It seemed that a private detective agency, taking the employees in turn for grilling, had interrogated Muriel Drake. Her answers to questions had not been entirely convincing. She seemed unduly nervous. The private detectives had bundled her into their car, started for Headquarters, had an accident which had distracted their attention, and the girl had escaped, gone to the apartment house where her friend lived.
The police theory was that one of the men concerned in the hold-up had been afraid Muriel would confess if she were taken to the station, or that some independent criminal had sensed that Muriel was an accomplice. In any event, the man, knowing in advance that she planned to spend the night with Stella Denny, had secreted himself within the apartment house and waited for the girl to show up.
He had overpowered her, choked her, made a search of her garments, found, perhaps, that for which he searched, and made his escape. No one had seen him come, and no one had seen him go. He had waited, accomplished his sinister purpose and then faded into the night.
Police were conducting a systematic round-up of the men friends of both Muriel Drake and Stella Denny. Those men were being questioned, asked to prove where they had been when the murder was committed.
Sidney Zoom strolled to a barber shop, was shaved; went to the garage where he had stored his car, took his dog for a brief walk, and then went to Harmiston’s Jewelry Company.
He entered the store and noticed that there were quite a number of people present. They were the curious who desired to see the safe which had been rifled, the exact spot where the man had fallen.
Mechanics were busy repolishing the floor, removing certain sinister dark stains. The place where a bullet had entered the wood work was being repaired so that the dark hole in the polished mahogany was no longer visible.
Sidney Zoom strolled the length of the store, peering into the show cases, studying the display of gems, flashing glances at intervals at the watchful clerks who stood at courteous attention.
As he started back toward the door, on the other side of the store, he saw the man he had expected to find. He was standing behind a counter displaying diamond rings, looking quite expressionless of feature, wary of eye.
It was the man who had worn the gray suit and overcoat, the man Sidney Zoom had last seen leaving the Bratten Arms Apartments shortly after Muriel Drake had entered the place, and but a short time before her body had been discovered.
Sidney Zoom let his attention focus upon the diamonds.
The man moved forward.
“Was there something?” he asked in the tone of voice one uses when striving to be courteous, but expecting nothing reassuring in the way of a reply.
“Yes,” said Sidney Zoom. “That diamond pendant interests me. What is the price?”
Harmiston’s was the sort of a place where the commercial side of the transaction is kept purposely subordinate to the merit of the merchandise, the artistic beauty of the design. The man in gray looked slightly shocked.
“You had better examine it, sir,” he said, and took out the pendant.
Sidney Zoom stared at it, did not touch it.
“The price?” he demanded.
“Twelve hundred dollars!” snapped the clerk.
“Wrap it up,” said Zoom.
The man in gray gave an exclamation of surprise.
“What was that? Er... what did you say?”
“I said wrap it up,” said Sidney Zoom, and reached in his inside pocket, opened his wallet, examined the contents.
He raised his eyes to the man’s face.
“You sometimes take jewelry out for inspection?”
“Yes, when a deposit is made.”
“I shall make a deposit then, have you go with me to determine whether or not it meets with the approval of the person for whom the gift is intended.”
“Yes, sir. A deposit of, let us say, two hundred dollars?”
Sidney Zoom flipped two one-hundred-dollar bills upon the glass show case.
“I am in a hurry,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said the man behind the counter. “I’ll be with you at once. Let me get my hat and coat, and get this pendant wrapped. Then I’ll give you a receipt.”
“Very well,” said Sidney Zoom. “We’ll take a cab to the garage where I have my car stored. Then I’ll drive you to consult the young lady.”
“I’ll take along another design as an alternate,” the man in gray called over his shoulder, and bustled away. Within five minutes he was back, ready for the street. Zoom called a cab, drove to the garage, indicated the sedan, and opened the door.
Rip, the police dog, stretched his tawny length, turned a questioning nose toward the newcomer.
“Your name?” asked Sidney Zoom.
“Edgar Carver,” said the man.
Zoom nodded.
“I want to present you formally to the dog. Rip, this is Edgar Carver.”
The dog extended his paw. Carver took it with a nervous laugh.
His eyes turned to Sidney Zoom, and there was a peculiar expression in them, an expression of bewildered wonder with just the faint glint of panic.
“You keep him with you all the time, that dog?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Sidney Zoom. He meshed the gears, and swept out of the garage at a rapid rate of speed.
Carver showed that he was uneasy.
“I... er... wonder if I didn’t see you last night. I saw a man of about your build, walking with a dog.”
Zoom shook his head.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he said, “whether you saw me or not.”
And he yawned.
The man in gray showed visible relief.
“After all,” he said, laughing a short nervous laugh, “there are lots of police dogs who walk around with their masters at night.”
“Lots,” agreed Sidney Zoom.
The car was flashing into speed.
“Where do we go?” asked Carver, as the better class of apartments dropped behind and they turned toward the water front.
“To my yacht,” said Sidney Zoom.
Carver settled back, lit a cigarette.
“This is the life,” he observed.
Zoom garaged the car at the wharf, motioned to Carver to accompany him, walked down the planks of the big wharf, then down a flight of steep stairs to a mooring float against which was his trim white yacht.
Carver walked aboard.
“This way,” said Zoom.
He led the man down the deck, into a cabin, down a short, steep flight of stairs. There was a door at the side of the little passageway at the foot of those stairs, and that door was painted green.
Chapter VI
Caught!
Carver did not notice the color of the door, nor did he notice that the door was so low that he had to stoop to enter. That stooping prevented him from seeing the interior of the room until after he had entered it.
Then he straightened, grinning, started to say something, and stopped. The smile faded from his face. His eyes grew large and glassy with horror. He screamed, whirled, tried to run from the room.
There was a deep-throated growl at his heels.
Rip, the police dog, barred the way with bared fangs.
Carver’s hand raced to his hip, came out with a weapon that glinted an ominous blue in the half light of the horror chamber.
The dog moved with incredible speed. His fangs caught the wrist, clamped down. The dog flung his weight in a sideways lunge, wrenching the wrist.
The gun thudded to the floor.
Sidney Zoom indicated the room.
“Go in,” he said, “and sit down.”
Edgar Carver seemed about to faint. His knees wobbled. His eyes stared at the gruesome interior of the room. That room was barely furnished. The chief object in it was a chair. Wires ran from the floor into that chair. It was straight-backed, businesslike, horrid.