Part 28 (2/2)

Marsh took a photograph from his pocket. ”Among the traces left in that apartment,” he went on, ”were the imprints of a man's hands on the dining room table. I have here a photograph of those imprints, and among the many identifying marks there is a scar of a peculiar shape.”

Marsh returned the photograph to his pocket.

”I am very glad to learn that you have cleared up the murder of my employer, Mr. Marsh,” said Hunt. ”What seems curious to me, however, is why you should think this man Atwood would want to kill Mr.

Merton. Surely Mr. Merton could never have had any dealings with a criminal such as you describe Atwood to be.”

”On the contrary, Mr. Hunt,” returned Marsh, ”Merton had extensive business dealings with Atwood. In fact, he went so far as to place Atwood in a position where he could rob Merton of several hundred thousand dollars worth of stocks and bonds. The transfer of these securities had been taking place for a year or more, and it had reached the point where the greater part of Merton's fortune was in Atwood's hands. It is evident that Atwood's original intention was to step quietly out of sight with this fortune, but subsequent events led him to believe that he could go on in quiet security if Merton were out of the way. That was the reason why Merton was murdered.”

Hunt threw the remains of his cigar into the fireplace, and slipped the hand that had held it down into the pillows of the davenport.

”And you think you have at last located this man Atwood do you, Mr.

Marsh?”

”Yes,” returned Marsh, calmly, ”because I have absolute proof that CLARK ATWOOD AND GILBERT HUNT ARE ONE AND THE SAME MAN!”

Instantly Hunt's hand whipped out from behind the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, and the three detectives found themselves covered by an automatic as Hunt stood up.

”Clever work, gentlemen,” he said, smiling. ”But after leading men of your type around by the nose for many years, you can hardly expect me to stay here and calmly accept defeat now.”

”Oh, no,” answered Marsh. ”We fully expected you to put up a good fight.” He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and crossing his legs, leaned back, smiling up at Hunt. ”Go ahead; what's your next move?”

”My next move,” cried Hunt, sharply, ”is to leave you d.a.m.n fools sitting right there. When I didn't hear from my men this afternoon I knew that something was wrong, and my way of escape is ready.”

He backed slowly toward the door, keeping the detectives covered with his automatic. When he reached the door of the room, he called, ”Everything ready, George?”

”Yes, sir,” a voice replied from the distance.

Hunt again addressed the detectives. ”I advise you gentlemen to stay quietly where you are for a few minutes. I am going out of the back door of this apartment, and you, will find it difficult to find YOUR way through in the dark--especially as you may meet a shot at any moment. I bid you good evening, gentlemen.”

With that, Hunt backed out of sight through the doorway and all was silent. Immediately, Morgan and Tierney leaped to their feet and dashed toward the door.

”Hold on!” exclaimed Marsh, still sitting quietly in his chair, ”Where are you going?”

The two detectives stopped in astonishment.

”We're going to get him!” shouted Tierney.

”No need of taking all that trouble,” returned Marsh. ”My men are ready for him. Long ago a Secret Service man even replaced his driver at the wheel of his car.”

As if in answer to this statement from Marsh, there was a distant fusillade of shots.

”They've got him,” said Marsh, rising. ”Now we can go.”

”If there's no hurry now,” said Morgan, ”I wish you would tell us the rest of the story.”

”What do you mean?” inquired Marsh.

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