“Then I took the cuffs off Mallory, the secretary, and got Summerfield to station one of his men on the pier as a watchman, and drove back to headquarters. The secretary guy I had locked up for investigation. The chips of wood I’d scraped off I sent over to the city health bureau and told ’em to find out what the spots were. Halloran and Curtis I sent down to get a description of the Spaniard party from Summerfield, and to locate him if they could. And, take it from me, boy, I sure wished you were around here.
“Friday the health bureau wiseacres reported that the spots on the wood were blood, and they sent some of the shavings up to the university to see what kind of blood, so as to be sure of it. Nothing turned up on the Spaniard. And there wasn’t a word, all this time, on old man Staples either. Saturday the university reported that the shavings had human blood on them.
“Meanwhile the river patrol had fished out the rest of the tin and the window frame, which was still nailed to the tin — or the tin was still nailed to it. The stuff showed that it had been ripped off in a hurry.
“There was one piece had a footprint on it, or, rather, the imprint of a hobnailed boot. It was good and plain, the whole foot. From the way the tin was bent and the nails still sticking in the edges, this boot mark was made on the inside.
“The tin and stuff was all dumped on the terminal pier, down below the room, and I sent a couple of long-headed men down there from the Bertillon room, and they nailed the stuff up in place again, after straightening it out, in the same positions as it had been. This boot mark, then, was just about in the middle of the room.”
“That stuff all down there yet, chief?” interrupted Riordan.
“It’s all there, boy, nicely locked up and waiting for you to go look at it. The rent of the place is paid for a year by the Spaniard, so we’re not putting anybody out. Well, we didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, or turning up anything, so I decided to give it to the papers, in the hopes that somebody would squawk.
“So I slipped it to ’em for Sunday morning and let ’em draw their own conclusions. Which they did. You got to hand it to those reporters, they’re wise birds, all right.
“They said what I didn’t, but what I was thinking — that old man Staples was lured down to this tinned-up room on the expectation of seeing some rare orchids, and then, when they got him there, the gang, or whoever it was, not only murdered him, but cut him up neat and threw what was left of him and the tin and all the evidence out into the river. The tin, it sank and stayed there, but the rest of it was rolled along by the current, and maybe it will be found and maybe it won’t.
“The noise stirred up a lot of excitement, but nary a squawk. A lot of people had seen Spanish looking guys, but when we ran down the tips we didn’t get anything. And now you’re back, and I’ve slipped it to you.”
“You found a coat, too, with cuts across the front of it, and a new meat ax, too, didn’t you?” asked Riordan.
Captain Brady nodded his head. “Yeah, found them yesterday, down the river. I see you’ve been reading the papers. The meat ax they fetched up just beyond where they found the tin, and the slashed coat had caught on a snag down at the end of the basin, where it empties into the river. Mallory, the secretary, identified it as one of old Staples’s coats.”
“But not the one he wore when last seen,” said Riordan.
Brady looked up sharply, eyed his aid for some minutes, and then laughed shortly.
“Boy, you gave me a scare for a minute, you did. Made me think of something. But I guess you read that in the papers; some reporter, most likely, wanted to make his story different. How in heck could anybody know if the coat we fished out of the river was the one he wore when last seen? We didn’t see him last, it was the gang that killed him who saw him last.”
Sergeant Riordan got up from his chair, knocked the ashes, now cold, from his pipe, and restored it to his pocket.
“Want me to take that buck home for you?” he asked. “It won’t be far out of my way. I guess I’d better go home and have a hot bath and a shave, then come down to work.”
“Don’t bother taking that carcass out to my house, boy. I’ll get one of the motor cycle men to haul it out in a sidecar, and promise him a side of venison for his trouble. And if a hot bath and shave is all that’s bothering you, there’s the gymnasium on the top floor. Your dress uniform’s hanging in the locker. Change here and it will save time. You’ll have enough to do.”
Riordan smiled. “How’d you know I don’t want to go out and work on this dolled up like a Spaniard or something, chief?”
“ ’Cause, boy, I’m still in possession of my faculties. If you’d wanted to work covered up, you got the best layout on right now, them hunting clothes and the whiskers you’ve raised. Go on upstairs and spruce up, and then go out to Staples’s place and take a look around. That’s what you want to do.”
Detective Sergeant Riordan moved to his locker, took down his dress uniform, found a change of underclothing in a parcel he kept for just such emergencies, and walked toward the door.
“You got Mallory in yet?” he asked, pausing.
“No, I haven’t got Mallory in yet. I held him for forty-eight hours and couldn’t get a darned thing out of him that was any good. So I had to let him go. He’s out at the house. I got his promise to stay there till this thing was cleared up; and to discourage his leaving, and also to keep the crowd moving, I got the chief to assign two men on fixed post out there. Big crowd rubbering at the house all the time, and wanting in to look over the grounds.”
“Well, I’ll go take a look, as you say,” said Riordan, as he swung through the door.
III
After he had gone Captain Brady sat for a time glancing critically at the notes and reports he had on the case, and then spent a few minutes in admiration of the buck Riordan had brought him. Smiling, he telephoned the garage and “borrowed” one of the motor cycle men to take the trophy out to his house: and then turned to other detail matters in hand. Twenty minutes later Riordan again entered the office, this time resplendent in gold braid and blue, and with his face utterly devoid of any suggestion of the heavy growth of hair that had covered it when he returned from his vacation trip.
“You did a quick job, boy,” said Brady, approvingly. “Want me to go out to Staples’s with you, or would you rather go alone?”
“Seeing as you’ve made such a hit with the secretary chap, chief, maybe I’d better go alone. You might rile him up some.”
The doorman interrupted any reply Brady might have had in mind, thrusting in his head to say:
“Mr. Saunderson of the Chronicle, cap’n. Wants to see you private on something important.”
Brady waved for the newspaper man to be admitted. He came in hurriedly, and though he tried to conceal his excitement, his eyes showed he had something which he believed vital. He nodded to Riordan, and then pulled up a chair beside Brady’s desk.
“This came in by messenger boy, with a dollar, about half an hour ago, captain,” he said, putting a piece of typewritten paper on the officer’s desk. “Down at the Chronicle office — the darned fool girl on the desk didn’t notice what it was at first, and didn’t get the messenger boy’s number, or anything.”
Riordan moved over so he could also see the paper, and with Brady read:
PERSONAL. — W. P. Staples, his body will be surrendered to proper parties on payment of enough money. Put ad like this in paper, saying how much and maybe we will do business.
Sergeant Riordan turned away and sat down at his desk.