“Finley had to go out,” the latter explained. “I told him I would go up to Rochester's apartment with you.”
“Lead the way, sir,” he said. “I'll follow.” Kent found him a silent companion while in the elevator and when walking down the corridor to Rochester's apartment, but once inside the living room, with the outer door tightly closed, Ferguson tossed down his hat and his whole demeanor4 changed.
“Sit down, Mr. Kent.” He selected a chair near Rochester's desk for himself, as Kent found another. “Let's thrash this thing out; are you working with me or against me?”
“Why do you ask?” Kent's surprise at the question was evident.
“Because every time I arrange to examine this apartment or inquire into Rochester's whereabouts you show up.” Ferguson's small eyes were trying to out-stare Kent, but the latter's clear gaze did not drop before his. “Are you aiding Philip Rochester in his efforts to elude5 arrest?”
“I am not,” declared Kent emphatically. “What prompts the question?”
“The fact that you are Rochester's partner,” Ferguson pointed6 out; his manner was still stiff. “It would be only natural for you to help him disappear out of friendship, or”—with a sidelong glance—“from a desire to hush7 up a scandal.”
“On the contrary I want Rochester found and every bit of evidence against him sifted8 out and aired,” retorted Kent. “Two heads are better than one, Ferguson; let us work together. Rochester must be located within the next twenty-four hours.”
Ferguson debated a moment, but Kent's speech as well as his manner indicated his sincerity9, and the detective shook off his suspicions. “Have you had any further news of your partner?” he asked.
“No; that is”—recalling the scene in the bank early that afternoon—“nothing that relates to Rochester's present whereabouts. Now, Ferguson, to put your charges against Rochester in concrete form, you believe that he was insanely jealous of Jimmie Turnbull, that he recognized him in the Police Court in his burglar disguise, slipped a dose of aconitine in a glass of water which Turnbull drank, and after declaring that his friend had died from angina pectoris, disappeared. Is that all the case you have against him?”
“At present, yes,” admitted the detective cautiously.
“All circumstantial evidence—”
“But it will hold in court—”
“Ah, will it?” questioned Kent. “There's one big flaw in your case, Ferguson; the poison used to kill Turnbull.”
“Aconitine?”
“Exactly. Your theory is that Rochester slipped the poison in the glass of water on recognizing Turnbull in the police court; now, it is stretching probability to suppose that Rochester, a strong healthy man, was carrying that drug around in his vest pocket.”
Ferguson sat forward in his chair, his eyes glittering. “Do you mean to say that you think the murder of Turnbull was premeditated and not committed on the spur of the moment?” he asked.
“The fact that aconitine was used convinces me of that,” answered Kent.
Ferguson thought a moment. “If that is the case,” he said, grudgingly10, “it sort of squashes the charge against Philip Rochester.”
“It would seem to,” agreed Kent. “But every shred11 of evidence I find points to Rochester as the guilty man.”
Ferguson edged his chair forward. “What have you discovered?” he demanded eagerly.
“This,” Kent spoke13 with increased earnestness. “That Philip Rochester is apparently14 a bankrupt, that he has over-drawn15 his private account at the Metropolis16 Trust Company, and withdrawn17 our partnership18 funds from the same bank.”
“Your partnership funds!” echoed the detective, eyeing Kent sharply. “How did you come to let him do that?”
“I was not aware that he had done so until Mr. Clymer told me of the transaction this afternoon,” answered Kent.
“You did not know”—Ferguson looked at him in dawning comprehension. “You mean Rochester absconded19 with the funds?”
“Some one forged my name to checks drawn on the firm's account,” Kent continued. “I understood they were made payable20 to cash and presented by Rochester on the day of Turnbull's death.”
Ferguson whistled as a slight vent21 to his feelings. “So you suspect Rochester of being a forger22?” Kent made no reply, and he added; after a moment's deliberation, “What bearing has this discovery on Turnbull's death, aside from Rochester's need of funds to make a clean disappearance23?”
“If it is true that Rochester was financially embarrassed and forged checks on the Metropolis Trust Company, it establishes another motive24 for the killing25 of Turnbull,” argued Kent. “Turnbull was cashier of that bank.”
“I see; he may have discovered the forgeries26—but hold on.” Ferguson checked his rapid speech. “When were these forged checks presented at the bank?”
“Tuesday afternoon.”
Ferguson's face fell. “Pshaw! man; that was after Turnbull's death—how could he detect the forgeries?”
Kent did not reply at once; instead, he glanced keenly about the living room. The detective had only switched on one of the reading lamps and the greater part was in shadow. It was a pleasant and home-like room, and Kent was conscious of a keener pang27 for the loss of Jimmie Turnbull and the disappearance of Philip Rochester, as he gazed around. The lawyer and the bank cashier had been, until that winter, congenial comrades, sharing their business success and their apartment in complete accord; and now a shadow as black as that enveloping28 the unlighted apartment hung over their good names, threatening one or the other with the charge of forgery29 and of murder. Kent sighed and turned back to the silent detective.
“I can best answer your question by telling you that the day after Jimmie Turnbull died Mr. Clymer sent for me,” he began. “I found Colonel McIntyre with him and was told that the Colonel had lost valuable securities left at the bank. These securities had been given by the treasurer30 of the bank to Jimmie Turnbull when he presented a letter from Colonel McIntyre instructing the bank to surrender the securities to Jimmie.”
“Well?” questioned Ferguson. “Go on, sir.”
“That letter was a forgery.” Kent sat back and watched the detective's rapidly changing expression. “And no trace has been found of the Colonel's securities, last known to be in the possession of Turnbull.”
“Great heavens!” ejaculated Ferguson. “Which was the forger—Turnbull or Rochester?”
Kent shook a puzzled head. “That is for us to discover,” he said soberly. “Colonel McIntyre contends that Turnbull forged the letter and stole the securities, then fearing his guilt12 would become known, committed still another crime—that of suicide, he could have swallowed a dose of aconitine while at the police court.”
“Well, I'll be—blessed!” ejaculated Ferguson. “But if he was the forger how does that square with Rochester's peculiar31 behavior? The checks bearing your forged signatures were presented, mind you, by Rochester after Turnbull's death?”
“It doesn't square,” acknowledged Kent frankly32. “There is this to be said for Turnbull: he was the soul of honor, his affairs were found to be in excellent condition, he was drawing a good salary, his investments paying well—he did not need to acquire securities or money by resorting to forgery.”
“Whereas Philip Rochester was on the point of bankruptcy,” remarked Ferguson. “Do you suppose he forged Colonel McIntyre's letter and gave it to Turnbull, and the latter got the securities from the bank treasurer and handed them over to Rochester in good faith, supposing his room-mate would give the papers to Colonel McIntyre?”
Kent nodded in agreement. “It looks that way to me,” he said gloomily. “Philip Rochester stood well in the community, his law practice is large and lucrative33, and if it had not been for his periods of idleness and—and”—hesitating—“passion for good living, he would never have run into debt.”
“But he got there.” Ferguson's laugh was contemptuous. “A desperate man will do anything, Mr. Kent.”
“I know,” Kent looked dubious34. “I would believe him guilty if it were not for the use of aconitine—that shows premeditation on the part of the murderer.”
“And why shouldn't Rochester plan Turnbull's murder ahead of the scene in the police court?” argued Ferguson. “Wasn't he living in deadly fear of exposure? If he did not commit the murder, why did he run away? And if he is innocent, why doesn't he come forward and prove it?”
“He may not know that he is suspected of the crime,” retorted Kent, rising. “It is for us to find Rochester, and I suggest that we search this apartment thoroughly35.”
“I have already done so,” objected Ferguson. “And there wasn't the faintest clew to his hiding place.”
“For all that I am not satisfied.” Kent walked over and switched on another light. “When I came here on Wednesday night I had a tussle36 with some man, but he escaped in the dark without my seeing him. I believe he was Rochester.”
“You are probably right.” Ferguson crossed the room. “And if he came back once, he may return again. Come ahead,” and he plunged37 into the first bedroom. The two men subjected each room to an exhaustive search, but their labors38 were their only reward; except for an accumulation of dust, the apartment was undisturbed. They had reached the kitchenette-pantry when the gong over their heads sounded loudly, and Kent, with a muttered exclamation39 hastened toward the front door of the apartment. Ferguson, intent on studying the “L” of the building as seen from the window, was hardly conscious of his departure, and some seconds elapsed before he turned toward the door. As he gained it, he saw a dark shape dart40 down the hall. With a bound Ferguson started in pursuit, and the next second grappled with the flying man just as the electric lights went out and they were plunged in darkness.
Suddenly Kent's voice echoed down the hall. “Come here quick, Ferguson!”
There was a note of urgency about his appeal, and Ferguson straining his muscles until the blood pounded in his temples, threw the struggling man into a tufted arm-chair which stood by the entrance to the small dining room, and drawing out his handcuffs, slipped them on securely. “Stay there,” Ferguson admonished41 his prisoner. “Or there will be worse coming to you,” and he thrust the muzzle42 of his revolver against the man's heaving chest to illustrate43 his meaning; then as Kent called again, he sped down the hall and brought up breathless at the front door. The light was still burning in the corridor, though not very brightly, and he saw Kent hand the grinning messenger boy a shiny quarter. Touching44 his battered45 cap the boy went whistling away. “Tell the elevator boy to report that a fuse has burned out in Mr. Rochester's apartment,” Ferguson called after him, and the lad waved his hand as he dashed into the elevator.
Paying no attention to the detective's call, Kent showed him a white envelope which bore the simple address:
PHILIP ROCHESTER, ESQ.
THE SARATOGA
“It's the identical envelope I found in your safe,” declared Ferguson.
“And which disappeared last night at the Club de Vingt.” Kent turned over the envelope. “See, the red seal.”
“Open the letter, sir,” Ferguson urged and Kent, his fingers fairly trembling, jerked and tore at the linen48 incased envelope; the flap ripped away and he opened the envelope—it was empty.
Instinctively49 the two men glanced down at the parquetry flooring; nothing but a thin coating of dust lay there, and Kent looked up and down the corridor; it was deserted50.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?” asked Ferguson.
“No.” Kent regarded the envelope in bewilderment. “What shall we do?”
“Do? Call up the Dime51 Messenger Service and see where the envelope came from; but first come and see my prisoner.
“Your prisoner?” in profound astonishment52.
“Yes. I caught him chasing up the hall after you,” explained Ferguson as they hurriedly retraced53 their steps. “I put handcuffs on him and then went to you. Ah, here's the light!”
“The light, yes; but where's your prisoner?” and Kent, who was a trifle in advance of his companion in reaching the dining room, stood aside to let Ferguson pass him.
The detective halted abruptly54. The chair into which he had thrust his prisoner was vacant. The man had disappeared.
With one accord Ferguson and Kent advanced close to the chair, and an oath broke from the detective. On the cushion of the chair, still bearing the impress of a human body, lay a pair of shining new handcuffs.
Dazedly55 Ferguson stooped over and examined them. They were still securely locked. Wheeling around Kent dashed through the door to his right and Ferguson, collecting his wits, searched the rest of the apartment with minute care. Five minutes later he came face to face with Kent in the living room. “Not a trace of any kind,” declared Kent. “It's the same as the other night; the man's gone. It's—it's positively56 uncanny.”
“The fellow must have slipped from the room by that other door and out through the living room as we came down the hall,” he said. “Did you shut the door of the apartment, Mr. Kent, before coming down here to look at the prisoner?”
“Yes.” Kent led the way back to the dining room. “Did you recognize the man, Ferguson?”
“No.” The detective swore softly as he stared about the room. “The lights went out just as I tackled him.”
“It was beastly luck that the fuse burned out at that second,” groaned59 Kent. “Fortune was with him in that; but how did the man get free of the handcuffs?” pointing to them still lying in the chair. “We can't attribute that to luck, unless”—staring keenly at Ferguson—“unless you did not snap them on the man's wrists, after all.”
“I did; I swear it,” declared Ferguson. “I'm no novice60 at that business. Here, don't touch them, Mr. Kent,” as his companion bent61 toward the chair. “There may be finger marks on the steel; if so”—he drew out his handkerchief, and taking care not to handle the burnished62 metal, he folded the handcuffs carefully in it and put them in his coat pocket. “There's no use lingering here, Mr. Kent; this apartment is vacant now except for us. I must get to Headquarters.”
“Hadn't you better telephone for an operative and station him here?” suggested Kent.
“I did so while you were searching the back rooms,” replied Ferguson. “There,” as the gong sounded. “That's Nelson, now.”
But the person who stood in the outer corridor when they opened the front door was not Nelson, the operative, but Dr. Stone.
“Can I see Mr. Rochester?” he asked, then catching63 sight of Kent standing64 just back of the detective, he added, “Hello, Kent; I thought I heard some one walking about in here from my apartment next door, and concluded Rochester had returned. Can I see him?”
“N-no,” Kent spoke slowly, with a side-glance at the silent detective. “Rochester has been here—and left.”
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1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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grudgingly
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11
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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absconded
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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forger
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| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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forgeries
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| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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45
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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48
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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49
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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52
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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53
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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54
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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dazedly
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| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
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56
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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57
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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58
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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59
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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60
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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62
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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63
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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