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And besides, I could arrange with Mr. Long, the secretary, to have a headache, or a bad fall, or any little thing, the day you might mention he's a personal friend of mine." "Well, just now I don't much care how you manage it. What I want is that interview. Is your friend, Mr. Long, a confidential secretary?" "I don't think," said Brencherly demurely, "that Mr.
Baker Allen told me your office held him up good and plenty to turn in a different report when his wife employed you, and you 'got the goods on him. Now, don't give me any bluff. I want facts, and I pay you for them, don't I? Well, when you got that story, you looked it up hard, didn't you?" Brencherly, thoroughly cowed, nodded assent. "But we couldn't get a line on it anywhere.
It was well into the small hours of the morning when Brencherly sought his own rooms in an inconspicuous apartment hotel, where he, his activities and, at times, strange companions, were not only tolerated, but welcomed. He was weary, but too excited and elated to desire sleep.
Wife was Mary Theobald, of Cincinnati " Gard interrupted. "I don't want the 'who's who, Brencherly, or I wouldn't have sent for you. I want to know the worst about him. Cut loose." "Well, his deals haven't been square, you know. He's had two or three nasty suits against him; he's got more enemies than you can shake a stick at. His confidential lawyer is Twickenbaur, the biggest scoundrel unhung.
Brencherly exclaimed, and stood aghast and silent. "No!" thundered Gard, and then leaned forward brokenly with his head in his hand. Slowly the detective's mind readjusted itself, and the look in his eyes fixed upon Gard's bowed figure was all pitying understanding. Then he shook his head. "No, she didn't do it," he said "never! I don't believe it!"
Then she straightened out for another lap of sleep. Here's her kit." He rose as he spoke, and took from the mantel the package she had clung to during all her enforced journey. He untied the parcel, and both men bent over its meager contents. Though Brencherly had seen them under the wavering arc lights of Washington Square, he now gave each article the closest scrutiny.
I'm greatly indebted to you, but I'm coming straight to the point. The fact is, we," and he swept an including gesture toward his companion, "have the whole story of Victor Mahr's death. Brencherly is a detective in my personal employ." Field bowed and turned again to his host. "The person of the murderer is in our care," Gard continued.
He forgot the dread vision of the chair of death in the keen personal shame of the creature she must believe him to be. Suddenly a new angle of the case presented itself Brencherly! He sat up gasping. Brencherly must have guessed the inevitable logic of the situation led straight to the solution of the enigma. The detective knew of Mahr's efforts to obtain the combination of Mrs.
"When I put her on the bed," Long replied, "her collar seemed to be choking her, so I loosened it, and a button or two. There was a pink string around her throat and a little old chamois bag like you might put a turnip-watch in. I took it in here and found that stuff what do you think?" "I think that we're getting near the answer to something we all want to know," said Brencherly.
He tied them up again, put the package in its place and turned once more to Mrs. Marteen. "She's a mighty sick woman," he murmured. "Well, it's home for hers, and then me for the old man." A taxi drove up, and his assistant descended. With his help Brencherly half supported, half carried his charge to the curb. Directing the chauffeur to stop at a nearby hotel before proceeding to Mrs.
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