Chapter I: Opening Ways

Before Converse and the District Attorney separated that night they had come to an agreement that considerably mystified Mr. Mountjoy. It was no less than the assertion of a determination by the former to disappear for a time, and an assurance by the District Attorney that he would keep the Captain informed about affairs local during the latter's absence.

"Ah, and I am to provide the red fire?" inquired the lawyer, mildly, in his precise way, "to see to the braying of the trumpets and the clashing of the cymbals?"

"There is to be no red fire. I wish to vanish as inconspicuously as possible, my absence to remain unnoted; but while I am gone I should like to feel sure that matters here will remain just as they are."

"How long is this absence to continue?"

Converse shook his head. "That I can't say: a month, possibly--maybe two; at any rate, until I get what I'm going after," he ended grimly.

This determination was noted with silent approval; but the lawyer at once said:

"Since it is not your custom to furnish material for that pavement which is made up of good intentions, I will refrain from touching upon your objective. I suppose I must take you as heretofore, on faith. All right.... And how am I to keep you informed on the march of events?"

"Communicate with No. 18 Ash Lane, care of Abram Follett, junk dealer."

For a moment Mr. Mountjoy's astonishment was quite frank and decidedly patent.

"Abram Follett!" he cried, "junk dealer! Who the devil is Abram Follett, junk dealer! John, I must admit that behind your adamantine front there exist depths which I despair of ever sounding, and--and--" he finally stammered, "confound it! do you suppose me absolutely devoid of curiosity?"

But the reply was given imperturbably.

"Well, sir, Abram Follett is--Abram Follett; his address is No. 18 Ash Lane."

The attorney looked up at the whimsically elevated brow, the pursed lips, and, with a hopeless shrug of the shoulders, wrote the name and address in his memorandum-book. In a few minutes they parted.

Converse went directly to a large and imposing structure which stood close by the City Hall,--the headquarters of the local telephone system.

The lower story, given over to the offices of various departments, was at this hour of the night dark and apparently untenanted; but the soft glow of many shaded incandescent lights from the upper floors indicated the nucleus of an endless activity.

Without hesitation, Mr. Converse entered the dimly lighted lower hall, passed the ornamental iron cage of the elevator, now bearing a card which announced with direct brevity, "Not running," and ascended a wide marble stairway. He arrived presently before a glass swinging door and into an atmosphere so quiet that it made a conversation which was then in progress somewhere farther on to his left come to him with unusual distinctness.

His attention was held by the voices, emanating, apparently, from a lighted room farther along the hall. The subject of the colloquy was so singularly in harmony with the object of his present visit, that he came to an involuntary pause.

"But about Miss Carter, Henty," said one of the voices; "sure she didn't dream it after reading the papers this morning?"

"Oh, no. She called me over some time after midnight and said the line had been open a long time--told me then."

"Well, I sure would tell the police, Henty,--or Captain Converse. He's the fellow to see."

"You may tell me now, gentlemen, if it is your pleasure," said a quiet, peculiar whisper from the doorway; and the two occupants of the room sat petrified with astonishment.

The two young men had been seated comfortably with their feet on the flat-topped desk between them; one, it appeared, had been pursuing the somewhat exacting undertaking of coloring a meerschaum pipe, upon which he bestowed many a solicitous glance. The other puffed nervously at a cigarette.

"I believe you and your friend were discussing the very matter that brought me here," Converse began pleasantly, advancing into the room. "I couldn't help overhearing something of what you were saying, and I should like to talk with that young lady--Miss Carter, didn't I hear you say?"

One young man now arose abruptly, and after proffering the Captain his chair, departed.

Converse sat down. His stolid composure was not without a suggestion of affability, which was perhaps the more effective by reason of its being reserved rather than brought into play.

"First of all, Mr. Henty, when a receiver is taken down from its hook, Central pretty soon asks what number is wanted, don't she?"

"Well--yes."

"And whatever's going on at the other end of the line--whether some one asks for a number or not--is pretty likely to be heard, isn't it?"

Henty nodded.

"And Miss Carter, I take it, heard something unusual last night--must have, to hold her attention, eh? Now, I want to see the young lady that answers night calls coming in on Main two-one-two-four."

"Operator Twenty-two," said Henty. "That's Miss Carter, all right. I'm night manager, Captain, and--" he hesitated, "er--our strictest rule--"

"You need not fear that I will divulge any matter that may be repeated to me," suggested Converse, seeing the young man's quandary. "But if you anticipate any ill results from what you or the young lady may say, I can assure you it will be all right with your general manager. Mr. Patterson and I have a little unwritten agreement covering contingencies of this kind."

In the end the young man departed from the room, returning presently with a young woman.

"This is Miss Carter," said he by way of introduction. "Miss Carter, Captain Converse."

She proved to be very fragile appearing, very blonde, very small and slender, and, moreover, very tired and uninterested.

"Captain Converse has called in regard to what you heard last night--you know, Miss Carter. It will be proper--perfectly--to repeat it."

She directed her faded blue eyes to the officer and began at once to speak in a quiet, colorless little voice, as if the matter were of the commonest every-day occurrence--a familiar part of her regular routine.

"About midnight last night, the signal-lamp of Main two-one-two-four--"

"Signal-lamp?" Converse queried, vaguely; "you mean the signal indicating that some one had taken down the receiver?"

"That's it," the night manager interpellated; "a small incandescent lamp lights up, you know--that's the signal to Central."

"Very good. Proceed, Miss Carter."

"Well, before I had time to ask what number was wanted, I heard something that made me forget to ask at all; or at any rate, for a minute or so. I heard some one saying in a loud voice--" She hesitated and looked at Henty, uneasy under the piercing gaze with which the caller was insensibly regarding her.

Converse was leaning forward, an elbow upon one knee, the clenched fist of one hand supporting his chin. He was absolutely motionless, impassive, save for that wonderful look of the eyes, which played and scintillated like live fire.

Quite suddenly Mr. Henty realized the tenseness of the situation, the magnetism of the silent force which dominated them both.

"Go on, go on," he said, a trifle nervously. Dropping her glance to her thin clasped hands, Miss Carter did so.

"The voice said, 'You miserable hound! How dared you make this thing known to that--' then came a word that I failed to catch. Next the voice, still very loud and angry, said, 'Take that!' and two pistol shots followed in rapid succession. The whole thing happened in a second."

The ensuing silence was presently broken by Mr. Converse's sibilant voice, and it was obvious that the others were measurably relieved thereby.

"Did you then ask what number was wanted?" he inquired.

"No, sir," came the reply, in the same colorless, even tones. "It was so remarkable--I was so overcome--that I simply sat there listening."

"Did you hear anything more?"

"Well--yes, sir." The words came haltingly. "But I can't tell what it was."

"Try to describe the nature of the sounds. Take your time, Miss Carter; think hard."

She pondered.

"Well," she began after a moment, "I should say that what I next heard was made by some one pounding the transmitter with a hammer, and at the same time rubbing it with sandpaper; that is the best way I can describe it."

"You know," the night manager again interposed, "a very loud sound close to the transmitter sometimes becomes indistinguishable; it produces simply an ear-piercing noise that is mighty trying upon the operators."

"It was nothing like that," the young woman added, confidently. Converse asked:

"If you had been familiar with the sound, could you have identified it?"

"Yes, sir. But I never heard anything like it before."

Converse considered, regarding Miss Carter thoughtfully. Presently he stirred and sat upright.

"Like being rubbed with sandpaper, and pounded with a hammer," he mused aloud; then became attentive.

"Are you familiar with many of the voices--of the old patrons, that is?" he inquired.

"Yes, a good many of them. Some voices I recognize immediately; but, of course, to me the great majority are merely voices, and no more."

"I see.... Could you recognize General Westbrook's voice?"

She smiled slightly, as though the question were amusingly reminiscent. "Yes, sir," she said; and again the gray eyes kindled.

"That's good--very good. And was the voice you heard last night General Westbrook's?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know? ... How's that?"

Miss Carter bestowed a hasty side-glance upon the night floor-walker.

"Well, you see, sir," she replied, with some hesitation, but also with a certain air of gratification, as though she were glad of the opportunity for making the confidence, "that while his voice and manner were well-known to most of the girls--very cranky and supercilious he was, and they all detested him--he was not very close to the transmitter last night."

Mr. Henty coughed, deprecatingly, behind his hand.

"Undoubtedly," he again supplemented, "the unfortunate gentleman--I understood you to say so, Miss Carter?--spoke in a very loud voice--

"That is correct," Miss Carter broke in. "It was only because he spoke so loudly that I was able to catch such words as I did."

Mr. Converse rewarded the girl with a nod of comprehension and approval. "Your graphic description will be of incalculable benefit," said he in a tone of quiet cordiality that brought the faintest of pink flushes to her pale cheek. And then he turned to the night manager.

"Mr. Henty, I should like to try an experiment; I believe I can duplicate the sounds which Miss Carter described so vividly. May she go to a 'phone in an adjoining room while I make the effort with this desk instrument, here?"

"Sure--if you don't intend to pound it with a hammer or rub it down with sandpaper," he added lightly..... "Miss Carter, go into Mr. Bascom's office, and answer over his 'phone. The light is burning."

"Give me half a dozen or so sheets of paper," Converse now said; "then get the young lady for me, and I'll do the rest."

Henty complied with an alacrity born of curiosity.

"All right, Captain; she answers."

"Tell her to listen carefully, so she may compare what she will presently hear with the sounds she heard last night."

Converse laid the several sheets of paper on the table, and after overturning the desk telephone--but gently, in this instance--he placed the instrument just as he had found the one on General Westbrook's desk and so that it reposed on the sheets of paper. Holding it with his left hand, he hastily drew the papers from beneath it with his right. The action produced a slight hissing sound when the sheets of paper rubbed together and as they slipped from between the telephone and the desk surface. At the same time the instrument itself rattled somewhat on the desk.

"Those are the sounds, precisely," answered Miss Carter.

It was only a step to headquarters; but before turning his face in that direction, Mr. Converse paused on the sidewalk and stood for a time in deep meditation. Rousing himself at last, he muttered, "Now for you, Mr. Clay Fairchild," and set off briskly for the City Hall.

Did he expect to encounter the young man there? Was this the meaning of his muttered confidence, when he had signalled from Joyce's window some hours earlier?

It would seem that he now had sufficient insight into the motives and impulses governing the puppets in this double tragedy, to feel rather secure in determining his own movements according to their probable future conduct.

He entered the building in his customary silent manner, and at once occurred one of the many incidents that caused his colleagues to regard him with a sort of awe. He walked directly to the Sergeant's desk.

"Send Fairchild to my office," said he, quietly, and possibly he smiled somewhere within the cryptic chambers of his mind at the picture of blank astonishment confronting him. How should any faculty short of clairvoyance divine that Clay Fairchild had appeared less than an hour previously and asked to be locked up?

The Captain of detectives was tilted back in his swivel-chair when the young man was ushered in a minute or two later; he proceeded candidly and leisurely to take an inventory of Mr. Clay Fairchild, who, considering that he had been an object of diligent search by the police, bore an attitude of admirable unconcern.

Tall and spare, his features somewhat sharp in outline, he was far from imparting an unfavorable impression. The dark, intense eyes, the determined, lean jaw, all suggested Charlotte in many striking details. Although he was slender, an observer could not miss the strength and virility of his individuality. He was undoubtedly a strong, resolute young man, who thoroughly knew his own mind, and was determined not to be awed or moved by Captain John Converse or any one else.

Fairchild contemplated the Captain's huge figure with some show of interest--as if at a loss to surmise what might come forth from a source so doubtful and uncertain. He noted suddenly that the gray eyes were remarkably keen, that they possessed a glint like the surface of polished steel, and that they seemed to be searching out the inner-most recesses of his mind. But after he had detected it, he returned their scrutiny steadily until the enigmatic figure spoke.

"Sit down," said Converse, pleasantly, shoving a chair toward the young man. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Clay Fairchild."

"I don't doubt it," was the dry, drawling response. Nevertheless he accepted the tendered chair, and waited.

"Yes; I'm glad to see you, young man; perhaps, after all, you'll do." The Captain was not displeased at Fairchild's self-possession and apparent determination to remain non-committal.

"Thanks. Is it permissible to inquire what particular purpose you think I may serve?"

The inquiry was ignored. Converse sat quietly appraising the young man; and at last he abruptly said:

"Would you like to go home?"

"I! Go home!" his amazement was extreme. "Do you mean that I'm not wanted?"

"Not here, at any rate. But I'll have to lock you up, whether or no, if I can't count on your keeping yourself out of view a while longer. I'm half inclined to think I did wrong in stirring you from your hiding-place."

Fairchild gasped.

"Some explanation is due you, however," the other went on calmly; "but I have neither time nor inclination to go into it. Your sister--"

"Charlotte? What have you to do with Charlotte?"

"A good deal, young man. You will learn a lot before you are many hours older. Miss Joyce and I have come to a pretty good understanding, and it was I who signalled you to-night. Oh, you don't need to look so astonished; the sooner you realize that I am sole boss of this affair, the less trouble you will cause yourself. You go and talk with your sister. You will be glad enough to talk to me afterwards."

"Do you--do you--mean that Joyce--that Miss Westbrook has voluntarily told you--"

"Exactly. She has voluntarily taken me into her confidence. But it chanced she suddenly became ill, and some things which she fully intended to tell--well, she will not be able to tell them for a while. Otherwise you could still be roosting undisturbed in your old garret. Clever idea, that."

Fairchild was dazed. He looked at the Captain blankly, as if his mind was seething. Talk to Charlotte?--go home?--this extraordinary man had signalled to him with his and Joyce's secret code? From out the whirl of ideas but one presented itself in the shape of a clearly distinguishable fact: somehow his carefully laid plan--his ultimate resource for turning the tide away from Joyce and her beloved brother--had evaporated; this unusual individual, moving silently and invisibly behind the scenes, had discovered the wires, and now he seemed to have them well in his own hand. Then, how was it with Joyce? At the thought he became suddenly icy--frozen with a terror that put his manhood, for the moment, utterly to rout. But abruptly he became sensible again of the sibilant voice, of a note of kindness in it, and he managed to direct his attention once more to what the man was saying.

"But the result of your and Miss Westbrook's conduct," Converse was proceeding quietly, "has been to make her position one of the utmost peril. Heaven knows, it's bad enough. Now, you've got to help her."

"Good God! anything, anything!" The reply was a groan.

"Very good. Do as I say, then, and go home. There will be no charge against you here; nothing to show that you've been here at all. Stay at home till I arrive--some time to-morrow forenoon--when I wish to see you and Miss Charlotte together; and, above all, keep yourself out of sight for a time."

Still laboring with his emotional storm, Fairchild followed the Captain docilely enough; yet he had himself pretty well in hand. A hundred questions surged to his lips; questions of such vital importance to his peace of mind that it was an acute distress to keep them back unasked and unanswered; but the manner in which the big, impassive man had terminated the colloquy was so decisive that he could only manage to blurt out one of them.

"Stay a moment!" he cried. "I'll go crazy if you leave me in this way. You tell me to talk to Charlotte: do you mean that she--that Charlotte--can explain the turn affairs seem to have taken?"

The gray eyes, expressionless, met his for a moment.

"Exactly."

Fairchild departed from headquarters like a man walking in his sleep.