Carl Walton still wore a half-dazed expression. He was staring blankly at the wall ahead. He had told his story to Chief Culver, and the chief had immediately issued important orders. Now, as Walton rubbed his forehead and lost some of his bewilderment, Culver came over to the corner and sat down in front of him.
“Let’s go over this again, Walton,” requested Culver quietly. “You say Earl Northrup left here about ten minutes after nine to take Mr. Hanscom to the station.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the secretary.
“What time was it when Northrup came back?” questioned Culver.
“About quarter of ten,” answered Walton. “He said he might be coming back and I was waiting for him.”
“And he took some bonds from the safe?”
“He said he was putting them in there. He closed the safe and locked it. But I didn’t think he put the bonds inside.”
“And then—”
Chief Culver was artfully turning this resume into a statement on the part of Walton. The chief was moving his hand as a signal that the others should listen.
“Then,” declared Walton, staring straight ahead, “I told Northrup I suspected him of stealing the bonds. I pulled the revolver from the desk drawer to make him wait until I called for help. He took it from me and hit me here” — the secretary rubbed the side of his head — “and — and that was all I knew until I came to and saw Mosier dead. I–I picked up the revolver. It was on the floor.”
“You say that Mr. Hanscom went to Chicago?”
“Yes, sir, Northrup took him to the station, like I told you. They went out together.”
“Very good,” asserted Culver. “Well, we’ll have Mr. Hanscom with us soon. We phoned ahead to Grahamstown to have him leave the train and come back. He’s less than an hour out from Tilson.”
LOOKING toward the door, Culver saw a man in plain clothes enter the room. The police chief walked over to meet the newcomer. The man spoke in a low voice.
“We’ve got Northrup’s car, sir,” he said.
“His car?” questioned Chief Culver. “Where did you pick it up?”
“At the station.”
“At the station!” Culver’s echo was a puzzled one. “I can’t figure why he would have gone back there. The express to Chicago was the last train out.”
“There was no one at the station,” said the man in plain clothes. “The ticket office closes at nine thirty, you know. But we found the car down there.”
“Hm-m-m,” said Culver thoughtfully. “Then Northrup must have gotten someone to drive him back. I can’t understand that. How do you figure it, Johnson?”
“Seems rather queer to me,” responded the plain-clothes man. “If I could have located the agent, I might have learned something. We’re looking for him now.”
“Here’s Walton’s story,” remarked Culver, going over the details that impressed him. “Northrup expected to come back, and he came back. He knocked out Walton and evidently made a getaway. Now if he came in another car beside his own, he may have had an accomplice — or he may have had a second car parked at the station. But why?”
Johnson shrugged his shoulders.
“The question is whether or not those bonds are in the safe,” continued Culver. “We’ll find that out when Hanscom gets here. As it now stands, all the evidence we’ve got is that Mosier was dead, and Walton was here alone. Looking at it that way, Walton could have killed the butler.”
“He said that he was knocked out, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but that could be a fake. For that matter, Mosier might have cracked him, but not enough to have kept Walton from shooting. No, the bonds are the important matter. I’ll tell you why. If they’re gone, there’s a third man mixed in this.”
“Northrup, eh?”
“Maybe,” said the police chief cryptically. “That’s what Walton says, and that’s why we’ve got to find Northrup. But I can’t get over the fact that Walton was here with the body.”
Culver glanced at his watch and strode nervously up and down the floor. He stopped his pacing and turned to Johnson.
“Wait until Hanscom gets here,” he said. “Then we’ll know more than we do now. He ought to be here at any time, coming back by car from Grahamstown.”
As the police chief finished his statement, a man appeared at the door of the room. He was a wan-faced fellow, whom Culver recognized as the agent from the Tilson station.
“Ah!” exclaimed the chief. “You’re the man I want! Did you see Earl Northrup down at the station with Anthony Hanscom?”
The station agent nodded.
“They came into the ticket office,” he declared. “Mr. Hanscom bought a ticket for Chicago. Then Northrup said—”
“Wait!” Culver’s exclamation was an excited one. “Here’s Hanscom now — and there’s Northrup with him!”
The words were true. Anthony Hanscom and Earl Northrup had come up the stairs together. Hanscom was staring at the body of Mosier. Northrup’s odd features were impassive, but the lips were puckered in a puzzled manner.
Chief Culver did not know what to make of the double arrival. He glanced from one man to the other; then motioned a policeman to take charge of Northrup while he spoke to Hanscom.
“Please open the safe at once,” requested Culver. “We’re worried about your bonds, Mr. Hanscom.”
WITHOUT a word, Hanscom went to the safe and turned the dials. The door swung back. Hanscom gasped. Culver nodded knowingly. The safe was empty.
“They’re gone,” said the police chief solemnly, “and the man who’s got them either killed Mosier or knows who killed him! There’s the man I want to talk to now! Earl Northrup!”
Culver swung toward the door. Earl Northrup’s lips were opened in amazement. He did not seem to understand the situation.
“How did you get back here?” demanded Culver. “Why did you attack Walton and kill Mosier? What have you done with the bonds you stole?”
Before Northrup could respond, Anthony Hanscom intervened. The gray-haired man thrust himself in front of the police chief. His eyes blazed angrily.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “This is preposterous! What do you mean by questioning Earl Northrup, my friend, in this manner. Are you insane, Chief Culver?”
Culver was taken aback. He could not understand the cause of Hanscom’s sudden wrath. Then he realized that Hanscom was in ignorance of Walton’s statement.
“I’m going by what Carl Walton told us,” he explained. “He said that Northrup was to come back here; that he did come back; that he took the bonds—”
“Walton said that?” cried Hanscom. “Walton has lied!”
Striding across the room, Hanscom glowered at his secretary. Walton, bewildered, shrank away from the accusation that he saw in his employer’s eyes. Hanscom cast a withering glance; then pointed toward Walton.
“There is the culprit, Chief Culver,” he declared. “His story is a deliberate lie. He has hung himself in his own noose.
“He expected Earl Northrup back here. But Earl Northrup did not come back. When we reached the station, Northrup decided to go to Chicago with me. He left his car parked by the station. He got off the train with me at Grahamstown. He has been with me every minute since ten past nine — the time we left this house!”
Culver was too astonished to reply. He looked at Hanscom; then at Northrup; finally at the station agent. This last man nodded.
“I was just going to tell you about it, chief,” declared the agent. “When Mr. Hanscom bought his ticket to Chicago, Mr. Northrup decided to go along, too. He asked me if his car would be safe outside the station. I told him it would be. So I sold him a ticket, too, and I saw him get on the train with Mr. Hanscom—”