Part 12 (1/2)

Taken by surprise, Howard did not know what to say, and like most people questioned at a disadvantage, he answered foolishly:

”Matter? No. What makes you think anything is the matter?”

Brus.h.i.+ng past the man, he added: ”It's late. I'm going.”

”Stop a minute!” cried the man-servant. There was something in Howard's manner that he did not like. Pa.s.sing quickly into the sitting room, he called out: ”Stop a minute!” But Howard did not stop. Terror gave him wings and, without waiting for the elevator, he was already half way down the first staircase when he heard shouts behind him.

”Murder! Stop thief! Stop that man! Stop that man!”

There was a rush of feet and hum of voices, which made Howard run all the faster. He leaped down four steps at a time in his anxiety to get away. But it was no easy matter descending so many flights of stairs. It took him several minutes to reach the main floor.

By this time the whole hotel was aroused. Telephone calls had quickly warned the attendants, who had promptly sent for the police. By the time Howard reached the main entrance he was intercepted by a mob too numerous to resist.

Things certainly looked black for him. As he sat, white and trembling, under guard in a corner of the entrance hall, waiting for the arrival of the police, the valet breathlessly gave the sensational particulars to the rapidly growing crowd of curious onlookers. He had taken his usual Sunday out and on returning home at midnight, as was his custom, he had let himself in with his latchkey. To his astonishment he had found this man, the prisoner, about to leave the premises. His manner and remarks were so peculiar that they at once aroused his suspicion. He hurried into the apartment and found his master lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood. In his hurry the a.s.sa.s.sin had dropped his revolver, which was lying near the corpse. As far as he could see, nothing had been taken from the apartment. Evidently the man was disturbed at his work and, when suddenly surprised, had made the bluff that he was calling on Mr. Underwood. They had got the right man, that was certain. He was caught red-handed, and in proof of what he said, the valet pointed to Howard's right hand, which was still covered with blood.

”How terrible!” exclaimed a woman bystander, averting her face. ”So young, too!”

”It's all a mistake, I tell you. It's all a mistake,” cried Howard, almost panic-stricken. ”I'm a friend of Mr. Underwood's.”

”Nice friend!” sneered an onlooker.

”Tell that to the police,” laughed another.

”Or to the marines!” cried a third.

”It's the chair for his'n!” opined a fourth.

By this time the main entrance hall was crowded with people, tenants and pa.s.sers-by attracted by the unwonted commotion. A scandal in high life is always caviare to the sensation seeker. Everybody excitedly inquired of his neighbor:

”What is it? What's the matter?”

Presently the rattle of wheels was heard and a heavy vehicle, driven furiously, drew up at the sidewalk with a jerk. It was the police patrol wagon, and in it were the captain of the precinct and a half dozen policemen and detectives. The crowd pushed forward to get a better view of the burly representatives of the law as, full of authority, they elbowed their way unceremoniously through the throng. Pointing to the leader, a big man in plain clothes, with a square, determined jaw and a bulldog face, they whispered one to another:

”That's Captain Clinton, chief of the precinct. He's a terror. It'll go hard with any prisoner he gets in his clutches!”

Followed by his uniformed myrmidons, the police official pushed his way to the corner where sat Howard, dazed and trembling, and still guarded by the valet and elevator boys.

”What's the matter here?” demanded the captain gruffly, and looking from Ferris to the white-faced Howard. The valet eagerly told his story:

”I came home at midnight, sir, and found my master, Mr. Robert Underwood, lying dead in the apartment, shot through the head.” Pointing to Howard, he added: ”This man was in the apartment trying to get away.

You see his hand is still covered with blood.”

Captain Clinton chuckled, and expanding his mighty chest to its fullest, licked his chops with satisfaction. This was the opportunity he had been looking for--a sensational murder in a big apartment hotel, right in the very heart of his precinct! Nothing could be more to his liking. It was a rich man's murder, the best kind to attract attention to himself. The sensational newspapers would be full of the case. They would print columns of stuff every day, together with his portrait. That was just the kind of publicity he needed now that he was wire-pulling for an inspectors.h.i.+p. They had caught the man ”with the goods”--that was very clear. He promised himself to attend to the rest. Conviction was what he was after. He'd see that no tricky lawyer got the best of him.

Concealing, as well as he could, his satisfaction, he drew himself up and, with bl.u.s.tering show of authority, immediately took command of the situation. Turning to a police sergeant at his side, he said:

”Maloney, this fellow may have had an accomplice. Take four officers and watch every exit from the hotel. Arrest anybody attempting to leave the building. Put two officers to watch the fire escapes. Send one man on the roof. Go!”

”Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant, as he turned away to execute the orders.

Captain Clinton gave two strides forward, and catching Howard by the collar, jerked him to his feet.