The Brand of Silence: A Detective Story by Johnston McCulley (read book txt) 📖

"The charge is fighting and disorderly conduct, and bail will be one hundred dollars in each case. 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.

"This is a serious business, though it may not look like it on the face," he said. "I'd like to have these men held until we can make sure they have given correct names and addresses."

"No use holding them if they have given bail," the lieutenant replied. "I think it's nothing but a regular scrap. You can talk to the judge later, all of you."

Prale took a roll of bills from his pocket and put up cash bail for both Murk and himself. One of the thugs followed suit and pulling out a roll of bills, stripped off two hundred dollars, and arranged for the release of himself and his partner.

"You seem to have a lot of money for men who are out of work," Prale said.

"Been savin' it, and it's none of your business anyway," growled the other.

They started toward the door, and Prale and Murk followed them, watched them until they started away, and then turned back to bathe their faces and hands. Then Prale got a taxicab, and drove to the office of a physician, who did his best to make the countenances of Prale and Murk presentable.

It was an hour later when Jim Farland called Prale by telephone at the hotel.

"I've investigated that little matter, Sid," he reported. "Those fellows gave fictitious addresses, as you supposed they had done, and it is an even bet that the names they gave were fictitious, too. No doubt about it, Sid—they were hired to get you. You'd better be on guard and a bit careful."

CHAPTER XVI MURK RECEIVES A BLOW

An hour before dinner, Detective Jim Farland suddenly appeared in Sidney Prale's suite at the hotel.

"They are working on me now, Sid," he said. "I got a telephone message when I was in the office, and the gent at the other end of the line informed me that it would be beneficial to my health if I immediately ceased having anything to do with the Rufus Shepley murder case and stopped working for you."

"Any idea where the message came from?" Prale asked.

"It came from a public pay station in the subway. I had the call traced immediately, of course. No chance of finding out who sent it, naturally. I doubt whether I'd recognize the voice if I heard it again—could tell by the way the fellow talked that he was trying to disguise his tones. I told him to go to blazes, and he informed me that I was up against something too big for a man to face, or something like that."

"Jim, if there is any danger, I don't want you to work for me," Sidney Prale said. "You're married and a father and——"

"And that will be about all from you, Sid!" Farland interrupted. "Think I'm going to let some man who doesn't tell me his name throw a scare into me?"

"But, if there is danger——"

"I thrive on danger," said Jim Farland. "Think I'm going to desert you at this stage of the game? That is what they want, of course. If I did, you'd probably hire another detective, and it might be one of their own men—whoever they are. I'm in this game to stay, Sid, first because you are an old friend of mine and I think you are being made the victim of some sort of a dirty deal, and also because I'm not the kind of man to be bluffed out of a job. We are going right ahead. I got a note at the office, too."

"A note!" Prale gasped.

"Typewritten, but not on George Lerton's battered typewriter this time. It remarked that unless I gave up this case, somebody would make things hard for me, or words to that effect. Old stuff! If they are so scared that they send threatening letters, they're whipped right now—and they know it!"

"I had an interesting experience this afternoon," said Prale.

"The fight?"

"I don't mean that. I met Kate Gilbert in front of the library. She asked me to get a taxicab and drive her through the Park. I did it. She begged me to leave New York and remain away, and said that my enemies might not be so harsh if I did. I tried to get her to explain, and she insisted that I knew all there was to know. She left the taxicab and walked to her home."

"I'll have to investigate that girl more thoroughly," Farland said.

"She is on guard now, as far as I am concerned."

"Does she know Murk by sight?"

"I think not."

"Then here is where Murk gets a steady job for a time," Jim Farland declared. "Murk, you go up to Kate Gilbert's home and watch a bit. Give him plenty of money, Sid, for expenses. Just see if she leaves the place, Murk, and if so, where she goes, and to whom she talks. Get any general information you can. Try to keep her from knowing that you are watching her, but if she finds it out drop the chase and get back here, and we'll put another shadow on the job. When you are sure that she has decided to remain in her apartment for the night, report back here to Mr. Prale."

"You watch me," Murk said. "I never expected to be caught doin' detective work and I reckon it's somethin' like a disgrace, but this is a sort of special occasion."

Prale gave Murk more money, in case he would have to engage taxicabs or follow Kate Gilbert where money would be necessary for tips and bribes.

"Your face looks pretty good, but you want to remember that there are some marks on it," Prale told him.

"It's looked worse, boss," Murk replied, grinning. "I'll try to do this thing right."

Murk hurried down in the elevator and went from the hotel. He got a cab immediately, and promised that dire things would happen to the chauffeur if he did not get to a certain corner up beside the Park in record time. Jim Farland had given him a badge to be used if he was questioned by a police officer, and he was to say that he was an operative attached to Farland's office.

Murk discharged the taxi at the proper corner, touched match to cigarette, and walked slowly down the street toward the apartment house where Kate Gilbert lived with her father and her maid.

Jim Farland had told him the location of the Gilbert apartment, and Murk saw that the lights in it were burning. It was about time for dinner, he knew.

He went to a drug store on the nearest corner and hurried into a telephone booth. He called the apartment house and asked to be connected with the Gilberts. A woman's hoarse voice answered his call, and he guessed that it was the maid speaking.

"Miss Kate Gilbert there?" Murk asked.

"Who is calling, please?"

"Tell her it is about that Prale affair," Murk replied.

"One moment. I'll call her."

Kate Gilbert's voice came to him over the wire almost immediately.

"Miss Gilbert?" Murk asked. "I was to tell you that——"

And then Murk jerked down the receiver hook, and grinned as he put the receiver on it. Kate Gilbert would believe that a careless central girl had cut them off and put an end to the conversation.

He had learned what he had wished to learn—that Kate Gilbert was at home. He walked back up the street. All he had to do now was to watch, and if Kate Gilbert left the place follow her. If she did not, Murk would wait half an hour or so after the lights in the apartment were turned out, to be sure that she had retired, and then would hurry back to the hotel.

Murk watched from a distance at first, and then went slowly forward, for he did not wish to attract attention by remaining in one position too long. There were few persons on the block; and now and then some automobile or taxicab would discharge a passenger and go on. Murk made his way slowly to the end of the block, always watching the entrance of the apartment house, crossed the street, and started back on the other side.

He came in front of a dark passageway between two buildings, and went on. And out of the mouth of that dark passageway came a blow that caused Murk to groan once and topple forward. Hands gripped his unconscious body and drew him back into the darkness.

CHAPTER XVII MURK IS TEMPTED

The next thing that impressed itself upon Murk's consciousness was the fact that he had a terrific pain in the back of his head. Many times during his career Murk had experienced similar pains. And he knew that the best thing to do was to remain quiet for a short time, keep his eyes closed, and gradually pull himself together.

So he pretended that he had not regained consciousness. He knew that he had been stretched upon a bed or couch of some sort, and that his wrists were lashed together, and his ankles. He was not gagged, however.

Gradually the pain ceased, Murk's senses cleared and he became aware of what was going on around him. He could hear whispered voices, but could not distinguish words and sentences; neither could he tell whether the voices were those of men or women.

Finally Murk opened his eyes.

He found that he was in a small room furnished in quite an ordinary manner. He was stretched on an old-fashioned sofa. There were a few chairs scattered about, and a cupboard in one corner. In the middle of the room was an ordinary table covered with a red cloth. Upon the table a kerosene lamp was burning.

Murk groaned and made an attempt to sit up, but fell back again because of a fit of dizziness. It became evident that his groan had been heard in the room adjoining, for the door, which had been ajar, now was thrown open wide, and two men entered.

Murk knew them instantly; they were the men who had attacked Sidney Prale in the Park.

"Back to earth, are you?" one of them snarled. "If I had my way, you'd have been cracked on the head for good."

Murk snarled in reply, despite the fact that he was bound and at the mercy of these men.

"Sore because I smashed your face!" Murk said.

"That'll be about all out of you! I may take a smash at you yet!"

"You've got a good chance while my hands and feet are tied," Murk replied. "It's the only time you could get away with it, all right! Turn me loose and I can clean up the two of you!"

"You're not doin' any cleanin' for the present," he was told.

Murk began wondering at the object of the assault upon him. He could feel the roll of bills Prale had given him bulging his vest pocket, so he guessed robbery was not the motive. He managed to sit up on the sofa now, and he glared at the two thugs before him with right good will.

One of the men went back into the adjoining room, and the other remained standing before Murk, sneering at him, his hands opening and closing as if he would take Murk's throat in them and choke the life out of Sidney Prale's valet and comrade in arms.

Then the man who had left the room returned, and there was another with him. Murk looked at this stranger with sudden interest. He was well dressed, Murk could see, but he wore an ulster that had the wide collar turned up around his neck, and he had a mask on his face—a home-made mask that was nothing more than a handkerchief with eye slits cut in it.

"Afraid to show yourself, are you?" Murk sneered. "Who are you—the chief thug?"

The masked man pulled a chair up before the sofa and sat down. His eyes glittered at Murk through the slits in the handkerchief.

"You are not going to be harmed, my man—if you are reasonable," he said.

"Reasonable about what?" Murk demanded.

"We want some information and we think you can give it to us; that is all."

"I don't know much," said Murk.

"Tell us why you were prowling around that house near the Park."

"Maybe I was takin' a walk," Murk answered.

"And maybe you were spying, as I happen to know you were. We assume that Sidney Prale sent you to watch