Sands nodded.
“Look what happened. I started for home. My roadster was parked out in front of headquarters. I got in and drove it out Claremont Street, and was just turning into Washington when another car came forging alongside of me.
“I thought it would go on past, but it kept crowding me over. Then I thought of all the talk I’d heard of gangsters, and I wondered if there was any chance I was going to be abducted, too.
“I slammed on the brakes. The other car pushed right in beside me. There was a man sitting next to the driver, sort of a foreign looking fellow, and he tossed something.
“I thought it was a bomb, and I yelled and put my hand over my eyes. The thing thudded right into the seat beside me. When I grabbed it to throw it out, I saw it was a leather sack, weighted, and that there was crumpled paper on the inside. I opened the sack and found — this!”
Dramatically he handed over the piece of typewritten paper.
“Read it aloud,” begged Ealy.
“Take a look,” invited Captain Harder, spreading the sheet of paper on the desk.
They clustered about in a compact group, read the contents of that single spaced sheet of typewriting.
Sands:
You are a damned fool. The banker would have given in if you hadn’t been so hostile. And the police bungled the affair, as they nearly always do. I’ve got a method of hearing and seeing what goes on in Captain Harder’s office. I’m going to tell you folks right now that you didn’t do Dangerfield any good. When I showed him on the screen what was taking place, and he heard your words, he was beside himself with rage.
You’ve got one more chance to reach that banker. If he doesn’t pay the sum within twelve hours there won’t be any more Dangerfield.
And the next time I kidnap a man and hold him for ransom I don’t want so much powwow about it. Just to show you my power, I am going to abduct you, Sands, after I kill Dangerfield, and then I’m going to get Arthur Soloman, the banker. Both of you will be held for a fair ransom. Soloman’s ransom will be seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. So he’d better get ready to pay.
This is the final and last warning.
Captain Harder’s eyes were wide.
“Good Lord, has that man got a dictograph running into this office?”
Sands made a helpless gesture with the palms of his hands. He was white, his teeth were chattering, and his knees seemed utterly devoid of strength.
“I don’t know. He’s a devil. He’s always seemed to know just what was going on. And he surely must have known Dangerfield’s habits from A to Z. I’m frightened.”
Captain Harder walked to the door.
“Send in a couple of men to search this place for a dictograph,” he said. Then he turned on his heel, gave a swing of his arm. “Come on in another room, you folks. We’ll go into this thing.”
The little group trooped into one of the other offices.
“All right, Rodney. You were mentioning a scientist. What of him?”
“I went to his office,” said Rodney, “and tried to engage him in conversation. He wouldn’t talk. I asked him what he knew about Dangerfield, and he all but frothed at the mouth. He said Dangerfield was a crook, a pirate, a robber. Then he slammed the door.
“But, here’s the point. I got a peep at the inside of his office. There was a Royal portable in there, and these letters that were received demanding ransom were written on a Royal portable.
“It’s not much of a lead, and it’s one that the police will have to run down — now. If it’s a matter of life and death, and working against time, then it’s too big for our agency to handle. But my opinion is that Albert Crome was violently insane, at least upon the subject of Dangerfield.”
The police captain whirled to Sands.
“What sort of a car were these men using?”
“You mean the men who tossed the letter?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t tell you. I know it’s stupid of me, but I just got too rattled to notice. It was a big car, and it looked as though it might have been a Cadillac, or a Buick, or a Packard. It might even have been some other make. I was rattled.”
The captain snorted.
“What do you know about Crome?”
Sands blinked.
“I know Mr. Dangerfield was negotiating for the purchase of some patent rights, or the financing of some formula or something, but that’s about all. The deal fell through.”
“Ever meet Crome?”
The secretary hesitated, knitted his brows.
“You’ll have to let me think... Yes, yes, of course I did. I met him several times. Some of the negotiations were carried on through me;”
“Impress you as being a little off?” asked Sid Rodney, drawling the question, his inevitable cigarette dangling loosely from the corner of his mouth as he talked.
“No. He impressed me as being a pretty wide awake sort of a chap, very much of a gentleman, with a high sense of honor.”
Captain Harder pressed a button.
“Take these letters. Have ’em photographed,” he told the man who answered the buzzer. “Check the typewriting with the others. Then get me everything you can get on Albert Crome. I want to know what he’s been doing with his time the last few days, who he associates with, who’s seen him lately, where he lives, what he’s doing with his work, everything about him.
“And if you can get a man into his offices and laboratory, I want a specimen of the typewriting that comes from the portable machine he’s got — a Royal.”
The man nodded, withdrew.
Captain Harder grinned at the little group.
“Well, we might go down to T-Bone Frank’s and have a cup of coffee and some eats. Maybe we’ll have something new when we get back.”
Sands fidgeted.
“I don’t want anything to eat.”
“Well, you’d better wait a little while, Sands. You know that threat may mean nothing. Then again, it may mean a lot.”
Sands nodded.
“Are you going to tell Soloman?”
“Yes. I’ll give him a ring, I guess. Maybe I’d better do it before he gets home and to bed. Let’s see, I’ve got his number here. I’ll give him a buzz and break the glad tidings and then put a couple of the boys on guard in front of the place. It’ll make him think a little. Didn’t like his attitude, myself... Oh, well!”
He gave the exchange operator the number, replaced the receiver, fished a cigar from his pocket, and scraped a noisy match along the sole of his shoe.
Ruby Orman scribbled on her pad of paper: “In tense silence, these men waited grimly for the dawn.”
Charles Ealy put a matter-of-fact question.
“Can we get these letters for the noon editions, Harry?”
“What’s the deadline?” asked the captain.
“We’d have to have them by eight o’clock in order to get the plates ready.”
“I guess so. It ain’t eight o’clock yet.”
Ealy perked up his ears.
“You speak as though you had something up your sleeve,” he said.
The officer nodded grimly.
“I have,” he said.
The telephone rang. Captain Harder cupped his ear to the receiver.
“Funny,” he said, “Soloman’s residence says he’s not home yet.” Then: “Keep calling. Tell him I want to speak to him. It’s important.”
They went to the all-night restaurant, lingered over coffee and sandwiches. They were all nervous, with the exception of Sid Rodney. That individual seemed to be utterly relaxed, but it was the inactivity of a cat who is sprawled in the sun, keeping a lazy eye upon a fluttering bird, trying to locate the nest.