Abruptly, there was the whirring noise of a siren whistle over the radio. Then a masculine voice said:
“Calling all cars for a further report on the shooting at the Richmore Apartments.”
Sidney Zoom breathed a sigh of relief.
“Here it comes,” he said.
The masculine voice droned through facts in a weary monotone. “The man who fired the shots and who gave the name of Richard Horton, and who claimed to be a tenant in the building, has been identified positively as Paul Stapleton, in charge of narcotic investigations relating to incoming ocean liners. A check-up on the tenants of the Richmore Apartments showed that a Ruby Allison had apartment 35B, and was employed by Paul Stapleton in the capacity of stenographer and secretary.
“When she failed to answer her door, detectives effected an entrance and found the dead body of Frank Venard, a private detective, lying sprawled on the floor. Venard had evidently been shot, but there was no weapon found within the apartment.
“The ballistic department is making a series of experiments with the gun found in the possession of Paul Stapleton, to determine if the bullet was fired from that gun.
“In the meantime, all cars are warned to be on the lookout for Ruby Allison, a young woman, age twenty-three, height five feet four and a half inches, weight one hundred and seventeen pounds, hair dark, eyes dark. When last seen, wearing a tweed coat. She has been traced to the Union Depot, and positively identified as having purchased a ticket for Midvale; but a search of the train discloses that she did not remain on the train, but evidently left it en route. She is wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Frank Venard.
“We will repeat the description of the girclass="underline" Ruby Allison...”
Sidney Zoom strode to the instrument and snapped over the switch which cut it off.
“That,” he said, “is that”
The two women stared at him in silence.
“Now,” said Sidney Zoom, “it remains to collect from Stapleton.”
“How do you mean?” asked Vera Thurmond.
“I mean,” he said, “that I am convinced the story told me by Miss Allison is correct, and that it is true in every particular. It remains, therefore, for me to assess some contribution against Paul Stapleton — a contribution which will compensate this young woman in some measure for the publicity, the humiliation, and the expense which will doubtless become necessary in connection with securing legal representation.”
He turned and strode purposefully toward the door.
Rip, the police dog, who had been lying by the radio, raised his head and cocked his ears inquiringly.
Sidney Zoom shook his head.
“No, Rip,” he said, “you are going to stay there. This is one time when I must resort to subterfuge and disguise.”
“You’re not going to do anything dangerous?” asked Vera Thurmond anxiously.
Sidney Zoom smiled grimly at her.
“Everything that one does is dangerous,” he said. “And perhaps the most certain way to court danger is to try to avoid it. The man who allows his style to be cramped because he fears consequences, is one who never gets any place.”
Sidney Zoom pushed his way out into the early dawn, and if he was conscious of the warm tenderness in the eyes of Vera Thurmond, he did not show it, but strode grimly forth as a warrior going into battle, his mind concentrated only upon a plan of attack.
The sun was not yet up, but there was sufficient light to show something of color. The East was blazing into a golden hue. Birds were commencing to flit restlessly about from house top to tree top. The air was fresh, buoyant and life-giving.
Sidney Zoom strode entirely around the house of Paul Stapleton, paused before the side door of the house, and gave the lock some careful attention. A moment later he inserted a skeleton key, and twisted the bolt back. He stepped into the house and listened. There was no sound.
Zoom knew that there was at least one servant in the house. He also knew that the servant would have no hesitancy about shooting first and asking questions afterwards. Therefore, Sidney Zoom made no attempt at being quiet.
He adjusted a mask over his features, slipped a revolver into his right hand, and stepped into a closet which opened from the library. He saw that there was ample room for concealment in this closet, then boldly walked out into the center of the library, and toppled over a bookcase.
The books fell to the floor with a terrific crash of breaking glass, splintering wood and thudding volumes.
Zoom stepped back and waited.
He had not long to wait. There was the sound of hurried steps running down the stairs, and then the figure of the man who had stood at the elbow of Paul Stapleton the night before entered the room. The man was attired in pajamas and slippers, and carried a heavy caliber revolver in his right hand.
Zoom, hiding in the closet, his eyes glued to a crack between the partially open door and the casement, saw the man enter the room; saw the expression of puzzled bewilderment on his face; then saw the expression of bewilderment gradually change to one of annoyance. The gun was slightly lowered as the man stepped forward to inspect the damage.
He looked around the room, then bent over the wreckage of the bookcase and the scattered books. Sidney Zoom pushed the door of the closet open and noiselessly stepped out. The first intimation that the man had of Zoom’s presence was when the muzzle of Zoom’s gun made a cold pressure against the back of the bare neck.
“Stick ’em up!” said Zoom.
The man grew rigid. For a moment he hesitated, then slowly his hands moved up in the air.
“Drop the gun,” Zoom told him.
The gun dropped, struck a book, glanced and skidded along the floor.
“Put your hands behind your back with your wrists together,” Zoom said.
When his command had been obeyed, Zoom took handcuffs from his hip pocket, fitted them over the wrists and clicked them shut.
“Now,” said Zoom, “you can tell me where Stapleton had the marked money concealed.”
The man turned a curious head over his shoulder, saw the tall form, with the mask covering the features.
“There wasn’t any marked money,” he said.
Sidney Zoom laughed, and the laugh was grim.
“Do you know?” he asked.
“Of course I don’t know. I tell you there wasn’t any.”
Sidney Zoom spoke after the manner of one who thinks out loud.
“Not the usual servant,” he said. “Either an intimate of your master or one of the conspirators who works with him.”
The man grunted a comment that caused Zoom to prod his pistol into the tender short ribs.
“That’ll do,” he said. “Shut up if you can’t speak decently.”
The man winced, and Zoom’s hawk-like eyes looked swiftly around the room.
“Were you here,” he asked, “when the search was made?”
The man muttered a grudging assent.
“Did they, perhaps,” asked Sidney Zoom, “look through the books in the library?”
“They looked everywhere,” he said. “They searched this house from top to bottom. They spilled books all over the floor, tore up carpets, pounded walls, pulled out the casements from the windows and examined the window weights. They looked everywhere.”
Zoom laughed grimly.
“That,” he said, “makes it nice. It only remains for me to conduct a very limited search.”
Curiosity mastered the handcuffed man.
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“Simply,” said Sidney Zoom, “that they have looked in all of the likely hiding places. It only remains for me to look in the unlikely hiding places.”