house, too, Morgan. Aren't you going to sleep at home?"
"Yes," said Morgan, grinning, "but somehow or other that big, half-furnished place of yours seems more dismal and open to the enemy than my little home here with a police station only a couple of blocks away."
"You forget that I have two policemen on guard up there. They've not been ordered off yet. If I were to let my imagination scare me to death, Morgan, I would have been out of the Government service long ago. This experience is no worse than some of the things I went through during the war."
"Now, before I go, there are two matters I should like you and Tierney to look up for me. First, locate a man named Nolan, who was formerly Mr. Merton's chauffeur. Find out what he has been doing for the last week or two; particularly where he was last Monday night. Nolan is the man who is supposed to have telephoned Merton."
"Then try to get a line on Gilbert Hunt; how long he has been with Merton, and things of that sort. I will look for you at my apartment Monday evening. If anything important should happen in the meantime, try to get me on the telephone. Now, I'm going."
As they passed through the apartment, Morgan said, "I'm sorry you didn't meet my mother. She never interrupts conferences, and has gone to bed by this time."
"There will be many other opportunities, I hope," returned Marsh.
By this time they had reached the back door, and after a silent handshake, Marsh slipped quietly down the rear stairs, then through the alley to Addison Street, where he boarded an elevated train and went home.
He was re-assured by the careful way in which the officer on duty in front of his house scrutinized him as he passed, and went upstairs and straight to bed. It had been a busy day and Marsh had many half-formed plans for the morrow.
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