Part 20 (1/2)
”The next is Vogel's partner, Ross. You remember him? A good-natured, fat fellow with a bald head. He was always smiling. He's making little rocks out of big ones in a convict camp near Lake George. He was at Sing Sing, or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York prisoners are taken there first. It's a sort of clearing house for the other prisons of the state.”
”Would he fit in with what this bird said, Chief?”
”He might!”
”Go on, I'm getting interested.”
”Then,” said Drew, ”we have the two brokers who handled Morphy's Blue Sky, preferred; Flying Boat, and other swindles. They are at Sing Sing.”
”What's their names, Chief? I've forgotten.”
”Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and one turned state's evidence.
They got off with from two to four years. A nice bunch of squealers!”
”They'll be out pretty soon, Chief!”
”Yes--but they're harmless. I don't think they had anything to do with the murder of Stockbridge. The other fellow might.”
”Who's that, Chief?”
”Finklestein--the banker. The one who went before the Grand Jury and claimed exemption. He's somewhere on the outside. I think Flynn is covering him. I sent him over to Jersey, where Finklestein has a place near Morristown. We'll hear of him later.”
Delaney s.h.i.+fted his big feet and started counting on his fingers. He widened his eyes. ”There's one more,” he said, as Drew leaned back.
”Yes, there's one more. I kept him for the last. He's out of sight, reach and hearing. You know who I mean?”
”That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying boat, or them movie-picture things in seventeen colors. I know who you mean. He beat it, slick as any porch-climber. What's his name, Chief?”
”Morphy's brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He's an electrical-engineer and the inventor of all their shady promotions. He's the real brains of the mob. You never saw him?”
”No--did you?”
”Can't say that I have!” declared Drew with a snap. ”I call him one of my failures. I've made enough. Remember how Flood and Ca.s.sady searched for him after the others were arrested? He's cost us thousands of dollars--without result. I charged it to Stockbridge.”
”Which way did he go, Chief?”
”He beat it for Argentine. From there he went across South America to Antof.a.gasta. From there he disappeared like a rocket in No Man's Land.
No trace was found. For all we know, he might be right here in little old New York--the best hiding place in the known world. I hate to think of the places a man could plant in this town!”
”Sure! But they always come around the old corner. Remember Dutch Gus, the boxman. Five years, Chief, in every town on the map, and then he was picked up at Forty-second Street and Broadway. Maybe your friend, Cutbert, will show up some day?”
”Cuthbert!” corrected Drew. ”He's no friend of mine, Delaney. The trouble is, we haven't got a single photograph of him. That shows he was figuring on crime all his life. A man who don't get his picture taken, is generally a man to watch.”
”He's slick, Chief. What does he look like?”
Drew pressed a buzzer-b.u.t.ton. ”Look like?” he said, turning toward the door. ”Oh, he is a little fellow, quick-tempered and probably handy with a gat. He's dangerous. I think Cuthbert Morphy is a good lead if we can find him.”
”I never did like that first name!” Delaney blurted as Harrigan opened the door to a crack.
”What have you found out about Harry Nichols?” asked Drew, as the a.s.sistant-manager stepped in softly.
”Got Plattsburg, Chief,” said Harrigan briefly. ”Harry is O. K. up there. Captain's commission. Three months intensive training. Going to France soon. On fourteen-days' furlough in New York. Was floor manager for Harris, Post and Browning. Quit good job to go in the Army. Harris, of the brokerage firm, says Harry can come back and hang up his hat any time. That's about all!”