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From his coat pocket Britz produced the weapon, a gleaming steel revolver of the hammerless variety. "Do you recognize it?" he inquired, extending it toward Collins. Collins's hand did not reach for the weapon. All his confidence had vanished. Fear seemed to paralyze him. "That isn't all," proceeded the detective with aggravating assurance.
"No, coroner, I think we'd better adjourn to the private office," said the man addressed. Entering the merchant's office, the coroner closed the door behind them. "Lieutenant Britz," he remarked cordially, "I'm glad they sent you up. This looks like a mystery worthy of your talents." Lieutenant Britz disregarded the implied compliment.
The chief looked unconvinced. "That's all right as far as it goes," he said. "But you appear to have forgotten Ward. Remember, he is a fugitive. He had the same motive as his sister for killing Whitmore. He also profits by Whitmore's death." "The only way he profits is through his sister," returned Britz.
South American enterprises seem to have swallowed up all the resources." "Has the failure any criminal aspect?" asked Britz. "Of course, I can't tell as yet," answered the receiver. "But these cases seldom result in criminal prosecutions. A man like Ward undoubtedly was advised by shrewd lawyers and the chances are that we'll find he's kept just within the law."
This is an outrage! On what charge do you arrest this lady?" "On the charge that she has guilty knowledge of the murder of Herbert Whitmore," returned Britz. "It's absurd," railed Luckstone. "Ridiculous! Why don't you accuse her of having killed Mr. Whitmore?" "Perhaps I may," said Britz challengingly. "It would be just like you blundering policemen," sneered the lawyer. "Mrs.
So he informed the clerks they could leave the building at will. While the coroner was in the big room addressing the employés, Britz suddenly walked to the chair in which the murdered man still sat huddled. Bending down, he picked up something long and shiny, which the others had overlooked.
After it was executed it was sealed in a heavy envelope and carried away by Mr. Whitmore. I believe he intrusted it to his confidential secretary." "Thank you!" said Britz, returning the receiver to the hook. "The seals were intact when we opened the envelope," he recalled to the chief. "I don't believe the contents of that document were communicated to anyone before we read the will.
"What do you mean?" An angry flush suffused the lawyer's cheeks. "I know precisely where Mr. Whitmore spent his time." As if to avoid further controversy, Britz nodded to Greig and the latter left the room. He returned after a moment accompanied by a man who, for some reason, was trying desperately to hide behind the detective's broad back.
In his astonishment the servant insensibly relinquished his hold of the door knob and Britz stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "You can't come in here!" exclaimed the servant, recovering from his surprise. "Get out!" Britz displayed the search warrant. "If you attempt to interfere with me I shall place you under arrest," he threatened.
It was almost ludicrous to behold the utter demoralization into which Luckstone's clients were thrown. Britz had brought them out of their coverts and forced them into the open and instantly they started fighting among themselves. Luckstone made one ineffectual effort to re-unite them in solid rank against the attacking police enemy, then he also surrendered. "Let Beard talk!" he exclaimed.
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