It was weather such as Sidney Zoom liked, a stiff breeze, a sea that pounded his yacht, plenty of freedom and elbow room.
Vera Thurmond, his secretary, was straightening out the report of the radio calls that had gone over the police broadcasting system the night before.
“This robbery of Huntley & Cobb’s place was cleaned up,” she said. “The police got a confession.”
Sidney Zoom’s hawk-like eyes remained fixed upon the roaring waters.
“Yes?” he asked, shifting the wheel a bit so that he would quarter up a big roller.
“Yes. One of the men from the wholesale department did it He framed things so it would seem another employee was guilty. A patrolman caught the woman accomplice taking the loot from a brick wall. There was something like twenty thousand dollars’ worth. He’s going to get a promotion out of it. They found the man and he confessed and blamed the woman. She was the one who lured Dupree, the man they first suspected.”
Sidney Zoom yawned.
“Well,” he said, “if it’s a closed case, tear up the records. It’s dead, as far as I’m concerned, when the case is solved.”
She regarded him curiously.
“You were out getting the radio reports last night. I wonder that you didn’t get in on that. Weren’t you interested?”
“Oh, yes,” said Zoom, “I looked the ground over.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a bracelet, studded with small diamonds and rubies.
“By the way,” he said, “you might like that.”
He tossed it over to her.
She rose to her feet, braced herself against the roll of the yacht, let her breath come in a gasp as she saw the exquisite workmanship of the bracelet.
“For me?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, a present from Huntley. He tried to give it to me, and I laughed at him, told him I didn’t wear bracelets. So he asked me if I didn’t have some secretary who might like it. I told him yes. Better drop Huntley a note of thanks.”
The girl was staring at the bracelet, fitting it around her wrist.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “it’s worth hundreds of dollars! Why in the world would Huntley have given you such a bracelet?”
Sidney Zoom shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just happened to be in the place when the stolen jewelry was recovered. He was feeling generous, I guess.”
She said, sharply: “You were there when the stolen jewelry was brought back?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“No wonder another patrolman gets a promotion!” she said.
“Well,” explained Sidney Zoom, sheepishly, “he had a family, and he ran as though his feet were about to give out pounding pavements.”
“I see,” said the girl, and her eyes, watching the lines of Sidney Zoom’s grim back, were soft with a tenderness that was purely feminine, yet held no trace of being maternal.
But Sidney Zoom’s unwinking hawk-eyes were fastened upon the confused waters over the bar. His hands caressed the spokes of the wheel tenderly, and the yacht throbbed her way out into the storm.
Lifted Bait
Chapter I
Two Tickets to Midvale
The hawk eyes of Sidney Zoom peered into the lighted window of the telegraph office.
Sidney Zoom, tall, dynamic, sardonic, paced the midnight streets of the city, accompanied by his police dog, taking the part of the oppressed, and making war upon the oppressors. Experience had taught him the haunts of those bits of human flotsam who were spewed out to one side by the ruthless tide of the great city.
There were those who said that Sidney Zoom fought for the underdog because of a vast human sympathy beneath the sardonic exterior. There were others who claimed that Sidney Zoom was merely a born fighter, and that he cultivated the unfortunate because he wished some cause for combat.
Be that as it may, Sidney Zoom frequented the midnight-streets. He knew the haunts of those unfortunates who were about to commit suicide. He knew the cheap restaurants where human derelicts came drifting at night, dispirited, discouraged and all but impoverished.
And he knew that the foundation for many grim tragedies has been laid in the lighted interiors of the telegraph offices during those hours after the theatre crowds have ceased to surge along the pavements, and when human vitality is at its lowest ebb.
The young woman who caught the eyes of Sidney Zoom was twisting a handkerchief about her fingers as she stood at the counter of the office.
Sidney Zoom pushed his way through the swinging door. His well trained police dog dropped to the sidewalk, flattened against the side of the building, ears cocked forward, delicately attuned to the steps of his master.
Sidney Zoom approached the telegraph counter and stood beside the young woman.
She did not so much as glance up. Her eyes were fixed upon the lone attendant who was shuffling through a sheaf of telegrams.
The clerk turned and approached the counter, empty-handed.
As the eyes of the girl saw the empty hands, she gave a quivering, sobbing gasp.
“No, Miss Allison,” said the clerk, “There’s nothing for you.”
“But,” she said, “I sent her a wire this evening, about nine o’clock. It certainly should have been delivered.”
The clerk looked inquiringly at Sidney Zoom.
“I’ll wait,” said Zoom.
The clerk turned to face the white despair of the girl’s features.
“Did you want me,” he asked, “to look up the telegram and see if it was delivered?”
She nodded. “It was sent to Evelyn Bostwick, and my name is Ruby Allison. The address was 2932 Cutter Avenue, Chicago.”
“Just a moment,” said the clerk.
He opened a filing drawer, thumbed rapidly through a list of cards, took out one, and brought it to the young woman.
“Apparently,” he said, “she was not at her apartment, but was expected later. The telegram is reported undelivered.”
The girl gasped, clutched the edge of the counter, then turned wordlessly and walked toward the nearest chair. She sat down as though her knees had collapsed.
Abruptly, she became conscious of the gaze of the two men, and flashed them a resentful look. She turned to the oak desk in front of which she was seated, pulled down a pad of telegraph blanks, picked up a pencil and started to scribble a message.
The clerk looked inquiringly at Sidney Zoom.
“Have you,” asked Sidney Zoom, “any message for Zoom? Sidney Zoom.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Zoom,” said the clerk.
He once more consulted the sheaf of telegrams, then shook his head.
“Nothing, Mr. Zoom.”
Sidney Zoom walked to one of the other desks, sat in front of it, and pulled toward him a pad of blanks, while he started to scribble a message which was but a meaningless jumble of words. From time to time he hesitated, as though seeking exactly the proper word, or crossed out some word which he had written. Upon those occasions, his eyes surreptitiously surveyed the young woman.
She finished writing her telegram, read it, hesitated, bit her lip, looked at the clock, tore the telegram in half and dropped it into the wastebasket. She pushed back her chair, walked with firm, determined steps to the counter and caught the eyes of the clerk.
“I’ll come back again in about an hour,” she said. “They certainly should be able to deliver that telegram, and there’ll be an answer for me.”