Chapter I: The Death of Jacob Moore

“Chief Inspector Watts, I want you to do me a favor.”

Chief Watts met the request with a rather encouraging smile.

“I have not forgotten, Mr. French, that I am considerably your debtor in that line,” he genially rejoined, with some significance.

“Well, it is not on that account, Chief Watts, that I appeal to you at just this time. I never charge up favors against my friends. But I am confronted just now by a case which, while I am still ignorant of the immediate particulars, I fear will require exceedingly shrewd and delicate handling.”

The expression on the face of the chief inspector changed slightly.

“Is it a criminal case, Mr. French?” he asked quietly.

“It is a case of murder, Chief Watts, or so, at least, it is here stated,” replied Mr. Hamilton French, one of the brightest of Boston’s legal lights and a noted criminal lawyer. “Here is a telegram I received less than ten minutes ago.”

“Read it, please.”

“It reads: ‘Jacob Moore was murdered last night. Come at once.’ It is signed by Moore’s nephew, a man named Richard Thorpe, who has lived with Moore off and on since his boyhood.”

“Who is this Moore? Is he an acquaintance of yours?”

“Oh, yes. I have been Moore’s legal adviser for something like twenty years, and am so well informed of his family affairs that this crime, if Moore has actually been murdered, at once suggests to me possibilities and complications of a decidedly serious nature.”

“And what is the service you desire of me?” asked Chief Watts gravely.

The eminent lawyer, a man close upon sixty years, hurriedly consulted his watch. It was then about nine o’clock, a clear, cold morning in November, with the mercury out of doors well below freezing.

The scene of this interview was the private office of Chief Inspector Watts, in the headquarters building, in Pemberton Square.

“I will tell you why I have called upon you, Chief Watts,” replied the lawyer. “In the light of facts already in my possession, I anticipate serious trouble from this case, if it proves to be of a nature reported.”

“Trouble in getting at the truth?”

“Precisely.”

“I see.”

“Now, I want the help of a detective--a man of brains and energy, one who is capable of noting those obscure bits of evidence which escape the investigations of most men, and who, having discovered them, can analyze them and deduce the most probable conclusion.”

“You want a rather clever man,” laughed Chief Watts, in his agreeable way.

“I want a very clever man,” returned the lawyer pointedly. “As a matter of fact, Chief Watts, you are the man whose aid I would have liked to secure; but I am aware that your duties here make that impossible. Furthermore, this Moore lives out Lynn way, which is beyond the customary circle of your work.”

“So it is, Mr. French.”

“Can’t you loan me just such a man as I have described, however--one to whom I can impart some of the inside facts of this case, and who will quietly investigate it for my special benefit. I apprehend some little bother from the regular force of constables and police, who persistently cling to their own methods and views; and I want the help of a man who will pull in the harness with me, to some extent at least, and whose features are not very generally known.”

“You want him to do this work on the quiet, I take it.”

“Precisely.”

“Have you visited the scene of the murder?”

“No, not since the crime was committed, Chief Watts,” replied the lawyer. “This message was the first intimation I had of it. I at once wired Thorpe that I would come out to the Moore place this morning, and asked him to stay active investigations until I arrived. I then came directly here to make the request stated.”

“Which leads me to infer that you already suspect some person of the crime, assuming one to have been committed,” said Chief Watts, looking up with a curious light in his eyes.

“Well, I will admit----”

“One moment, please. That’s neither here nor there. I do not wish to anticipate the work of any of my men.”

“Have you such a one as I described?” asked the lawyer, with manifest eagerness.

“A better one than you described, Mr. French,” nodded the chief, with an expressive upward glance at the face of the attorney; “for he is a young man who has qualities and abilities to which mere words cannot do justice. Moreover, if it is your wish, I will give him such assistance as may come in my way.”

“It will be appreciated, I assure you.”

“What is involved in this case, more than placing the crime where it belongs?”

“A considerable fortune.”

“The Moore estate?”

“Precisely.”

“When are you going down there?”

“The sooner the better. If you will grant the favor I have asked, I would like to take the next train.”

“Do so, by all means,” said Chief Watts, rising. “Garratt, send Sheridan Keene in here.”

“Is he the officer to whom you referred?” asked the lawyer.

“Yes, he is.”

“I think I have heard the name before.”

“You will hear it many times again, if he decides to continue the work he has begun. He is a young man of extraordinary----”

But the sound of a firm step in the corridor, followed by the opening of the office door, led Chief Watts to suppress his complimentary utterances, and to turn, instead, to the person who entered--a tall, athletic young man, of about twenty-five years, with an erect and supple figure and noticeably refined and forceful face.

“Detective Keene, this is Mr. Hamilton French, the lawyer,” said the chief gravely. “He is a personal friend--one I would be glad to effectively serve, if it is possible. I wish you to undertake some special detective work at his solicitation.”

A curious smile rose about the lips of Sheridan Keene, and he took the hand which Lawyer French extended.

“After the preface of Chief Watts,” he said, with dry pleasantry, “I hardly need assure you, Mr. French, that I shall do the best I can for you. What is the nature of this work, sir?”

“One moment, gentlemen,” interposed Chief Watts. “You have just about time to hit the half past nine train. The sooner you reach the immediate scene of this tragedy, the better. I would suggest, Mr. French, that you start at once and give Detective Keene any points you may desire during the journey.”

“My idea exactly!” exclaimed the lawyer. “Are you ready to go with me at once, Detective Keene?”

“I am always ready when duty calls,” said Keene, laughing. Yet his response was true to the very letter.

“Good!” cried the lawyer heartily. “Come, then! I have a coupé at the door.”

Keene turned back, with only one swift glance at the expressive eyes of the chief inspector; then hastened through the corridor and overtook the attorney at the outer door.