“Humph!” the lawyer grunted. “So you’re a student of human nature, are you, Dan?”
“Yes, sir. I’m just beginning. I’ve had very little experience, but there’s something else just as good. The people who say experience is the best school don’t know what they’re talking about. Most people could learn more about human nature in one week by studying Montaigne’s Essays than in a lifetime of observation, because hardly any one knows how to observe. Not that I don’t need experience; I’m just beginning to get it. I always keep my eyes and ears open. You remember, sir, it was you who told me to read Montaigne.”
“Yes, I believe I did,” agreed the lawyer. “I never got much out of him myself.”
“No, sir; I suppose not. But to go back to Mount. I am certain now that he’s innocent.”
Mr. Leg frowned. “But that doesn’t get us anywhere.”
“No, sir. But I am also pretty certain that I know who is responsible for the murder.”
“What?” shouted Mr. Leg, nearly falling out of his chair in his surprise.
“Yes, sir.”
“You know who the murderer is!”
“No, sir, I didn’t say that. I only know who is responsible for it, though it may be that he actually did it himself. I wouldn’t think it possible, only I remember that Montaigne says, ‘The passions smothered by modern civilization are doubly ferocious when awakened,’ and that was nearly four hundred years ago.”
“But, good Heavens, Dan, how did you — who is it?”
But that the boy wouldn’t tell, saying that he might be wrong, and that he had no real evidence to support his suspicion. Mr. Leg insisted, but finally gave it up, and listened attentively while Dan recounted the story of the missing janitor, with all the details.
“There’s just one thing we’ve got to do,” finished the boy, “and that is find Patrick Cummings. It won’t be easy, because it’s certain that he’s in hiding, if something worse hasn’t happened to him. I looked around for a photograph of him, but couldn’t find any.”
“The thing to do is get the police after him,” suggested Mr. Leg.
“Yes, sir,” agreed Dan, but there was a curious expression in his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to ask, will you go to Commissioner Hammel himself, since you know him?”
“Yes, I will,” said the lawyer, “and I’ll go right now.”
And ten minutes later he was off, with a detailed description of Patrick Cummings, typewritten by Dan, in his pocket. A taxicab got him to headquarters for eighty cents.
This time he found the police commissioner in, and, being Simmie Leg, Dick Hammel’s friend from college days, he was passed in ahead of a score of others who had been waiting anywhere from ten minutes to three hours.
Police Commissioner Richard Hammel was a tall, well-built man of middle age, with a fine-looking head, well carried, and piercing, cynical eyes. He was well connected socially, being a member of an old New York family that had been prominent in the life of the city for over a century.
“How are you, Simmie?” said he, rising from his chair with outstretched hand as Mr. Leg was ushered in. “Something new to see you around here.”
“Hello, Dick!” The visitor took the proffered hand. “Yes, but you know what Devery said.”
They chatted for ten minutes before the lawyer came to the purpose of his call. Then, pulling Dan’s description of the missing janitor from his pocket, he explained the circumstances to the commissioner saying that he wished a general alarm sent out for him all over the country.
Commissioner Hammel did not reply at once. He was apparently making a careful study of the length of a pencil he held in his hand, as he continued to gaze at it thoughtfully for some moments after Mr. Leg had stopped speaking. Finally he turned to his visitor.
“Simmie,” he said slowly, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.”
“Why not?” demanded the lawyer in surprise. “Of course, I know you might be working against yourself in case Cummings’s testimony should free Mount, but justice—”
“It isn’t that.” The commissioner frowned. “Our esprit de corps doesn’t go so far as to want to convict an innocent man of murder. But Mount isn’t innocent.” He eyed his visitor speculatively. “If it were anyone else, Simmie, I’d turn him off with evasion, but with you I can be frank.
“Of course Mount is guilty; the evidence is conclusive. I don’t mean it’s merely sufficient to convict; it’s absolutely conclusive of his guilt. You know that as well as I do. But you think this man Cummings could throw new light on the affair. Well, you’re right. He could.”
The commissioner stopped to clear his throat.
“The fact is,” he continued, “if Cummings were found and allowed to tell his story, he would bring notoriety on somebody. I don’t know who. I really don’t know, Simmie. But it’s somebody that has a voice in high places, for word has come that Cummings must not be found. You appreciate the circumstances. There’s no use kicking up a scandal when it will do good to nobody.”
There was a silence.
“Humph,” grunted Mr. Leg finally, casting a thoughtful eye on the floor. “Of course, Dick, I don’t like scandal any more than you do, especially when it hits one of my friends. But, in the first place, I don’t know that this unknown person is my friend, and I don’t admire this mystery stuff except in stories. And secondly, how do you know it wouldn’t do any good?”
“Oh, come now, Simmie,” replied the commissioner with a smile, “you know very well Mount’s guilty. Don’t be foolish.”
“On the contrary,” retorted the lawyer, “I believe he’s innocent. And Dan — that is, a detective I’ve employed — believes it, too. I tell you, Dick, scandal or no scandal, Cummings must be found.”
“If he is,” said the commissioner decisively, “it will be without the help of the police.”
“But, Dick—”
“No. A good friend of mine, and a valuable member of this community, has asked me to stay off, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t know who he spoke for, and he wouldn’t tell me; but since we unquestionably have the guilty man—”
“I tell you he’s innocent!” repeated Mr. Leg warmly. He got up from his chair and put on his hat; he was dangerously near losing his temper for the first time in five years.
“Don’t be an ass!” was the commissioner’s reply.
“Is that so?” retorted Mr. Leg inelegantly. “I’ll show you who’s an ass, Dick Hammel! And let me tell you something: Patrick Cummings is going to be found if I have to hunt for him myself!”
And, leaving this awful threat to shake the walls behind him, he departed.
Chapter VI
The Name on the Screen
In the weeks that followed, Mr. Simon Leg experienced for the first time in his life the sensation of mingled rage, helplessness, and doubt that attacks a man when he grimly swears to do a thing and then fails in the execution. He had said: “Patrick Cummings is going to be found if I have to hunt for him myself.” He hunted. Dan hunted. They hired detectives, and the detectives hunted. But three weeks after Mr. Leg had hurled his ultimatum at the commissioner of police the missing janitor was still missing.
The detectives were also set to work on other aspects of the case. They investigated the past lives of both Mount and his wife, but found out nothing of real value. They discovered that for at least a year previous to her disappearance Mrs. Mount had been a more or less frequent visitor to cabarets, and once they thought they had found the man with whom she had run away, but he proved an alibi.
In all, Mr. Leg hired more than a dozen detectives, including the great Jim Dickinson himself, at a cost of several thousand dollars, but all he really got out of it was a huge stack of elaborate daily reports which, in fact, were absolutely useless.