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Updated: June 14, 2025
Farland did not betray too much interest, though, for he sensed that he was opposed to a person of brains and cunning, a different type from the thugs he hired to work for him. So the detective merely blinked his eyes rapidly as he looked up at the other and waited for him to speak. "You are Jim Farland, a detective?" The voice was low and harsh, a monotone, a disguised voice in fact.
The sergeant next ushered in George Lerton. Prale sat up straight in his chair again. Here was where his proper alibi began, with the exception of Jim Farland. George Lerton's face was pale as he sat down at the end of the desk. "Know this man?" the captain asked. "He is my cousin, Sidney Prale." "How long has he been away from New York?" "About ten years," Lerton said.
It would be only a waste of valuable time, he thought, to remain longer in the Gilbert apartment; and there were plenty of other things for him to be doing. Farland went all over the apartment once more, making sure that he was leaving everything in its proper place, that there would be nothing to show that anybody had been making an investigation there.
He was lifted from the car and carried to the door. One of the men threw it open, and Farland was carried inside. They took him through a hall, turned into a room, and tossed him upon a couch in a corner there. One of them struck a match, lighted a lamp, and then they turned to survey him. Farland glared at them, waited for them to speak. They were making no attempt to hide their features.
Lerton cried. "Why, we've got you, you weak fool!" said Farland. "I knew you in that old farmhouse despite your mask. Your hands gave you away I recognized them." "And he's the man who tried to bribe me!" Murk cried. "I can tell it by his hands, too!" "You tried to smash Prale's alibi," Jim Farland continued.
I came back with a million." "Great Scott! I suppose I'd better be on my way then. I ain't in the habit of having millionaires let me associate with 'em." "You sit where you are, or I'll use violence!" Prale told him. "I suppose you are still on the force? Still fussing around down in the financial district watching for swindlers?" "I left the force three years ago," Jim Farland replied.
Then he sat up quickly on the couch and covered the guard. "Put 'em up!" he commanded. The guard whirled from the table and sprang to his feet, surprise written on his countenance. Farland had arisen now, and advancing toward him. "Walk past me to the couch!" the detective commanded. The guard started to obey.
The detective leaned back against the cushions and regarded Murk closely. He knew that Sidney Prale had guessed correctly, that Murk was the sort of man who would prove loyal to a friend. "This is a bad business," Farland said. "It's tough," said Murk. "If it was anybody but Sid Prale, I'd say he was guilty. It sure looks bad. And there is that fountain pen!"
You may use the telephone if you wish, Mr. Prale." Prale hurried to the telephone, called Jim Farland's office, and was informed that Farland had not been there, and that the girl in charge did not know where he was, or what he was doing, or when he would return. Prale left instructions for Farland and went back to the desk.
Kate Gilbert did seem to avoid me, and I caught her big maid glaring at me once or twice as if she hated the sight of me. But why on earth " Farland cleared his throat. "Here is another thought for you to digest," he said. "This Kate Gilbert knows your cousin, George Lerton." Sidney Prale suddenly sat up straight in his chair again, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Doesn't that open up possibilities?"
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