Lerton ran after him.
"Won't you go away, Sid?" he whimpered.
"No. I'll stay here, and if I have enemies I'll fight them!" Prale told him. "Why are you so eager to have me run away?"
"I don't want to see you in trouble, Sid."
"That's peculiar. In the old days you used to gloat whenever I got in trouble. You seem to have a wonderful and sudden regard for my welfare, and I can't explain it to myself."
Once more, Prale whirled around and started up the Avenue. His brain was in a tumult. What did George Lerton know that he refused to tell? Why should there be powerful enemies? He knew of no reason in the world.
"He's dead eager to get me out of town," Prale mused. "There's something behind it, all right."
Instinct, intuition, or some similar faculty caused Prale to turn off the Avenue eastward toward the river. He was not angry now. His mind was in action. He had convinced himself that there was something behind all this, and he was eager for the solution.
Those mysterious warnings had begun on board ship, he remembered. The piece of paper Kate Gilbert had dropped, and which he had picked up, had writing similar to the messages he had received. He would have to engage Jim Farland, he told himself, and learn a few things concerning Miss Kate Gilbert.
Had the journey because of ill health been a subterfuge? Had Kate Gilbert gone to Honduras to watch him? If she had, what was the reason for it?
"It's enough to make a man a maniac," Prale mused. "And that Shepley man! He was all right when we parted on the ship. Somebody said something to him about me after he landed. He treated me as if I had been a skunk."
Then he thought of George Lerton, his cousin. He couldn't quite make up his mind about Lerton. The man seemed frenzied in his eagerness to get Prale to leave New York. And Prale knew that it was not because of an overwhelming love George Lerton had for him, not anxiety lest ill fortune should come to Sidney Prale.
He would have to think it out, he told himself. At least, he knew that he had foes working against him, and could be on guard continually. Down in Honduras he had won a reputation as a fighter, and a fight was a fight in any clime, he knew; there might be a difference in the rules here and there, but the same qualities decided the winner.
He continued walking down the street toward the river. In Honduras he had become accustomed to walking up and down the beach and looking at the water whenever he wanted to think and solve some problem, and it probably was habit that sent him to the water front now.
He tossed away the butt of his cigar and did not light another at the moment. For a time he stood looking out at the black water, at the craft plying back and forth, their lights flashing. He stepped upon a little dock and started walking its length. After a time he came near the end of it without having encountered a watchman, and sat down on a box in a dark, secluded corner.
There, his back braced against the building and the building shielding him from the cold wind that came up from the distant sea, Sidney Prale sat and tried to think it out.
One thing made a comfortable thought—he had money with which to fight. Either he was the victim of some injustice, or a grave mistake was being made. He wished that he had forced George Lerton to tell him more, and he decided that he would do so if they met again. He might even hunt him out and force him to speak. Sidney Prale thought nothing of handling a man like Lerton.
He heard steps on the dock and remained silent in the darkness, thinking that possibly some watchman was making the rounds. If he was discovered, he would say that he had been looking at the river, give the watchman his card and a tip, and leave.
The steps came nearer and Prale could make out the form of a man slipping along the dock's edge in a furtive manner. There was not light enough for Prale to see his features. He was walking bent over, a short, heavy-set man who did not wear an overcoat.
Prale watched as the man passed within six feet of him and went to the edge of the dock. There he stood, outlined against the sky, looking down at the water. Prale imagined that he heard something like a sob, and gave closer attention. Then he saw the man take off his coat and drop it behind him, remove his cap and place it on the coat, and look down at the water again.
And then Sidney Prale sprang straight forward, and grasped the body of the other as it was in mid-air.
"No, you don't!" Prale exclaimed.
He found immediately that he had a fight on his hands. The other whirled and began kicking and striking. Sidney Prale hurled him backward, rushed, caught him up again in a better hold, threw him back against the building, and held him there, breathless and panting.
"Another smash out of you, and I'll drop you into the river myself!" Prale said. "Suppose you take time to get your breath now."
"I—I thought you was a cop."
"Afraid of the cops?"
"It's against the law to—to try to commit suicide."
"So I understand," said Prale. "Well, I am not a cop. Trying to drown yourself, were you? Why?"
"Why not?" the other asked. "I'm done with livin'."
"Not just yet, but you would have been if I hadn't been sitting here."
"I've knocked all over the world—and made a few mistakes," said the derelict. "Oh, nothin' that would get me in trouble with the cops! But I just found out that I'm clutterin' up the earth and don't amount to anything. I'm sick of half starvin' to death, and workin' like a dog when I get the chance just to get enough to keep a few old clothes hung on me."
"Disgusted generally with your lot?" Prale asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Friends or relatives?"
"Not any."
"What's your name?" Prale asked.
"You mean my real name? I don't remember. It's been so long since I've used it, and I've used so many others since that I don't know. What's the difference?"
"I'll call you Murk," said Prale. "That expresses the dark river, the deed you were about to do, and the evident state of your feelings."
"It's as good as any, I suppose."
"What's your particular grievance against the world in general?"
"It ain't anything in particular," said Murk. "It's just general."
"I see. A drifter, are you?"
"I reckon I am."
"Sore at existence, eh?"
"Well, what's the use of livin'?" Murk demanded. "There ain't a man, woman or child in the world that gives a whoop what becomes of me. I'm just in the way to be kicked around."
"Maybe you haven't found your proper place in the scheme of things."
"I've sure done some travelin' lookin' for it, boss, but maybe I ain't found it, as you say. I sure ain't found any place that looks like it needed me bad."
"Hard to make a living?"
"Oh, I get along. But, what's the use?" Murk wanted to know. "I ain't got anybody—I get lonesome lots of times. If I had money, it might be different."
"I'm not so sure about that," said Prale, smiling a bit. "I've got a million dollars, and, as far as I know right this minute, I have just one friend in New York."
"If I had a million dollars I wouldn't care whether I had a friend or not," Murk said.
"You can be just as lonesome with a million dollars as you can without a cent," Prale told him. "I was sitting down here because I was lonesome, and because there are some enemies working at me, and I don't know who they are or why they want to trouble me."
"Well, let's jump in the drink together," Murk said.
"Why not fight it out?" asked Sidney Prale.
"Mister, I've been fightin' for years, and it don't get me anything. It just tires me out—that's all. The next world can't be any worse than this."
"Are you a fighter, or a quitter?"
"Nobody ever called me a quitter."
"But you were trying to be a few minutes ago. You were going to quit like a yellow dog!" Prale told him. "You were going to throw up the sponge and give the devil a laugh."
"That's between me and the devil—nobody else would care."
"If you had a friend, an influential friend, and didn't have to keep up a continual fight to hold body and soul together, could you manage to face the world a little longer?"
"I reckon I could."
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-five," said Murk.
"Old enough to have some sense. I am three years older. I'm almost as lonesome as you are. Why not join forces, Murk?"
"Sir?"
"If I showed you a corner where you would fit in, would you be loyal? Would you stand by me, help me fight if it was necessary, and all that?"
"You just try me—that's all."
"Very well, Murk, I'm going to trust you. I told you the truth when I said I had a million dollars. I have but one friend I can depend upon, and I have enemies. I like to fight, Murk, but I like to have a good pal at my back when I do."
"That's me, too, sir; but I ain't ever had the pal."
"You've got one now, Murk. You'd be dead now, but for me. So you must be my man, understand?"
"I don't quite getcha."
"You're under my orders from now on, Murk. We'll have a nice row, standing back to back perhaps. I'll take you on as a sort of valet and bodyguard. You'll have good clothes and a home and plenty to eat and a bit of money to spend. I'll expect you to be loyal. If I find that you are not—well, Murk, I got back yesterday from Central America. I got my million down there, by fighting for it, and there were times when I had to handle men roughly. I can read men, Murk. Can you imagine what I'd do to a man who double crossed me?"
"I getcha now! You needn't be afraid I'll double cross you. I don't think this is real."
"It's real, Murk, if we strike a bargain. Do we?"
"I've got everything to win and nothin' to lose—so we do!" Murk said.
"Fair enough. Now we'll get off this dock. Pick up your cap and coat."
Murk picked them up and put them on, and then he followed at Prale's heels until they were on the street and beneath the nearest light. There they stopped and looked each other over.
Murk was short, but he was built for strength. Prale could tell at a glance that the man, even poorly nourished as he was, had muscles that could be depended on. Prale liked the look around Murk's eyes, too. Murk was a dog man, the sort that proves faithful to the end if treated right.
"Well, how do you like me?" Prale asked.
"You look good to me, sir."
"My name is Sidney Prale."
"Yes, Mr. Prale."
"You understand our little deal thoroughly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Come along, then. Here is a cigar—light up!"
Murk lighted the cigar, and Prale lighted another, and they went rapidly up the street to Fifth Avenue. Prale signaled a passing taxicab, and they got in. When the cab stopped, it was in a district where some cheap clothing stores remain open until almost midnight.
Half an hour later they emerged again. Murk was dressed in a suit which was somber in tone, and which was not at all a bad fit. He was dressed in new clothing from the skin out. Prale took him to a barber shop, and waited until the barber gave Murk a hair cut and a shave.
"Gosh!" Murk said, when he looked at himself in the glass. "This can't be me!"
"It is, however," Prale assured him. "Now, we'll go home, Murk, and get settled."
"Where is home?"
Prale named the hotel.
"I'd get thrown out on my bean if I ever stuck my nose in the kitchen door," Murk said.
"You're not going into the kitchen, Murk. You're going to be registered as my valet and bodyguard, and you're going up in the elevator with me. Kindly remember, Murk, that you are the personal servant of Mr. Sidney Prale."
"Yes, sir."
"And your boss has a million dollars and nobody knows how many secret enemies. Those things give you a standing, Murk. When we are alone, of course, you'll be a sort of pal. I never had a valet before and I couldn't stand a regular one. Instead of being a valet, when we are alone, I want you to be a regular fellow."
"I getcha, Mr. Prale."
"Off we go, then."
They arrived at the hotel, and Prale registered Murk as his valet and took him up to the suite.
"You bunk in there, Murk," Prale said, pointing to another room. "Take a bath and go to bed and get some rest. If you are inclined to throw me down, you'll find some money and jewelry in the top drawer of the dresser. Rob me and sneak out during the night, if you want to. Cut my throat, if it's necessary."
"You needn't be afraid, sir—you can trust me!"
"I do!" said Sidney Prale.
Prale slept well that night. When he awoke in the morning, Murk was dressed and sitting by the window. He drew Prale's bath without being told, and then stood around as if waiting to be of service.
"I—I found this slipped under your door, sir," he said, after a time.
"What is it, Murk?"
"A piece of paper with writing on it, sir."
"More news from the enemy, I suppose. What does it say?"
"It says as how a man's sin always finds him out."
"That's interesting, isn't it? Do you think I am a sinner of some sort, Murk?"
"I don't care if you are, sir!"
"Murk! You needn't get excited about it. Put the paper in the lower drawer of the dresser; I'm making a collection of them," Prale said. He went back into the other room and continued dressing. "Go to the telephone and order breakfast served to us here, Murk," he directed.
"What shall I order, sir?"
"Order plenty of whatever you like, and tell them to make it double," said Prale.
Murk grinned and gave a proper order. Prale was dressed by the time the breakfast was served. He and Murk made a hearty meal.
And then Prale lighted his morning cigar and began reading the newspapers. Murk went around the suite, straightening things and trying to be of service. He looked at Sidney Prale often; it was plain to be seen that Prale was Murk's kind of man.
There came a knock at the door.
"See who it is, Murk," Sidney Prale said.
He did not even look up from the paper he was reading. He supposed it was some hotel employee. Murk stalked across to the door and threw it open. Two men stood there. Murk flinched when he saw them. He did not know either of them, but he knew them immediately for what they were. Murk was a man of experience.
"Mr. Prale in?" one of them asked.
"Yes, sir."
Without asking permission, the two men stepped inside, and one of them closed the door. Prale dropped the newspaper and turned around to face them.
"Are you Sidney Prale?" one of them asked.
"I am."
"You are under arrest, Mr. Prale."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Under arrest," I said. "You know your rights, perhaps, so you need not talk unless you wish to do so."
"You are officers?"
They showed their shields.
"Straight from headquarters," one of them replied. "We want to take a look around your room while we are here."
"Suppose," said Sidney Prale, "that you tell me, first, why I am under arrest? Of what crime am I accused?"
"You are charged with murder."
"Murder? What crazy joke is this?" Prale cried. "And what particular person am I accused of murdering?"
"You are charged with the murder of Mr. Rufus Shepley," the detective replied.
Many times in his life, Sidney Prale had been greatly surprised, astonished, shocked. But never had he experienced such a feeling as he did at this bald announcement of a police detective.
The statement was like a blow between the eyes. Prale stared at the two detectives for an instant, his face flushed, and then he began to laugh.
"It isn't a laughing matter, Mr. Prale," one of the detectives told him.
"Pardon me, but it is so utterly preposterous," Prale replied. "I fail to see how I can be accused of such a crime. I am not a cut-throat, and Rufus Shepley was a man I met on shipboard casually, and have seen him only once since."
"You can do your talking at headquarters, Mr. Prale," the officer said. "I'll have to ask you to come along with us. I'll leave my partner here to look through your rooms."
"The sooner I get to headquarters, the sooner this thing will be straightened out," Prale said. "Murk, you will remain here in the rooms until you hear from me. Let the officer look at anything he wishes to inspect."
"Yes, sir," said Murk, glaring at the two detectives.
Prale faced the detective who had been speaking to him.
"Be with you as soon as I get my hat and coat," he said. "It'll not be necessary, I hope, to put handcuffs on me."
"We can go to headquarters in a taxi, and I guess I can handle you if you try any tricks," the detective replied.
"There are going to be no tricks tried," Prale said.
"Nevertheless, I think I'll keep a close eye on you."
"Do so, by all means!" Prale retorted.
"Ain't there anything I can do, sir?" Murk asked.
"Nothing except to remain in the rooms until you hear from me," Prale told him. "If I should—er—be detained, I'll probably send for you."
"Very well, sir."
One of the detectives left the suite with Prale and walked down the hall to the elevator. The second officer remained behind to go through Prale's things in an effort to find evidence.
Prale said nothing regarding the crime as they journeyed in the taxicab to police headquarters. His mind was busy, though. This appeared to be a culmination of the annoyances to which he had been subjected.
At headquarters he was ushered into a room where a captain of detectives awaited him.
"Don't have to talk unless you want to, Mr. Prale, but it probably will be better for you to do so, and have an end of it," the captain said. "Why did you kill Rufus Shepley?"
"That's a fool question. I didn't kill him. I had no idea he was dead until the officer arrested me for his murder. I scarcely know the man, captain. I made his acquaintance aboard a ship coming from Central America, and I met him but once after leaving the ship. He told me his business and gave me his card, and that is all. I'm ready to answer any questions you may ask. This is some terrible mistake. I want to talk about it—have an end of it, as you say."
"Very well, Prale," the captain said.
"Mr. Prale, if you please. I have not been convicted yet and am entitled to some courtesy, it seems to me."
"All right, if you're going to be nasty about it," the captain said. "But you won't gain anything by taking a high-and-mighty attitude with me."
"I simply object to being addressed in the tone you used," Prale replied. "I am no crook. Let's get down to business. Ask me any questions you like, and I'd like to ask a few myself."
"That is fair enough," the captain said, a shrewd expression coming into his face.
"Suppose you take it for granted, for a few minutes, that I am innocent, and tell me when Rufus Shepley was killed, and where, and just how."
"Very well, Mr. Prale. A hotel attendant found the body at an early hour this morning. It was in Mr. Shepley's room. The man was fully dressed. The physicians say that he was killed about eleven o'clock last night."
"I understand; go on, please."
"He had been stabbed through the heart," said the captain. "Death had been instantaneous."
"But why suspect me of the crime?" Prale asked.
"This was found beside the body," the captain replied.
From the desk before him he picked up a fountain pen. It was an elaborate pen, chased with gold, and on one side of it was a tiny gold plate, upon which Prale's name had been engraved.
"You recognize it?" the captain asked.
"Certainly; it is mine."
"Oh, you admit that, do you?"
"Naturally. But I fail to see how it came to be beside the body of Rufus Shepley."
"A man who has committed a murder generally is in a hurry to get away," said the captain. "It is easy to drop a fountain pen from a pocket, especially if a man is bending over."
"I don't even know where Shepley's rooms were located," Prale said. "I didn't know the pen was missing until this minute——"
"Possibly not," replied the captain of detectives.
"And I am quite sure I do not know how it came to be beside the body, but of one thing I am certain—I did not drop it there."
"Naturally, you would say that."
"And where is the motive?" Prale demanded. "Suppose you tell me what you have against me, and then I'll proceed to tear your shabby evidence to pieces."
"We have this particular case so well in hand that I can afford to do that," the captain said. "Attend me closely and you'll see the futility of denying your guilt."
"I am waiting to hear the evidence," Prale said.
"Very well. In the first place, you have recently spent some years in Central America."
"Ten years in Honduras," said Prale.
"You made a fortune down there. We have communicated with the authorities there and have learned many things about you. We have learned that you have a hot temper and know how to handle men. You have been known to beat natives terribly——"
"Rot! I was kinder than nine out of ten men of affairs. I have punished a few natives caught stealing, for instance."
"Recently, Mr. Prale, you cashed in on all your properties down there and announced that you were about to leave the country."
"That is correct," said Prale. "I made the million I went down there to make. Honduras is all right in some ways, but a man likes to live with his own kind. My home was in New York, and so, naturally, I decided to return here."
"Did you not tell some of your friends and acquaintances, before you left, that you were returning to New York for a certain purpose."
"I suppose that I did. My purpose was no secret. I had my pile and wanted to enjoy life a bit and perhaps I wanted to show off a bit, too. That was only natural, I suppose. I am proud of my success."
"Did you not hint that the purpose was something sinister—that you were going to have revenge, or something like that?"
"Certainly not."
"Very well; let us get on," said the captain of detectives. "You say that you first met Rufus Shepley aboard theManatee?"
"Never saw him in my life until I met him in the smoking room on the ship, and never had heard his name before."
"That is peculiar. Mr. Shepley was a man of large affairs."
"But I had been in Honduras for ten years, out of touch with men of affairs in the United States," Prale replied. "I did the most of my business with firms in South America."
"Just how did you happen to meet Mr. Shepley?"
"In the smoking room. We spoke, as passengers are liable to speak to each other on a boat or a train. We talked of ordinary things and exchanged cards."
"Did you happen toplaycards?"
"One evening, for a short time. But the game did not amount to anything, and we quit early. Are you trying to insinuate that I killed the man as the outcome of a gambling quarrel?"
"Nothing of the sort," said the captain, "Let us get on. You had no trouble with Mr. Shepley on the ship—no trouble of any sort?"
"Not the slightest. We parted good friends just before the ship docked. I went to my stateroom for my things and I suppose that he did the same."
"When did you see him next?" the captain asked.
"Last evening, in the lobby of a hotel on Broadway," said Prale.
"What happened then?"
"Ah, I see where you are trying to get the motive," Prale said. "But I think that you will agree with me, before we are done, that it is a slim thing upon which to hang a serious charge of murder. I saw Mr. Shepley sitting in the lobby and went up and spoke to him. We had been friendly on the ship, I was feeling lonesome, and was glad to find somebody with whom I could talk. Besides, he had expressed a desire to see me again."
"Well, what happened?"
"Something I am at a loss to understand. He berated me for daring to address him. He acted like a maniac. I rebuked him for his manner, and the hotel detective advised us to leave the place until we cooled off, or something like that."
"Who left first?" the captain asked.
"I did. I was angry because there was a crowd around and I hated the scene that had been caused. I went through the main entrance and stepped to the curb."
"Shepley follow you?"
"Almost immediately."
"And you went up to him and threatened him, didn't you?"
Prale thought a moment. "I told him that I didn't know why he had insulted me, but I didn't want him to do it again."
"What else?" the captain demanded.
"I believe I said that I ought to settle with him for what he had said already."
"And then——"
"And then I went on down the street. The hotel detective, I think, heard me speak to Mr. Shepley."
"Yes, I know that he did," said the captain. "And the hotel detective also says that you were white with anger, and that you went off down Broadway like a man with murder in his mind. Do you care to say anything more?"
"Of course," said Prale. "I went down to Madison Square, and there I sat down on a bench."
"Meet anybody there?"
"I did. I met an old friend, Jim Farland, who used to be on your detective force, and who now runs a private agency."
"I know Farland well, and I'll send for him."
"I talked with Jim for some time," Prale went on. "I told him, I believe, that I seemed to have enemies working in the dark. I told him about the scene with Shepley."
"Um! What did Farland have to say?"
"Nothing, except that he couldn't understand why Shepley had acted so. We talked the matter over for a while and then we separated."
"Very well. And where did you go next?"
"I walked up Fifth Avenue," said Prale. "It was after nine o'clock by that time."
"Go straight to your hotel?"
"I did not," Prale said.
"Care to tell me where you went and what you did?"
"I have no objections. I walked up the Avenue, and met my cousin, George Lerton, the broker."
"Meet him accidentally?"
"He overtook me—called to me."
"How long did you talk to him?"
"For only a few minutes," said Prale. "You must understand that, while George Lerton is my cousin, we are not exceptionally friendly, and never have been. We worked for the same firm ten years ago, and after I went to Honduras, George made some money and got into business for himself; at least he told me so last night."
"So you merely shook hands and renewed your acquaintance?" the captain asked.
"There was something peculiar about the meeting," Prale replied.
"In what way?"
"Lerton urged me to leave New York and remain away. He said that I had powerful enemies."
"What about that?"
"It is what has been puzzling me. So far as I know, I haven't a powerful enemy on earth. I suppose I have a few business foes in Central America; a man can't make a million without acquiring some enemies at the same time. But I don't know of a single influential person who is my enemy."
"Didn't Lerton explain to you?"
"He refused to do so," said Prale, "and I told him to go his way and that I'd go mine."
"Doesn't that story seem a bit weak to you, Mr. Prale?"
"It may, but it is a true story. Get Lerton and question him if you wish. I couldn't make him talk—maybe you can. I'd like to know the names of these enemies of mine, if I really have them."
"Anything else lead you to believe you might have enemies?"
"Yes. I have received several anonymous notes, some on board ship and some since landing, that say something about retribution about to be visited upon me."
"Why?"
"I don't know, captain. I never did anything in my life to merit such retribution. I am sure of that."
"What time was it when you parted from Lerton?"
"It must have been about nine thirty or a quarter to ten."
"Go to your hotel then?"
"No; I turned east and went to the river."
"Wasn't that a peculiar thing to do at that hour of the night?"
"It may seem so to you," said Prale, "and I scarcely can tell why I did it. I suppose it was because I wanted to think over what George Lerton had told me, and down in Honduras I always used to walk along the beach when I was thinking."
"Well?"
"I went out on a dock and sat down in the darkness to think."
"How long did you remain there?"
"For more than half an hour; and I had an experience. Another man came on the dock. He was going to jump into the river, but I convinced him that suicide was folly, and said I'd give him a job."
"Did you?"
"I did," said Prale. "I took him downtown and bought him some clothes, and then took him to a barber shop, and afterward to the hotel. I registered him as my valet. I call him Murk. I can prove by him that I could not have killed Rufus Shepley about eleven o'clock, because I was in Murk's company at that time."
"What time did you get back to your hotel with him?"
"It was a few minutes of midnight. We spent considerable time buying the clothes and visiting the barber shop."
"Um!" the captain said. "We'll have to question a few of these people. It seems peculiar to me that a millionaire would pick up a tramp and turn him into a trusted servant."
"Perhaps it was peculiar. I can read men, I believe, and I decided that Murk needed only a chance, and he would make good. He was broke and friendless, and I was a millionaire and almost as friendless. That's the only way I can explain it."
"I'm going to send you to another office under guard, Mr. Prale," the captain said. "I'll have these people here in a short time, and we'll question them. Just tell me where you bought the clothes for this man, and what barber shop you visited."
Sidney Prale did so, and the captain of detectives made notes regarding the addresses.
"That will be all for the present, Mr. Prale," he said. "I don't want to cause any innocent man annoyance, but I can tell you this much—things look very bad for you!"
Sidney Prale waited in an adjoining office, a detective sitting in one corner of it and watching him closely. It was almost a prison room, for there were steel bars at the windows, and only the one door. Prale walked to one of the windows and looked down at the street, his arms folded across his breast, trying to think it out.
The finding of that fountain pen in the room beside Rufus Shepley's body was what puzzled and bothered him the most. How on earth could it have come there? He tried to remember when he had used it last, when he had last seen it. All that he could recall was that, the afternoon before, he had used it to write a note in a memorandum book. How and where had he lost it, and how had it come into Shepley's suite? Had he dropped it in the hotel lobby during his short quarrel with Shepley, while he was shaking the man? Had Shepley picked it up later and carried it home with him? Prale did not think Shepley would have done that under the circumstances.
Well, he'd be at liberty soon enough, he told himself. It was natural for the police to learn of his quarrel with Shepley and to make an arrest on the strength of that and of finding the fountain pen. His alibi was perfect; they soon would know that he could not have committed the crime.
It was almost an hour later when he was taken back into the other room again. Prale had spent the time standing before the window, smoking and trying to think things out. The captain of detectives was before his desk when Prale was ushered into the office.
"I've been investigating your story, Mr. Prale," the captain said, looking at him peculiarly. "It always has been a mystery to me why a man keen in business and supposed to possess brains goes to pieces when he commits a crime and tells a tale that is full of holes."
"I beg your pardon!" Prale said.
"Sit down, Mr. Prale, over there—and I'll have some of the witnesses in. I have not questioned them yet, but my men have, and have reported to me what they said. They have discovered several other things, too."
"I'm not afraid of anything they may have discovered," Prale told the captain.
"Last night, you told Jim Farland that you had had trouble with a bank, and at the hotel where you first registered after you came ashore, did you not?"
"Yes; don't those things bear out my statement about the powerful enemies?"
"We'll see presently," the captain said.
He spoke to the sergeant in attendance, who immediately left the room, and presently returned with the president of the trust company. He looked at Prale with interest, and took the chair the captain designated.
"You know this man?" the captain asked.
"I do," said the banker. "He is Sidney Prale."
"Ever have any business with him?"
"Mr. Prale transferred a fortune to our institution from Honduras," the banker said. "Yesterday he called at the bank, satisfied me as to his identity, and made arrangements concerning the money."
"Mr. Prale has said that, for some reason unknown to him, you told him you did not care to handle his business and didn't want his deposit," the captain said.
"I scarcely think that was the way of it," the banker replied. "We would have been glad to take care of the deposit, which was practically one million dollars. But Mr. Prale told me he had other plans and that he would remove the deposit during the day, which he did."
Sidney Prale sat up straight in his chair. "Didn't you tell me that you didn't want anything to do with me and my money?" he demanded.
"Certainly not," lied the banker. "You said that you wished to put your funds in other institutions."
Prale gasped at the man's statement. It was a bare-faced lie if one ever had been spoken.
"Why——" Prale began.
"I do not care to discuss the matter further," the banker interrupted. "I am a man of standing and cannot afford to be mixed up in a case of this sort."
"You'll not be mixed up in it," the captain said. "I just wanted to show Mr. Prale that there were some holes in his story. That is all, thank you!"
The banker left the room quickly, and Prale sprang to his feet, his face livid.
"That man lied!" he exclaimed. "You could read it in his face! I don't know why he lied, but he did!"
"Sit down, Mr. Prale, and let's have more witnesses in," the captain said.
Once more he spoke to the sergeant, and again the latter went out, this time to return with the manager of the first hotel at which Prale registered.
"Know this man?" the captain asked.
"He registered at my place as Sidney Prale, of Honduras."
"Well, what about it?"
"We furnished him with a suite on the fifth floor," the hotel manager said. "But he gave it up."
"Gave it up!" Prale cried. "Why, you called me into your office and told me to get out, that the suite has been reserved and that there was none vacant in the house. The bell boy can testify that he called me into the office."
"Certainly he called you into my office, and at my request," the manager said. "I wanted to know why you were leaving, whether any of the employees had treated you with discourtesy. You told me that you had been served poorly in the dining room the evening before, and that you were done with the hotel!"
Prale sprang to his feet. "That's a lie, and you know it!" he cried.
"Captain," said the hotel man, "do I have to sit here and be insulted by a man charged with a heinous crime?"
"That will be all, thank you," the captain said.
The hotel manager hurried from the room, and the captain grinned at Prale.
"So he lied, too, did he?" the captain asked.
"He did!" Prale cried.
"There seems to be an epidemic of falsehood, to hear you tell it. However, let us get on with the affair."
Once more he instructed the sergeant, and this time the man brought in the hotel detective who had witnessed the trouble between Prale and Shepley.
The hotel detective told the story much as Prale himself had told it, except that he made it appear that Prale had threatened Rufus Shepley on the walk in front of the hotel before they separated.
"Did you pick up a fountain pen of mine after I had gone?" Prale asked.
"I did not."
"See anybody else pick it up?"
"No, sir," said the hotel detective; and he went out of the room.
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. "He returned day before yesterday, I believe. I saw his name in the passenger list."
"Mr. Prale says that he met you last night on Fifth Avenue, and that you told him he had some powerful enemies seeking to cause him trouble, and advised him to leave New York and remain away."
"Why—why this is not so!" Lerton cried. "I haven't seen him until this moment. I would have looked him up, but did not know at what hotel he was stopping, and thought that he'd try to find me."
Prale was out of his chair again, his face flaming. "You mean to sit there and tell me that you didn't talk to me on Fifth Avenue last night?" he cried.
"Why, of course I never talked to you, Sid. I never saw you. What are you trying to do, Sid? Why have you done this thing? We never were close to each other, and yet we are cousins, and I hate to see you in trouble."
"Stop your hypocritical sniveling!" Prale cried. "You are lying and you know it! You saw me last night——"
"But I didn't!"
"You did—and tried to get me to run away, and wouldn't tell me your reason for it."
George Lerton licked at his lips and looked appealingly at the captain of detectives.
"I—I am a man of standing," he whimpered. "I am a broker—here is my card. This man is my cousin, but I cannot lie to shield him. I never saw him last night, and did not speak to him."
Lerton got up and started for the door, and Sidney Prale did not make a move to stop him.
"It appears that your story is full of flaws," the captain said. "A little of it is true, however; you did meet Jim Farland and talk to him in Madison Square, and remained for the length of time you said. Jim has told me that much. But he does not know where you went and what you did after leaving him. What we are interested in is what you did in the neighborhood of eleven o'clock last night. That is when Rufus Shepley was killed. And now we'll have in that new valet of yours."
There was a snarl on Murk's face as he came into the room and sat down in the chair at the end of the desk. Murk did not like policemen and detectives, and did not care whether they knew of his dislike. He flashed a glance at Sidney Prale and then faced the captain.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
"Tell us where and how you met Mr. Prale first, what happened, and bring the story right up to date," the captain commanded.
"Well, I went down to the river to jump in," Murk said, as if stating a simple fact. "I was tired of fightin' to live and had decided to end it all. Mr. Prale grabbed me and hauled me back, and then he made me see that suicide was foolish. He offered me a job, and I agreed to take it. He was the first man who had treated me decent since I——"
"Never mind that; get down to cases."
"Well, we walked up the street and got a taxicab and drove downtown, and Mr. Prale bought me some clothes."
"What time was it when you met him?"
"I guess it was about ten o'clock. We bought the clothes, as I said, and then we went to a barber shop, and I got a hair cut and a shave. After that we went to Mr. Prale's hotel and up to his rooms. We got to bed pretty quick."
"What time did you reach the hotel?"
"About midnight."
"What happened after you went to bed?"
"Went to sleep," said Murk.
"Never mind the jokes," the captain rebuked sternly.
"Well, I stayed awake about an hour or so thinking how lucky I was, and then I went to sleep. I woke up early in the mornin' and got up and dressed. Mr. Prale got up later, and we ate breakfast in the suite. Then the cops came. One of them took Mr. Prale away, and he told me to stay in the rooms until sent for. The other cop rummaged around the rooms and then left."
Prale bent forward. "There is one man who can speak the truth," he told the captain. "His story corresponds with the one I told you, doesn't it? And doesn't it show that I could not have murdered Rufus Shepley at eleven o'clock last night?"
"The story is all right, and it certainly corresponds with yours," replied the captain. "Just a minute!" He faced Murk again. "Who are you and where did you come from?" he demanded.
"I ain't anybody in particular. I've been hangin' around town a couple of months doin' odd jobs. Before that I was bummin' around the country workin' whenever I got a chance."
"You felt grateful to Mr. Prale for giving you a job and a home, didn't you?"
"Sure!" said Murk. "He talked to me decent, like I was a man instead of a dog."
"Well, you don't seem to have much standing in the world," the captain said. "Your word, against that of several prominent citizens, does not carry much weight. You must see that. And there happens to be something else, too. I had the clothing merchant and the barber you mentioned look you over while you were in the other room. The clothing merchant says he sold some clothes a couple of days ago, the ones you are wearing now, but that he certainly did not sell them last night, and the barber swears that he never saw you before!"
"Why, the dirty liars!" Murk cried.
"Did they say that?" Prale demanded.
"They did," the captain replied. "And they said it in such a way that I believe them. Prale, your alibi is shot full of holes. You told the truth about meeting Jim Farland, and that much is in your favor. Aside from that, we have only the testimony of a tramp you said you picked up and gave a job. You had plenty of time to kill Rufus Shepley. You had ample time to concoct the story and get this man to learn it, so he could tell it and match yours. You are worth a million dollars, and this man probably was ready to lie a little for a wad of money."
"He tells the truth——"
"It's too thin, Prale! And don't forget the fountain pen that was found beside Shepley's body, either! As for you Murk, or whatever your right name is, you are under suspicion yourself."
"What's that?" Murk snarled.
"You are under suspicion, I said. You might have assisted at the murder, for all I know. I don't know when you met Mr. Prale, or where, but I do know that you got back to the hotel with Mr. Prale about midnight—an hour after the crime was committed."
"You can't hang anything like that on me!" Murk snarled. "All the cops in the world can't do it! I met Mr. Prale just like I said, and he bought me the clothes and took me to the barber shop, no matter what the store man and the barber say! It's a black lie they're tellin'! Mr. Prale is a gentleman——"
"That'll be enough!" the captain exclaimed. "I'm going to allow you to go, Murk, but you are to remain in Mr. Prale's rooms and take care of his things. And you can bet that you'll be watched, too."
"I don't care who watches me!"
"As for you, Mr. Prale, you'll have to go to a cell, I think. The evidence against you is such that I cannot turn you loose. You must realize that yourself."
Prale realized it. His face was white and his hands were shaking. He looked across the room at Murk.
"You go back to the hotel, Murk, and do as the captain says," he ordered. "I'll come out of this all right in time. There are a lot of things I cannot understand, but we'll solve the puzzle before we're done."
"Ain't there anything I can do, sir?" Murk asked.
"Perhaps, later. I'll engage a detective and a lawyer, and they may visit you at the hotel. I'll send you money by the lawyer. That's all now, Murk."
Murk started to speak, then thought better of it and went from the room slowly, anger flushing his face. Sidney Prale faced the captain of detectives again.
"No matter what you think, I am innocent, and know that my innocence can be proved," Prale said. "You are only doing your duty, of course. I want Jim Farland to attend to things for me. He is an old friend of mine and he is an honest man. Will you send for him?"
"He's waiting in the other room now," the captain said. "I'll let you have a conference with him before I order you into a cell!"
Once more Prale was taken to the room in which he had first waited—the room with the barred windows. This time the watching detective was missing. When Jim Farland entered, he found Prale pacing back and forth from one corner to the other. He was trying to think out his problem, wondering what it all meant, why the witnesses had lied, and what would be the outcome.
Farland rushed into the room, grasped Prale by the hand, led him across from the door, and forced him into a chair. This done, the loyal detective sat down facing him.
"Now let us have it from beginning to end!" Farland commanded. "I don't want you to leave out a thing. I want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."
Sidney Prale started at the beginning and talked rapidly, setting forth all the facts, while Jim Farland sat back in his chair and watched him. Now and then he frowned as if displeased at the recital.
"Well, there is something rotten," he said, when Prale had concluded his statement. "I want you to know, Sid, that I believe you. You're not the sort of man to kill a fellow like Rufus Shepley over a little spat. I believe your story about this Murk, too. But why should everybody have it in for you?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Prale answered. "I must, indeed, have some powerful enemies, but I cannot imagine who they are, and I know of no reason why they should be against me. I'm simply up in the air."
"You keep right on trying to figure it out," Farland advised him. "You might think of something in time that will give me a start in my work."
"Why did the banker and hotel manager lie?" Prale asked. "Why did the clothing-store man and the barber lie? Why did George Lerton declare that he did not see me and speak to me last night? And how did my fountain pen get into Shepley's room?"
"Huh! When we know a few of those things, we'll know enough to wipe this charge away from your name," Jim Farland told him. "It's my job to answer those little questions for you. And now—you want a lawyer, I suppose?"
"Yes. Can you suggest one?"
"The greatest criminal lawyer in town is named Coadley. I'll send him right up here after I explain about this case to him. Thank Heaven, you have plenty of money! A poor man in a fix like this would be on his way to the electric chair. Coadley can fix you up, if anybody can. He can make a sinner look like a saint."
"But I'm not guilty!"
"I understand that, Sid, but it doesn't hurt an innocent man to have the best attorney he can get. I'll send you Coadley. Give me a note to that fellow Murk, for I may want him to help me. Sure he's loyal to you?"
"I never saw him until last night, but I'd bank on him," said Prale. "He'll stand by us!"
"Fair enough! You write that note right now, and try to get out on bail. Tell Coadley to get busy on that right away. Get out under police supervision, under guard—any way—but get out!"
Jim Farland hurried away, and Sidney Prale was conducted through dark corridors to a cell, where he had the experience of hearing a door clang shut behind him and the bolts shot. Prale never had expected to get into jail when he was worth a million dollars, and most certainly he never had expected to face a charge of murder.
He was allowed to send out for some luncheon, and it was more than an hour before Coadley, the attorney, arrived. Prale was taken into the consultation room.
He liked Coadley, and he liked the way in which Coadley regarded him before he spoke.
"I believe that you are innocent," the lawyer said.
"The job will be to make other people think that way," Prale said, with a laugh. The attorney's words had been like a ray of hope to him. "Did Jim Farland tell you the story?"
"Yes. I'll try to get you out on bail, or get you out in some manner," Coadley said. "This appears to be a peculiar case. It is not only the charge of murder; it is the fact that several men told falsehoods about you. You haven't an idea who your enemies are?"
"Not the slightest."
"I'm glad that Jim Farland is working on this case for you, Mr. Prale. He is a good man, and I may need a lot of help. I'll get my own investigators busy right away, too, and we'll coöperate with Jim Farland. You go back to your cell and take it easy. I'll get you out before night, if I can."
Lawyer Coadley was a shrewd man, and his methods were the delight of other attorneys and jurists. He lost no time when he was confronted with a case that held unusual interest. Within an hour he was in court, acting as if fighting mad.
Had a reputable citizen any rights, he demanded? Were the police to be allowed to throw an innocent man into jail simply because there had been a crime committed and somebody had to be accused? His client did not care for an examination at this time, he said. Arraignment and a plea of not guilty were all right, however.
Sidney Prale was arraigned, and the plea of not guilty was made and entered. Then Coadley began his fight to have Prale admitted to bail.
The district attorney opposed it, of course, since that was his business. The judge listened to the statement of the captain of detectives. He heard Coadley say that his client could put up cash bail in any amount, and was willing to abide by any provisions. Finally the judge freed Prale on cash bail of fifty thousand dollars, but designated that the bail could be recalled at any time, and that he was to be in the custody of a member of the police department continually.
Coadley agreed, and left the jail with his client, a detective going with them to stand guard. The detective had explicit orders. He was not to annoy Sidney Prale. He was to withdraw out of earshot when Prale talked with his attorney or anybody else with whom he wished to converse privately. He was to allow Prale to come and go as he wished, except that Prale was not to be allowed to leave the limits of the city. If he attempted that, he was to be put under arrest immediately and taken to the nearest police station.
Prale read the newspapers as he rode to the hotel with Coadley and the detective. The story of the crime was in all of them, the tale of his quarrel with Rufus Shepley and of the finding of the fountain pen, and the inevitable statement that the police were on the track of more and better evidence.
Prale expected to be ordered out of the hotel, but he was not, the management stipulating only that he should not use the public dining room. He went up to the suite, to find Murk there, sitting in front of a window and glaring down at the street.
A cot was moved in for the use of the detective. Coadley held another conference with Prale, and then left to get busy on the case. Murk regarded the detective with scorn, until Prale explained the situation to him. After that, there was a sort of armed neutrality between them. Murk had no special liking for detectives, and he was the sort of man detectives do not like.
Presently Jim Farland arrived.
"Well, Sid, Coadley got you out of jail and home before I could get here, did he?" Farland said. "I suppose I'll not need that note of yours now. Is this Mr. Murk?"
"It is," Prale said. "Murk, meet Jim Farland. He's a detective friend of mine."
"Gosh, Mr. Prale, ain't there anybody but cops in this town?" Murk asked.
"Jim is a private cop, and he has a job now to get me out of this scrape," said Prale. "He's a friend of mine, I said."
"I guess that makes it different," was Murk's only comment.
"Oh, we'll get along all right," Farland put in. "I'm going to need you in my business, Murk. I've told the folks at police headquarters that I'd be responsible for you, so we can work together without being pestered. Understand?"
Murk grinned at him. "You just show me how to help get Mr. Prale out of this mess, and I'll sure help," he said.
Farland turned toward the police detective. "Go out into the hall and take a walk," he suggested. "Mr. Prale will give you a couple of cigars."
The detective took the cigars and went out into the hall, smiling. He had no fear of Sidney Prale slipping down a fire escape, or anything like that. Jim Farland was responsible, and Jim Farland was known to the force as a man who felt his responsibilities.
"Now we'll get busy and dig to the bottom of this mess," Farland said. "Been thinking it over, Sid? Know any reason why anybody should be out after you?"
"I can't think of a thing," Prale replied. "I suppose I made a few business enemies down in Honduras, but none powerful enough to cause me all this trouble. I can't understand it, Jim. It must be something big to cause all those men to lie as they did."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it is very simple when we get right down to it," Farland said. "I've started right in to work it out. Let me see those notes and messages you received."
Prale got them from the dresser drawer and handed them to Farland. The detective looked them over, even going as far as to use a magnifying glass.
"Don't laugh!" Farland said. "A lot of folks make fun of the fiction detective who goes around with a magnifying glass in one hand, but, believe me, a good glass shows up a lot of things. It isn't showing up anything here, though. Where do you suppose these things came from?"
"I don't know," said Prale.
"Got the first one on the ship, did you?"
"The first two. One was pinned to the pillow in my stateroom, and the second was pasted on the end of my suit case as I was landing. The mucilage was still wet."
"Didn't suspect anybody?"
"I didn't think much about it at first," said Prale. "I thought it was a joke, or that somebody was making a mistake."
"Sid, have you told me everything?"
Prale remembered Kate Gilbert and flushed.
"I see that you haven't," Farland said. "Out with it! Some little thing may give me the start I am looking for."
Prale told about Kate Gilbert, about the piece of paper she had dropped as she got into the limousine, about the peculiar way she acted toward him, and the attitude of Marie, the misnamed maid.
"Um!" Farland grunted. "We had one thing lacking in this case—and we have that. The woman!"
"But I only met her down there and danced with her twice."
"Don't know anything about her, I suppose?"
"Not a thing. It was understood that she belonged to a wealthy New York family and was traveling for the benefit of her health. At least, that was the rumor."
"I know of a lot of wealthy families in this town, but I never heard of a Kate Gilbert," Farland said. "I think I'll make a little investigation."
"But why on earth should she be taking a hand in my affairs?" Prale wanted to know.
"Why should you be accused of murder? Why should men tell lies about you?" Farland asked. "Excuse me for a time; I'm going down to the hotel office to find out a few things."
Farland hurried away, and the police detective entered the suite again and made himself comfortable. Jim Farland went directly to the office of the hotel and looked at a city directory. He found no Kate Gilbert listed, except a seamstress who resided in Brooklyn. The telephone directory gave him no help.
But that was not conclusive, of course. A thousand Kate Gilberts might be living in New York, in apartments or at hotels, without having a private telephone.
"Have to get a line on that girl!" Farland told himself. "She's got something to do with this. I'll bet my reputation on it."
Jim Farland went to the smoking room and sat down in a corner. He tried to think it out, groped for a starting point. He considered all the persons connected with the case, one at a time.
Farland knew that Sidney Prale had told the truth. Why, then, had George Lerton told a falsehood about meeting Prale and talking to him, when the truth would have helped to establish an alibi? Why had the clothing merchant and the barber lied?
"I suppose I'll have to use stern methods," Farland told himself. "Old police stuff, I suppose. Well, I'm the man that can do it, take it from me!"
He went up to Prale's suite again.
"Can't find out anything about that woman," he reported. "And I want to get in touch with her. Keep your eyes peeled for her, Sid, and arrange for me to catch sight of her, if you can. Now you'd better take a little rest. You've been through an experience to-day. I'm going out to get busy, and I'm going to take Murk with me."
"What for?" Murk demanded.
"You're going to help me, old boy."
"Me work with a cop?" Murk exclaimed.
"To help Mr. Prale."
"Well, that's different," Murk said. "Wait until I get my hat."