Part 4

Joe followed his uncle up the staircase. He kept close to the dog, afraid, in this house of terror, of he knew not what. In the upper hall Captain Tucker halted and clutched his arm.

"Doctor," he said rapidly, "there was something I did not want to tell you downstairs in front of them. I found something in the room."

"Finger prints?"

"No; the candle-stick had been wiped clean. A plain, silk handkerchief. It had evidently been used to cover the lower part of the murderer's face. I found it in the center of the floor."

Joe saw the familiar tense lines form around his uncle's mouth, and a soundless whistle came from the blind man's lips. "So! I hadn't expected that. King was right. They had reason not to trust one another."

"What's that, Doctor?"

"Nothing, Captain; nothing. Lead me in."

A huddled figure was twisted grotesquely upon the bed. Joe, with a sudden spot of ice in the pit of his stomach, backed out into the hall. Presently there were leisurely footsteps on the stairs, and from inside the room his uncle's voice said, "Lady, trail." The footsteps came on. But the boy's ears were held by the softer pad-pad-pad of the shepherd dog's feet.

Lady came out into the hall, ears back and nose close to the floor. Sniffing, she veered this way and that, but went steadily along the passage. And then, suddenly, Joe's heart gave a choked throb, for the tawny shepherd had swung in and came to a stop before a closed door. True to her training, she stopped with her head below the lock; and Dr. Stone, reaching out a groping hand, touched the knob.

"Who's room is this?" he asked.

"Mine," came Otis King's voice from down the hall.

The tense lines were back around the doctor's mouth. "The trail clouds again, Tucker," he said; but Captain Tucker, triumphant, held out the silk handkerchief.

"Ever see this before, King?"

"No."

"It was found near Anthony's body. The dog, taking a scent from it, followed a trail to your door. How you explain that?"

"Seeing that this is the first time I've been upstairs, I can't explain it. Cagge brought my bag to this room, but I did not follow. When Anthony went tottering off to bed I went outdoors and tramped the roads for hours."

"What for?" Captain Tucker barked.

"I was trying," King said, "to hatch a plan by which I might get my hands on that manuscript."

"And then you came back, and came up here----"

"I came back, but did not come upstairs. I went out again at once."

"Still plotting, I suppose?" Captain Tucker said in sarcasm.

"No," King said coolly; "the second time I acted. I destroyed Anthony's book."

Joe found it hard to swallow. Uncle David said the man who stole the manuscript was the man who had killed! Dr. Stone's face was expressionless:

"I thought so."

"Look here," King burst out angrily. "I told you I went out. When I came back the house was dark. As I opened the front door I heard someone run up the stairs. I snapped on the light, and a bundle of typed papers lay on the floor. I had to read only half a page to know it was Anthony's manuscript. Would I be apt to tell voluntarily that I destroyed the book if the fact would link me to the murder?"

Captain Tucker seemed a bit taken back. Lawton's voice came from downstairs:

"Breakfast, Otis."

"You might have built this up," Captain Tucker said suspiciously.

"I might," King agreed. He was once more dapper and assured.

But when he came down stairs to the table, Joe saw that he had hardened into cold watchfulness. Freeman said, "Sorry you won't eat with us, Doctor." Lady, walking restlessly around the table, stopped at Freeman's place and the man offered her a strip of bacon.

"Quite a dog, Doctor."

"Quite," Dr. Stone agreed; and Joe, reading something in the word, gave his uncle a sharp, expectant glance.

Cagge came in from the kitchen with more coffee. His hand shook as he refilled the cups, and the spout of the pot chattered against the china.

"Cagge," Dr. Stone said suddenly, "how did you sleep last night?"

"I didn't--much," Cagge answered in his nasal monotone. "I didn't like the look of things."

"Did you hear anybody go out?"

"Yes." The servant put down the pot. "It was blasted queer. I heard somebody go out twice, and I heard somebody come back three times."

"That doesn't make sense," Captain Tucker said irritably.

"Everything makes sense when you understand it," the blind man observed. Joe, catching a movement of the hand that held Lady's leash, followed his uncle into the living-room.

"Joe, was the window of King's room open?"

"Yes, sir."

The meal was over, and the four men came back through the doorway. Dr. Stone found his chair. Ran Freeman dropped down upon the piano stool, but Lawton seemed to seek a seat far from the blind man and the dog. Waring paced the room, and Otis King was still cold and watchful.

Freeman's fingers, once more running soundlessly over the keys, struck a faint note. As though the sound had broken a barrier, he banged a chord. The next instant, swinging about on the stool, he faced the instrument and began to play, freely and without restraint.

Joe found it hard to swallow. Music, in this house of death, sounded ghastly, almost sacrilegious. He looked at his uncle. The calmness was gone from Dr. Stone's face. Around the sightless eyes, around the serene mouth, strange, intense lines he knew well had suddenly formed.

Captain Tucker had gone out into the kitchen to talk to Cagge. Freeman ended with a crash of sound. Seconds passed, and nobody spoke. The silence seemed no more ghastly than the music.

"Ran," Otis King drawled, dangerously quiet, "your veins must be filled with ice."

"Why be hypocrites?" Freeman demanded. "We're not mourning Anthony, are we?"

"We can be decent about it," King told him.

Dr. Stone's voice was again a calm stream. "There was one part, Freeman--Tum, te-tum-tum, tum-tum-te-tum. Toward the end. The execution was fast. Tum, te-tum----"

"Oh, this." Freeman faced the key-board again and began to play. "This what you mean?"

"Play it," said the blind man.

Ran Freeman played. He was an artist, and he knew it. But Joe no longer gave ear to the music. Something quiet--something too quiet--had been in his uncle's voice. Something that suggested a cocked trigger about to be fired. He shivered, and gripped the ends of his sweater, and held them tight.

For the second time the music ended in a crash of chords. Freeman, swung about on the stool.

"Like it, Doctor?"

"Beautifully done," the blind man said. He lay back against the cushions of the chair, loose and relaxed. "In fact, it would have been perfect if----"

Freeman chuckled. "Are you a music critic, too, Doctor? If what?"

"If," Dr. Stone said quietly, "if many of those rapid notes had been struck by a living touch."

Joe screamed, "Look out, Uncle David." For Freeman, no longer self-contained, had leaped from the stool and one hand had gone toward a pocket.

The blind man did not move. "Lady, get him."

A tawny form hurtled through the air. There was the sound of a falling body, a scream of terror. Captain Tucker came running in from the kitchen.

"What----"

"It's all right, Tucker." Dr. Stone's voice was once more a calm stream. "Lady will merely hold him. He's your man."

Ten minutes later Lawton, King and Waring were gone, glad to be free and away. Ran Freeman, white and sullen, sat handcuffed in one of the big chairs. Captain Tucker, having telephoned for a policeman to relieve him until the Coroner arrived, came back to the living-room.

"I still don't get it, Doctor," he said ruefully. "After Lady trailed to King's room----"

"That was a laid trail," Dr. Stone told him. "Anthony had warned them there was a dog that could track. Would a man deliberately invite detection by leaving a trail right to his door? However, some one of the four had been in the room. Which one? Probably the one with most at stake. Lawton stood to suffer in a small business. Waring and King would have lost their jobs. But Freeman stood to lose the Panner fortune.

"King told us he had not been in the room, or unpacked his bag, or been to bed. So far as the bed and the bag were concerned it had to be the truth, for it was a story too easily disproved if he had lied. By the same reasoning, knowing that there was a dog in the neighborhood that could follow scent, he would not have made a trail to his own room if he had committed murder. Therefore, when the trail led to a room in which there was a rumpled bed and a bag partly unpacked, one fact was obvious. King was not the man.

"He said he had gone out twice. But Cagge said somebody had come in three times. Did you notice the open window in King's room? The ceilings down here are low--a blind man can feel these things. The second floor wouldn't be far from the ground. Whoever killed Anthony knew King was out of the house. Therefore, after the crime, he purposely left the silk handkerchief to give the dog a scent. Then, going to King's room, he mussed the bed, dragged clothing out of the bag, and dropped out the window. No doubt you'll find deep footprints where he dropped. Going into the room and out the window, he probably reasoned, brought the trail to King's room and ended it there.

"He was the third man Cagge heard come in. He must have brought Anthony's manuscript back into the house with him intending to dispose of it later. But King must have come back almost on his heels. Not wanting to be found with the manuscript he dropped it and fled. Perhaps he reasoned that King, finding it, would destroy it, anyway. If I had any doubts at all they were gone when we came downstairs. The four men were eating. Lady, circling the table, stopped at Freeman's chair. She had found the scent again. I don't think Freeman meant to kill. His idea was to steal the book. But Anthony awoke. Am I right?"

Freeman had recovered some of his nerve. "Do you expect any jury to convict on the testimony of a dog?" he demanded.

"Tucker," said Dr. Stone, "will you look at his right hand?"

Joe shrank away from the prisoner's violent struggle to free himself of the handcuffs. Captain Tucker, holding Freeman in the chair, turned a startled face toward the blind man.

"Why, Doctor?----"

"Exactly, Tucker. I had the testimony of Lady, but I needed greater proof. Freeman gave it to me when he played the piano. All through the music something kept recurring. Perhaps, were I not blind, did I not have to depend so much on hearing, I would not have noticed it. A hesitation on certain notes, an almost imperceptible break in the rhythm, a faint click upon the ivory of the keys that could only be made by something foreign, something that was not living flesh. Freeman has an artificial finger."

Freeman had slumped in the chair. Captain Tucker straightened up.

"Doctor," he said curiously, "your brain travels too fast for me.... Much too fast. Just what does that prove?"

"Everything," Dr. Stone said quietly. "Modern surgery does miracles these days. Freeman has an artificial finger that can be taken off. Do you remember Cagge's story? Old Anthony kept muttering 'Four, four.' That's what he had seen. Four! Four fingers on the hand of his murderer."

BLIND MAN'S TOUCH

Dr. Stone, reaching into the closet, found the gray suit that needed pressing. He knew it was gray because his fingers felt the three sharply-ridged lines of thread sewed on the inside of the collar. So, to the blind man, was every suit, shirt, tie and sock in his wardrobe marked for exact identification. One raised ridge of thread for blue, two for brown, and three for gray.

He came down the stairs with the suit. Joe Morrow had put a leash on Lady, and she whined eagerly.

"Ready to go, old girl?" The blind man patted the dog's head and took the leash. "All set, Joe? Got your money?"

"Yes, sir." The boy felt for the two dollars he had earned weeding a neighbor's garden. "I'll have fourteen dollars saved," he boasted.

"Wealth," the doctor chuckled, and snapped open his watch and touched the exposed hands with a finger. "We'll be back in time for dinner."

But that was a dinner they were destined never to eat.

Roses bloomed in the summer heat, fields of corn tasseled in the sun, and a dog ran out of a yard and barked at them furiously. Lady, intent only on the blind man in her keeping, pricked up her ears but did not change her rapid pace. The village was busy with its Saturday morning trade, and the tawny brute carefully maneuvered the doctor through the crowds. Joe clutched his two dollars and his bank-book. They left the gray suit at the tailor's and came out to the street. And at that moment a man, coatless and hatless, ran out of the Pelle Canning Company building and went past them, panting.

Dr. Stone said: "Did you hear that man's breathing, Joe? He's frightened. Who is he?"

"Mr. Pelle," the boy told him.

"Where did he go?"

"Into the bank."

The doctor said: "Lady, right," and followed the dog across the roadway to the bank side of the street. A small door in one of the two-story brick buildings opened suddenly, and a girl hurried out. The door was marked: "OFFICE, MIDSTATE TEL. CO. UPSTAIRS," and the girl was Tessie Rich, one of the telephone operators. In her haste she almost ran into the blind man.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Doctor."

"No harm done, Tessie," Dr. Stone said, and chuckled slyly. "We're on our way to the bank. Any message you'd like me to give Albert Wall?"

The girl colored rosily. "I usually give him my own messages."

The wail of a siren filled the street and a police car went past them, traveling fast. Instantly the girl was across the sidewalk and through the telephone company door. The car stopped at the bank, and Joe saw a figure in blue uniform and brass buttons get out.

"Captain Tucker?" the blind man asked.

"Yes, Uncle David."

"The bank?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tessie gone? I see. And Tucker and Pelle both in a hurry." The doctor whistled an almost soundless whistle. "We'd better get on, Joe."

Something had gone wrong at the bank. The boy saw that at once. A score of depositors clung together in knots on the main floor, uneasy bank clerks stood behind the bronze grille of the teller's windows, and from some inner room came a roaring, bull voice shouting in anger. Bryan Smith, the president of the bank, agitated and flushed, appeared in the doorway of the little room, saw the blind man and cried out:

"Doctor! Doctor Stone! This way, please."

Joe Morrow, still clutching his two dollars and his pass-book, went with his uncle and the dog, and the door closed upon them. Inside the room three men stood about the bank president's desk. The veins in Mr. Pelle's neck were swollen with rage; Albert Wall, the cashier, tapped his fingers against the desk and frowned, and a third man, who looked lost and bewildered, held on to the back of a chair near the window. This third man, whom Joe had never seen before, smelled of antiseptics and carried his right arm in a sling.

"Doctor," Bryan Smith sputtered, "this bank has been robbed of five thousand dollars. Robbed right under our noses. Not fifteen minutes ago."

"By whom?" the doctor asked quietly.

"We don't know. Somebody put a forged check through the window. At least Pelle says he signed only one check and----"

"What do you mean I say I signed only one check?" the canner roared. "I tell you I signed only one. I should know! If you were fools enough to pay----"

"But I telephoned you, Mr. Pelle," Albert Wall broke in. "You said----"

"I know what I said. I told you I had given a check to Fred Hesset for five thousand dollars. If you paid five thousand dollars to another man on a forged check that's your funeral. The real Hesset is here." Mr. Pelle pointed to the man with bandaged arm. "Pay him."

"Not so fast," Bryan Smith fumed. "One check has been paid already. Now we have another and you say you signed only one. Which one?" The bank president held out two slips of paper.

Joe had a glimpse of them. Both were dated that day, both were made out to Fred Hesset, both were for five thousand dollars, both were signed "Paul Pelle." The canner stared at them for a long minute.

"This one," he said, and pushed one of the checks across the desk.

"How do you know?"

"Because this one is number 1046. I gave Hesset check No. 1046."

"How about your signature on this other check?"

"I tell you that isn't my signature."

With a quick movement the banker scrambled the checks and then laid them side by side partly covered by a blotter so that only the signatures showed.

"Now, Pelle," he snapped, "which one did you sign?"

The canner's neck swelled again. "What is this," he roared; "a trap? I can't tell them apart. That's what you're supposed to be able to do. I tell you----"

"Gentlemen." Dr. Stone's voice was mild. "Let's stay with facts. As I understand it Pelle gave a man named Hesset a check for five thousand dollars this morning. What for?"

"Damages," Mr. Pelle snapped. "Hesset owns a butcher shop at Arlington. One of my trucks got out of control and skidded into the front of the shop. Hesset was caught in the wreckage; broken arm and broken collarbone. I don't carry liability insurance. I settled with him and gave him a check at eleven o'clock this morning."

Captain Tucker said: "Where does this second check come in?"

"Tell them, Albert," Bryan Smith ordered.

The cashier's fingers ceased to tap the desk. "At 11:13--I happened to glance at the clock--a man pushed a check through the window. It was a five thousand dollar check, made out to Fred Hesset and signed by Mr. Pelle. The man couldn't identify himself, so I called Mr. Pelle and was told he had given the check a few minutes before. I cashed it. Ten minutes later another Hesset check for five thousand dollars came through the window. It looked queer. I called Mr. Pelle again." Albert Wall made a gesture with his hands. "Then I telephoned for Captain Tucker."

The captain cleared his throat. "That first check was the forged check?"

Again the cashier's hands moved. "So Mr. Pelle says."

The canner's face was livid. But before he could roar his wrath Dr. Stone's voice sounded quietly in the breathless tension of the room.

"May I see those checks?"

"Why--" The idea of sightless eyes trying to examine handwriting staggered Bryan Smith. "Why--why, of course, Doctor," he said weakly.

The checks crinkled faintly in the blind man's hands. Joe, watching his uncle's face, suddenly saw a sign that sent a hot needle through his spine. Tight, puckered lines had gathered around the sightless eyes.

"How many persons knew this check was to be paid today?" Dr. Stone asked.

"No one," Mr. Pelle answered shortly. "Things not connected directly with the buying and selling I keep to myself."

"But if you wrote Hesset surely your stenographer----"

"I didn't write. I telephoned."

"When?"

"Last Monday evening--seven o'clock. I was alone in the office. I told him to be here promptly at eleven this morning."

Albert Wall said: "If you'll excuse me a moment--" and was gone. Joe felt the warning pressure of his uncle's foot upon his toe. The door of the inner room had not been tightly closed. Craning his neck, the boy saw the cashier at a telephone. Presently Albert Wall came back still with that slight frown upon his face.

"This thing was planned ahead," Captain Tucker said slowly.

"Forgery is always planned ahead," Dr. Stone agreed. "Somebody knew that at eleven this morning Pelle was to give Hesset a check. By the way, Pelle, when you telephoned Monday evening did you tell Hesset what the amount of the check would be?"

"Certainly. No man settles a damage claim without knowing what he's going to get. I offered five thousand dollars; he accepted."

"So somebody knew three important facts--that you were going to pay a check at a certain time, the exact amount of the check and to whom it was to be made payable."

"Nobody knew it," the canner insisted.

"Except you and Hesset," the blind man said mildly.

The bandaged man, holding to the back of the chair, seemed to grow even more bewildered. Mr. Pelle's face was thrust across the desk.

"Doctor," he rasped, "are you insinuating----"

Lady gave a low, deep-throated growl. One of the blind man's hands touched the tawny head.

"Pelle," he asked, "how did you come to pick a Saturday morning to settle with Hesset?"

"Any law against it?" Mr. Pelle demanded.

"No." The doctor's voice was bland. "This is a small bank. It has only two really busy hours in the week. There is a rush from eleven to noon on Saturday just before the week-end closing; another rush from eight to nine Monday morning with business men coming in with their Saturday cash. During the week there would be leisure for a cashier to scrutinize a man; perhaps to telephone and ask, among other things, for a description. But on Saturday, after eleven, there is pressure and haste. And in this hour of pressure a check went through."

Mr. Pelle wet his lips nervously. Captain Tucker stood very still.

"Anything else, Doctor?" he asked.

"Why, yes." The blind man took a pipe from his pocket and filled it slowly. "Why did Hesset bring his check here to be cashed? Why didn't he take it back to Arlington and deposit it in his own bank?"

"Well, Hesset?" the police captain barked.

Joe saw the bandaged man grip the back of the chair with his good hand. "I know nothing about two checks, Captain. I saw only one check. I wanted the money in my pocket. Cash is cash. Sometimes a check you think is good----"

Mr. Pelle's roar filled the room. "You dare say that to me, Hesset?" Captain Tucker sprang between the two men, and Joe shrank out of the way. Dr. Stone said: "I had better take the dog out of here. Come, Joe." It was long past noon, and the bank was closed. Albert Wall went with them down the long, deserted floor to open the front door and let them out.

"What do you make of this?" he asked in an undertone.

"Pelle?" the doctor asked mildly.

The cashier hesitated. "Well--yes. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money. I know the condition of Pelle's account; business hasn't been any too good of late and five thousand dollars might hit him hard. If he could pay five thousand dollars with one hand and manipulate a forged check with the other and get five thousand dollars back from the bank--. For that, though, he'd need a confederate, somebody to go to the window with the first check. It doesn't seem probable."

"A possibility though," the blind man said. "A great many possibilities," he added. "Let's not forget Hesset. Either Hesset or Pelle could have worked this with a confederate. Or some person, unknown and unsuspected, might be the criminal. Good day, Albert." He held out his hand.

"Good-bye, Doctor." Their hands met. The heavy door of the bank closed.

The puckered lines had come back to the sightless eyes. Man, boy and dog came down the stone steps of the old-fashioned building. On the sidewalk the doctor spoke.

"Joe, you could see them. How did Pelle strike you?"

"He was wild," the boy answered.

"A man may protest too much or too little," the blind man observed dryly. "Hesset?"

"He was scared."

"So! That leaves Albert Wall. Could you see him when he left the room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did he go?"

"To a telephone."

"Good lad!" The doctor knocked the ashes from his pipe and walked beside the dog in silence. "The telephone office," he said suddenly.

Joe wondered what unseen tangent of the case could bring them there. They went up a narrow mountain of a stairway. Lady, leading, slowed and swung her Master to the left, stopping him at the counter.

"Can you tell me," Dr. Stone asked, "what operators were on duty at seven o'clock last Monday night?"

"We have only one girl on duty after 6:45," the manager told him, and consulted a record. "That was Tessie Rich's night. Any complaint, Doctor?"