Part 9 (2/2)
”In my experience I have come into contact with lots of dope users.
I know just how they act, talk and look--and THAT GIRL IS NOT A DOPE FIEND. In my opinion there are only two solutions to that mark on the girl's arm. Either she has not slept well of late, and decided to use something to help her, or else somebody jabbed her without her knowledge. The first explanation is hardly likely, because sleeplessness is treated in other ways. Now that you tell me this man Atwood is a criminal, and that you found a bloodstain on the doork.n.o.b, I am convinced that someone gave her an injection of morphine so that this job could be pulled without her knowledge. You probably know as well as I do, that the small purple mark, accompanied by the swelling, which I noticed on her arm, would result only from the hasty and careless use of the hypodermic needle.”
”What you tell me, Morgan,” said Marsh, ”confirms what I have thought for some time. That is, that Jane Atwood is only the innocent tool of her father, and the gang behind him. Perhaps not even that. She exhibits none of the instincts or earmarks of the criminal woman, and no woman with easy money at her command would spend the hours and hard work which she does in the study of music.
Confidentially, Morgan, I like the girl, and what I have just told you is one of the reasons why I have never attempted to arrest her and force a confession. I felt that all I could really do was to keep her under surveillance until such time as I could catch one of the real criminals getting in touch with her. The father and his gang have either simply been using her to a limited extent to pa.s.s their counterfeit notes, or else he has included a few with money which he gave her. Possibly he has maintained her in a home to have a background of respectability to which he could retire in emergencies. Letting her use counterfeit notes may have been just one of the slips of which every criminal is guilty. A really clever man is also clever enough to know that it doesn't pay to be a criminal. No matter how long the rope, there is always an end to it.”
”Well,” said Morgan, ”there's no question that as matters now stand, that girl is our only working point. I have already called on her, and disclosed my ident.i.ty as a detective, so as far as I am concerned there is little that can be done in that direction. You, as a tenant in this house, however, could cultivate her acquaintance without arousing any real suspicions on her part.”
”I have been watching for an opportunity to strike up an acquaintance for a long time,” replied Marsh, ”but no such opportunity has as yet presented itself. You can rest a.s.sured, however, that I am ready when it does.”
Just then Marsh sat up and listened, as footsteps sounded over their heads.
”That's all right, Marsh,” smiled Morgan. ”Those are my men taking fingerprint photographs. That was the next point I was going to tell you about--my discoveries in that apartment.”
”You found fingerprints?” cried Marsh.
”No, just the marks of the sides of two hands. Apparently not of much use--but then you never can tell.”
Morgan suddenly jumped to his feet. ”Good Lord!” he exclaimed, ”that reminds me. I forgot that I had a man sitting outside on the stairs.
He'll be wondering what has happened.” With that Morgan went to the door and told the plain-clothes man, who had been waiting outside, that everything was going smoothly and he could go back to the station. Returning to his chair, Morgan took up the subject of the clues he had discovered in the apartment. After recounting his discovery of the cuff b.u.t.ton, he added, ”and that was one of the most d.a.m.ning pieces of evidence which I had against you, Marsh--the letter--”M” on that cuff b.u.t.ton.”
”That would not have gone very far,” laughed Marsh, ”because I've never worn an initialed cuff b.u.t.ton in my life. In fact, Morgan, it could have been only a clue--not evidence--for it would have been simple, when the loss was discovered, to also lose the duplicate.
That cuff b.u.t.ton may or may not be a clue. Of course, the tenant's initials do not coincide with the initial on that b.u.t.ton, but it might have been dropped by a servant or a friend. As a matter of fact, that b.u.t.ton might have been lying under the cabinet for some time before Ames went to Europe. However, it's something worth having and remembering, for one never can tell when even a little thing like that may give some lead that would prove worth while.”
”How would you a.n.a.lyze that flattened bullet?” asked Morgan.
”The shot was fired at close range,” Marsh replied. ”It may have pa.s.sed clear through the person fired at. That bullet is worth remembering, however, just like the cuff b.u.t.ton. Some day it may fit in with and explain other evidence.”
”There is one more point,” added Morgan, ”that may or may not have a bearing on this case. Last night, while my partner Tierney and myself were conferring on this case at my house, somebody tried to listen outside my door. I was pretty sure this was so from the sounds I heard; and when I went to the door, somebody dashed down the stairs and escaped in a motor car. I'm ashamed to say it, now, but at the time I suspected it was one of your confederates.”
”You've been mixed up in a good many cases, Morgan, and probably have some half-finished affairs in the back of your head right now.
I would say that such an occurrence could be connected with any one of these. On the other hand, this case is very fresh, and you have been active in working it up. Some person may be trying to find out just how close you are getting to the trail, so as to take precautions, if necessary.”
At that moment there was a scream in the hall outside Marsh's door.
Both men sprang to their feet and Marsh leaped to the door.
CHAPTER IX
THE LAST LETTER
At the same moment that Marsh opened the door, Tierney and the man from Headquarters, who had been taking the photographs, came bounding down the stairs from the third floor.
They all saw the body of a woman lying motionless on the landing.
”Who is it?” cried Morgan, over Marsh's shoulder.
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