"I could not content myself. My nerves were nearly at the breaking point, although the physician had given me an opiate to quiet me. After lying on the bed and tossing around for an hour or two, I arose and again sought the side of my dear one. I was surprised not to find Miss Matthews in the room, which was empty, although there, were several people in the study just across the hall.
"I stepped to the casket. As there is a God in Heaven, the body of my wife was gone! In its place was the body of Dolly, her maid, cold in death!"
"There was no evidence of foul play in the case of the maid?"
"No, although I am certain, under the circumstances, that she was murdered. She couldn't have died a natural death and crawled into the casket herself, could she?" He glared at the inspector as if expecting a denial. Receiving no answer lie continued:
"My cries brought those who were in the other room and we immediately summoned Doctor Bennett, who made an examination. He would not even venture an opinion as to what caused death.
"Meanwhile, I was almost beside myself. Can you blame me? We searched the house from cellar to garret, looking for the remains of my wife. Failing to find her body, we were about to call up police headquarters — which we should have done in the beginning — when I received the call to go Jo the morgue. There I found the poor dear. I demand that immediate steps be taken to bring the perpetrator of the hellish deed to justice! I am a wealthy man. I will spend every cent I possess to hang the wretch. Damn him!"
Inspector Des Moines scratched his chin reflectively. "It's got me beat, Mr. Winters. I'll confess that I never came across a case like this in all of my twenty years on the force. You are ready to swear that your wife died yesterday afternoon and that you saw her body in the coffin. A reputable physician made an examination and pronounced her dead. Yet— Are you sure that the body you examined in the morgue is that of Mrs. Winters?"
"Positively. I identified it, not only by her sweet girlish face, but by a small birthmark on her left shoulder."
"She had no sister? She was not a twin?"
"She was an only child."
"Then, Mr. Winters, how do you reconcile your story with that of Mr. Johnson, here, who swears that the woman whose body you saw in the morgue, and have identified as your wife, was alive and well at ten o'clock this morning? Yes, he even goes farther and asserts that he talked to her and that she, aided by two others, robbed Harden & Company of a valuable diamond brooch."
Winters leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing, his face aflame with rage. "He's an infernal liar and a blackguard—"
Before he could continue, there was a rap at the door. Des Moines' secretary entered. He handed the inspector an envelope marked "Important. Winters Case."
The policeman tore the envelope open and glanced hastily over the contents. Then, with an oath, he read it aloud to the others:
My dear Inspector: I have just started. I am Lessman, the man who laughs at death! I killed Mrs. Winters! I killed her as I have killed others — and as I will kill again — by the power of thought alone! Unravel that if you can.
What is death, my dear inspector? Who knows? No one but me. What is the human body? Only a prison in which the soul is confined — a piece of clay to be discarded at will. God kills when he wishes. Why not I? It suited my purpose to use the mortal form of Mrs. Winters, and I took it.
Hereafter, I will give you due and timely notice of each crime I commit — and I assure you that they will be numerous.
With best wishes, I sign myself
IV
The Winters' mystery was the most interesting news event of the day and the afternoon papers made the most of it. At its best, the city administration was not a favorite with the press. Augustus Winters was wealthy and popular, his wife had been one of the leaders of the faster young society set. As a result, the police department was grilled to a turnover for what was termed the laxity of its methods.
Inspector Des Moines, accustomed to the vagaries of journalism, used to being praised one day and reviled the next, gave little heed to what was said or written about him or his department. Yet he read every detail carefully in the hope that the reporters had gathered some new evidence that would tend to help in working out the solution of the puzzle. For in the past he had secured much valuable help from the newspaper men. But this time he was doomed to disappointment. They could find nothing — absolutely nothing — that gave him any additional light.
Nothing had been left undone. Men from the inspector's office had combed the city in search of a clew to the mysterious Lessman. But without avail. Only the machine used in the Harden & Company robbery had been found. Stolen earlier in the day from a garage in the outskirts of the city, it had been abandoned by the side of a country road when the users were through with it. Beyond that one small detail, no headway had been made.
The newspapers had assigned their best man to the case. They could secure not even a trace of the unknown perpetrator of the startling crimes — for Des Moines had not thought it advisable to take the press into his confidence in so far as the threatening letter he had received was concerned.
Tired and disgruntled, he was about to leave the office, for the night, when the 'phone on his desk thrilled. He picked the receiver from its hook and answered.
"Inspector Des Moines?" queried a heavy, male voice.
Des Moines answered in the affirmative. The man at the other end of the line chuckled to himself.
"Well?" growled the Inspector. "Did you call me to the 'phone at this time of the night to tell me a joke?"
Instantly, the quiet laughter ceased and the voice came clear and strong across the space. "No, inspector, I beg your pardon. This is Lessman speaking! — Lessman, the Man Who Will Not Die! I imagined that I would catch you in your office. I had a notion to call around and see you, then thought better of it. Can you understand me all right?
"Now, listen to me carefully, Des Moines. I told you that I would give you fair warning when I was ready to make my next move. I always keep my word. Are you listening? Tomorrow morning, on the stroke of ten, I am going to kill a man! Where? Oh, no, I have no objection to telling you where — on the street in front of 1416 Broadway — yes, 1416 Broadway! Probably a policeman! No, no, not you. But be on the job, inspector. I am doing this for a purpose. I hate the police, damn them! But it will give you an opportunity of studying my methods. Ha, ha! You and I will match wits frequently from now on.
"Oh, yes. Before I say good night I'll make you a promise. If you'll be present tomorrow, I'll promise you that I will do my best to hunt you up and talk with you. You need not go to — the trouble of notifying the papers, for I have done that myself. I've asked them all to send their best men. That's all for this time. Good-bye!"
The receiver at the other end was hung up with a click.
Then Des Moines was galvanized into action. Frantically he jiggled the hook up and down until Central answered sharply.
"Quick!" he demanded. "This is Inspector Des Moines at Headquarters. Where did that call come from just now? Get on the job and find out. Fifty dollars in it for you if you'll find out immediately!"