Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 60, No. 1, July 4, 1931

The gray ghost mocked in the darkness of the Tremont Building — and a madman laughed.

Chapter I The Laugh

Farnsworth raised his eyes from his littered desk, looked at the wall clock, and then glanced at a heavily-jowled, compact companion nodding at a desk in the corner.

“It’s after midnight, Darwin,” he said finally. “You’d better go on home.”

Darwin’s round, brown eyes snapped wide open.

“Are you through, inspector?” he asked sleepily.

“Not quite; I have some reports to complete. But you needn’t wait for me. You’ve had a long, hard pull.”

“Inspector, let them reports go till to-morra. You’ve got ’nough time now, the Pope case’s closed.”

“All closed,” remarked Farnsworth, with a smile.

“The newspapers is sorry. They’ll have to dig up somethin’ different for the first page. You got a lotta publicity outta the Pope case.”

“Publicity doesn’t help,” asserted Farnsworth.

“Let me fall down just once and see what’ll happen to whatever reputation I may have made.”

“I ain’t worryin’ ’bout you failin’ down, inspector. Anybody that broke the Pope case like you done, ain’t gonna fall down. You don’t only recover Mrs. Garfield Pope’s pearls but you put Red Lyons and his mob away. And that big gorilla, Lyons, ain’t no more dangerous’n a rattlesnake neither. When he stood up in court and said he’d kick his way outta stir and—”

“This discussion isn’t clearing up my desk,” interrupted Farnsworth.

Turning, he started to sort his papers only to be stopped by the ringing of the telephone.

“I’ll take it,” he said, lifting the receiver.

For an instant, with an unreadable look on his young, strong face, he listened.

“What was that?” inquired Darwin sharply.

“Didn’t you hear it?” asked Farnsworth.

“Thought I did — sounded like some one was givin’ you the laugh.”

“That’s all it was — just a laugh.”

“Mebbe it’s a nut or a junker. There’s a lotta dope in this town, inspector, been comin’ in heavy for some time. But dope’s outta our line. Let’s call it a day and go home. Even if you don’t never get tired, you’d oughta take some rest.”

“I have more work to do, Darwin. I—”

“You’ve always got work to do. But if you’re goin’ to stick, I’ll roost right here with you.”

Darwin clasped his big hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair.

And Farnsworth, instead of giving his attention to his papers, sat as if waiting for another telephone call.

The clock ticked loudly. Darwin lighted, a cigar.

Ten minutes passed. Darwin shuffled his feet uneasily. But Farnsworth, his chin cupped in a slender hand, sat immobile.

“You look like a bank cashier,” commented Darwin. “Wish my clothes wouldn’t wrinkle but’d stay pressed like yours do.”

“If you’re tired, you can go,” returned Farnsworth in a preoccupied voice.

“We both need some rest. We’d—”

The telephone bell rang stridently.

“Take the extension,” said Farnsworth, picking up the receiver.

“That same laugh!” exclaimed Darwin, his hand over the transmitter.

“Keep still,” snapped Farnsworth, working the hook.

Miller, late watch headquarters operator, came on the wire.

“Trace that call,” ordered Farnsworth.

“O.K., inspector,” replied Miller alertly.

“Somebody’s kiddin’,” asserted Darwin.

A few seconds of silence followed.

“Central can’t give me anything,” reported Miller. “Says something’s wrong with her board.”

“She’s kiddin’ too,” drawled Darwin.

“Watch all my calls, Miller,” said Farnsworth.

“I’m on the job, inspector,” responded the operator.

Farnsworth put on his hat, and sat on the edge’ of his chair, the telephone within easy reaching distance.

Darwin’s cigar ash grew longer and longer. Finally it broke and dropped on his vest. Five minutes passed. Inspector Farnsworth moved slightly and Darwin’s drooping head came up suddenly.

“Prohibition booze does funny things,” he observed, tossing his cigar into the cuspidor and lighting another. “Some stew’s got you on his mind ’cause you been in the papers so much lately.”

Farnsworth gave no indication that he heard the remark.

Darwin’s head again began to sink. The ticking of the clock was the only break in the silence.

Of a sudden, a woman screamed shrilly just under the window.

Darwin, his hand on his service revolver, bounded to his feet.

“That’s your prohibition booze,” asserted Farnsworth. “They’re bringing in a drunk downstairs — I heard the wagon come up.”

Darwin’s hand dropped.

“I must be gettin’ jumpy,” he said sheepishly.

Stepping to the window, he looked down on the sidewalk.

“Somebody’ll be broke for this!” screamed a feminine voice. “I know Inspector Farnsworth.”

“And so does everybody else in town,” responded a deep voice. “Come on, Molly, your old cell’s waitin’ for you.”

“I’m a respectable working woman and you haven’t any right — don’t twist my arm!”

“Mebbe it was Molly doin’ that laughin’,” Darwin observed.

“Molly?”

“Sure, the broad they just brought in downstairs — Molly Davis, shoplifter, street walker and dope. She knows you. She oughta. You run her in a coupla times when you was new. Mebbe she called you up and give you the laugh for old times—”

Seemingly, even before the bell of the telephone started to ring, Farnsworth had the instrument in his hands and even as he was lifting the receiver, Darwin was at the extension.

“Worse this time,” whispered Darwin. “ ’Nough to give you the shivers. Don’t sound human.”

Farnsworth motioned impatiently for silence.

Only for a moment did his tension continue. Then Miller came on the wire.

“Horace G. Thompson’s office, Tremont Building,” the operator reported.

“Thanks,” answered Farnsworth. “Darwin and I are going out. But don’t let any one know we have left the building. If any calls come for me, trace them immediately, and keep a record.”

“O. K., inspector.”

Farnsworth replaced the receiver and with a catlike movement was on his feet. Thirty seconds later, Darwin and he were being driven rapidly across the city.

“Mebbe Thompson’s throwin’ a gin party,” observed Darwin.

“Do you know Horace G. Thompson?” asked Farnsworth.

“Know him when I see him. Bachelor. Lives in a big house out on Russell Road. His father left him that house ’long with plenty dough. Funny thing too, he’s got an office in the old Tremont Buildin’. I was in there the other day. Only new thing in that dump’s a fresh elevator kid. But with all his jack, Thompson’s got his office there.”

Farnsworth was about to speak when the car drew up to the curb.

“Wait here, Rickey,” he said to the driver.

Chapter II The Sixth Floor

Standing among modern, tall office buildings, the begrimed six-story Tremont looked like a stunted, dirty-faced orphan.

Not a light showed from any of the windows, and the lobby being equally dark, Darwin fumbled as he reached for the night bell.

In response to the faint summons, there was the sound of a chair scraping over tiling. A light was turned on, and then a gnome-like figure shambled out of the shadows and peered through the dirty glass of the front door.

Hardly more than five feet tall, the man had the head, shoulders and torso of a giant. His muscular arms hung down almost to his knees and black bristles covered the backs of his huge, gray hands. His face was gray, darkened by black beard stubble.

He drew from his pocket a large bunch of keys and grudgingly opened the door.

Darwin and Farnsworth pushed their way into the ornate but dingy lobby.

“Whatta you want?” demanded the gnome.

“Are you the watchman?” asked Darwin.

“I’m Henry Starr, the night superintendent.”

“On which floor is Horace G. Thompson’s office?” asked Farnsworth.

Starr gazed at him with blank, black eyes.

Farnsworth repeated his query.

“Top,” answered Starr after some hesitation.

“Take us up there.”

Again Starr stared as if not comprehending.

“Something wrong with your hear-in’?” demanded Darwin. “Get busy.”

“No use goin’ up there.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody up there.”

“We’ll see for ourselves.”

“You won’t; I know my job.”

“We know our job too.”

With that avowal, Darwin pushed Starr aside.

Starr’s hand darted to his hip pocket.

Darwin caught his arm and a short-barrelled thirty-two caliber revolver clattered on the stone floor.

Farnsworth picked up the weapon and thrust it into his pocket. As he did so, he drew out his gold badge and held it so Starr could see it.

“Thought it was a stick-up,” Starr mumbled. “Can’t be too careful now days. You’re law, so it’s all right for you to go up to the sixth. But it won’t do you no good. There ain’t nobody but me in this whole buildin’.”

He shambled to the elevator, and Farnsworth and Darwin followed.

When they were inside, though he closed the door, Starr did not start the car.

“Why the delay?” asked Darwin.

“I want my gun; I got a license to carry it.”

“We’ll go into that later, Starr,” said Farnsworth. “Take us to the sixth floor.”

Starr pushed the lever forward. The car started slowly to ascend, creaking and complaining. At the sixth floor, it stopped automatically.

Farnsworth and Darwin stepped out.

“Come along,” said Darwin to Starr.

“I won’t,” retorted the superintendent stubbornly. “You may be law, but my place’s down in the lobby.”

Farnsworth’s keen gray eyes met Starr’s sullen black eyes. Muttering, Starr left the car.

As they walked away from the square of light, there was a sudden scurrying in the darkness ahead.

“What’s that?” asked Darwin.

“Rats,” answered Starr. “We got plenty of rats. They’re under foot all the time.”

“Turn on the lights,” ordered Farnsworth.

Starr took his large bunch of keys from his pocket and sorted them until he found one which he thrust into a switch.

A long, narrow corridor, very dirty and disorderly, was revealed, the floor looking as if it were entirely vacant, as on the doors was no lettering.

“Follow this hall to the end and turn to the left and you’ll find Mr. Thompson’s office at the end,” mumbled Starr. “Hurry up. I gotta git back downstairs, that’s where I belong.”

“You lead the way,” ordered Farnsworth.

“Me?” asked Starr.

“Yes, you,” answered Darwin.

Starr, followed by Darwin and Farnsworth, walked down the corridor. The dead air seemed clogged with something rank and heavy.

“Here you are,” announced Starr.

No light came through the frosted glass door which bore the name, “Horace G. Thompson,” and no sound came from within the office.

“Told you nobody was here,” mumbled Starr. “Hope you’re satisfied now.”

Farnsworth tried the door.

“Unlock it,” he snapped.

“Can’t.”

“You have a pass key.”

“Not for Mr. Thompson’s office. It’s got a special lock.”

A rat scurried down the corridor and Starr’s heavy body jerked.

“Give me your keys — all of them,” ordered Farnsworth.

Starr extracted the bunch from his pocket.

One by one, the inspector tried them. He turned toward Starr.

“Search him,” he said to Darwin.

Starr’s thick lips snarled back until black toothless gums were exposed.

Darwin went through the superintendent’s clothing swiftly and expertly. From the watch pocket of Starr’s trousers he took a key, which he handed to Farnsworth. The inspector unlocked the door, threw it open. Drawing his flash light, he sent a white beam traveling along the wall, until he had found the switch. Then he snapped on the lights.

Thompson’s office was large. It extended all the way across the end of the building. Being at the rear, no street noises could be heard. The shades of the six large windows were pulled to the sills. A heavy green carpet muffled their footfalls.

Entirely in keeping with the size of the office was the furniture, all of mahogany.

In the center of the room, right under the high powered ceiling lights, stood a long, glass-topped table about which a dozen chairs were arranged in an orderly manner. At the end wall, nearest the door, was a deeply upholstered couch, and at the farther wall, a desk. Large and heavily constructed, it was not the flat-topped desk of the modern business executive; it had a roll top, which was pulled down.

Chapter III Yellow Hair

“When was anybody in here last?” asked Farnsworth.

Starr raised his head, but did not answer at once.

“Not for a long time,” he said at last.

“How long?”

“I don’t know — mebbe a coupla months.”

“Where’s Thompson?”

Starr’s eyes dropped.

“Where’s Thompson?” insisted Farnsworth.

“He’s outta town.”

“But you know where he is.”

“I don’t. Nobody knows where Mr. Thompson is when he ain’t in this office. He don’t go ’round tellin’ the help his business. You can see for yourself he ain’t in here. I gotta git—”

“Are you sure nobody has been in here to-day?”

“I told you wunst nobody’d been in here for a long time.”

Farnsworth drew a finger tip along the glass top of the table and held it before Starr’s eyes.

“The night woman’s cleaned that!” exclaimed Starr.

“But she didn’t clean anything else,” declared Farnsworth, glancing at the dust-covered furniture.

“Them women skimp their work. You can’t thrust ’em much. Don’t blame ’em much. They only git two dollars a night. No use’n workin’ your fingers to the bone for two dollars a night.”

“But you said nobody had been in here for possibly two months.”

“I didn’t think ’bout the night woman. The night woman slipped right outta my mind.”

“Isn’t the night woman supposed to keep the corridor clean?”

An expression of utter stupidity came into Starr’s face.

“That’s so,” he mumbled. “That’s so. I’ll speak to her ’bout the hall on the sixth. Looks like a pig pen. She never touched the hall on the sixth!”

“What time did she quit?”

“Ten o’clock. They all git through at ten o’clock, and none of ’em stay a minute later.”

Farnsworth walked toward the desk, and Starr eyed it earnestly.

With his right hand he made an almost imperceptible movement and Darwin stepped behind Starr.

“Have you a key to this?” asked Farnsworth, turning, but still standing so that he was between the desk and Starr.

“No,” replied Starr, his eyes on the carpet.

“I’ll put the frisk on him,” said Darwin.

“It won’t do no good,” declared Starr. “I ain’t got no key.”

“You lied about the key to the door.”

“I ain’t lyin’ now. Search me.”

He raised his hands.

“Wait,” said Farnsworth. “Where does the porter keep his tools?”

“You goin’ to break open Mr. Thompson’s desk?” gasped Starr.

“Answer my question.”

“Down in the basement.”

“Can you run that elevator, Darwin?”

“Sure, inspector.”

“Go down to the basement and find some kind of an iron bar.”

“I’ll run him down,” said Starr eagerly.

“You’ll stay right here. Hurry, Darwin.”

Darwin passed through the door.

“Whatta yuh keepin’ me up here for?” asked Starr.

“I want to talk to you,” Farnsworth declared. “Flow long have you worked for Mr. Thompson?”

“Ten years,” said Starr surlily.

“Does Thompson ever come up here nights?”

“When he’s in town he does.”

“Does he have any visitors — I mean at night?”

“Sometimes.”

“Who comes to see him?”

“I don’t know all of ’em.”

“Name some of them.”

Starr’s low forehead wrinkled.

“Mr. Timmons, the lawyer; Mr. Conroy, the real estate man. He comes most of all. He handles Mr. Thompson’s property and he’s the agent of this buildin’. That’s all I can think of now.”

“Don’t the tenants and visitors register in and out at night?”

Starr shook his head.

“We ain’t got no register. It ain’t no use. Nobody comes in here at night except once in a while and I know ’em.”

“Couldn’t any one come into this building without you seeing him?”

“Nope. If I don’t run ’em up in the elevator, I see ’em when they go up the stairway — I set so I can see the steps.”

“What about the basement?”

“Nothin’ doin’. That’s locked tight and a bar across the door. Say, what does all this mean anyway?”

Farnsworth, who had not changed his position, did not reply.

The silence seemed oppressive.

Starr’s eyes went to the door.

“He’s comin’ back,” he remarked, uneasily. “I hear the elevator.”

“Look here!” snapped Farnsworth, stepping to one side.

Starr glanced at the desk.

“Come closer,” ordered Farnsworth, taking him by the arm.

Starr took a step forward, only to stop as if he had encountered some invisible yet impassable barrier. A gurgle escaped his throat and his eyes seemed about to burst from his head.

“You understand now why I’m going to break open Thompson’s desk?”

“That’s hair stickin’ out from under the lid! Oh, my God, yeller hair’s stickin’ out from under the lid!”

He staggered back, his mouth hanging open. Farnsworth kept his keen gray eyes on Starr’s ashy, twitching face.

A tower clock boomed once.

Then, just outside the door, could be heard the light footsteps of Darwin.

As if his body had suddenly come to life, Starr leaped toward the door.

Farnsworth’s foot shot out and Starr struck the carpet on his face.

“Don’t try that again,” said Farnsworth, pulling him to his feet.

He spoke in a low, calm tone, but in his voice was something metallic.

“Got just what we need,” said Darwin, entering briskly. “It’s for openin’ packin’ cases.”

With only a glance at the protruding strand of golden hair, he thrust the bar under the lid of the desk.

The stout lock resisted. Finally, he thrust his full weight on the bar. Metal snapped and the top flew back with a bang.

The lights played on the blond features of a slight young woman; features so fine and beautiful they might have been carved from rarest marble.

Yet those features were marred by a purple hole in the center of the smooth, white forehead.

Farnsworth started and something that might have been a gasp escaped his throat. Darwin glanced at the corpse, then kept his eyes on Starr, who had turned his back with the breaking of the lock.

The telephone rang. In the silence, the bell’s vibrations fairly assaulted the eardrums. Farnsworth lifted the receiver. From it, came an eerie laugh, and then the lights went out.

Chapter IV Terrible Laughter

There was a movement in the darkness, a streak of fire, and a terrific report.

“Halt!” Darwin shouted, dashing forward, ready to fire again.

Instead of obeying the command, Starr fled faster.

Darwin plunged after him, crashed into the door to the hall, recovered. He fired a second time. Starr was rushing down the hall, invisible. But the fleet-footed Darwin closed the gap sufficiently to grasp him as he leaped into the elevator.

In the narrow confines of the old car, snarling like an animal, Starr wrested himself from Darwin’s grip, and lashed out with heavy blows.

Darwin closed with his antagonist, and locked together, the two men burst from the car.

In the corridor, Darwin, with a mighty heave, endeavored to bear the superintendent to the floor.

With seeming ease, Starr broke free, and for an instant, since in the darkness he was guided only by his ears, Darwin was not sure of the other’s position. Suddenly two long, muscular arms encircled his body pinning his arms, holding him as if he were caught in a vise.

Against that crushing clutch, Darwin threw all the strength of his compact, hard body. But Starr’s arms only closed about him the tighter, and he was as helpless as if bound.

Gradually, Starr bent him further and further backward until it seemed as if his spine would crack. Suddenly he sagged forward. The move was a trick. They toppled and as they were falling Darwin twisted and when they struck the stone floor, was on top.

Darwin managed to wrest one hand free. That hand darted beneath the tail of his coat. It darted out again. Then there was a soft thud and Starr’s body became limp.

As Darwin bounded to his feet, the beam of Farnsworth’s flash light pierced the blackness and came to rest on the face of the unconscious superintendent.

“I hadda feed him the sap,” panted Darwin. “He was fightin’ like a crazy man. Jeez, it feels like he busted a coupla ribs. He’s as strong as a bull.”

“Why didn’t you call?” asked Farnsworth.

“I knew you hung back for somethin’ and I thought I could handle him.”

“I wasn’t worried about you.”

“Find anything?”

“Nothing. The lights going out might have been coincidence.”

Starr’s limbs twitched and his eyes opened.

He blinked at the ray of light and his lips started to move.

Darwin assisted him to rise, and kept a firm grip on his arm, his revolver in readiness.

“I didn’t turn out them lights,” whined Starr.

“No,” answered Farnsworth. “I’m certain of that.”

“It musta been a fuse blowed. Coulda been nothin’ else but a fuse blowed.”

“Where are the fuses?”

“They ain’t up here; they’re down in the basement. All the fuses is down in the basement.”

“Take him down and see if it was a fuse, Darwin. Don’t waste any time — and don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

“I won’t take no chances with this bozo. You’ll wait here?”

“I’ll wait in Thompson’s office.”

“We’ll be right back. Aw, hell!”

“What’s the matter?”

“My torch won’t work — busted it in that little tangle.”

“Here’s mine,” said Farnsworth handing him his flash light.

“Get goin’,” said Darwin to Starr.

The door of the elevator banged shut and the old car started to creak.

Unerringly, Farnsworth made his way back to Thompson’s office and, quite as if he were able to see in the dark, approached the desk and picked up the telephone.

He had to work the hook several times before he obtained a response.

“A call came in here a few minutes ago,” he said. “Where was it from?”

“It was a mistake, excuse it, please,” replied central sweetly.

“Mistake—”

“Excuse it, please.”

There was the click, and Farnsworth hung up the receiver.

He went to the farthest window, raised the shade and looked outside.

The rear of the Tremont Building, which was toward the east, looked out on a court. An alley connected the court with the street.

He raised the other shades one by one until at last, he reached the window nearest the desk. When he had raised that shade and glanced at the night sky, he stepped back and stood by the telephone.

The door being open, squeakings and scurryings could be heard plainly, the rats having once more taken possession of the corridor. The minutes dragged by.

Near the door, there was a slight rustle. Revolver in hand, Farnsworth crept stealthily across the carpet.

The rustling sound ended abruptly and he halted. In the corridor, the squeakings and scurryings ceased an instant, then seemed louder.

The lights flashed, went out, then came on in full brilliance.

Taking Starr’s revolver from his pocket, he noted the number and methodically entered it in his little black book. That done, he examined the weapon with his magnifying glass. Finally, he put it into his coat pocket and went wandering about the office, scanning various objects with his glass, his brow puckered in a deep frown.

He was standing before the desk when Darwin dragged Starr through the door.

“What took you so long?” asked Farnsworth.

“This bozo tried to put up an argument,” replied Darwin. “He didn’t wanta come up here again.”

“Why?” asked Farnsworth, his eyes on Starr.

The superintendent’s thick, bloodless lips worked, but no words issued from them and his red-rimmed, black eyes looked glassy.

“He put the fuse in all right,” said Darwin. “But he didn’t wanta come back with me. Hadda work on him a little.”

“What are you afraid of, Starr?” asked Farnsworth.

The superintendent stared at him as if his words were unintelligible.

“Let go of him, Darwin.”

Darwin obeyed, but moved so that he blocked the door. Starr looked relieved.

“What are you afraid of?” repeated Farnsworth.

Starr moistened his lips with his tongue.

“Down there, I heard a dog howlin’. That means death!”

“Death has occurred already, so it means nothing.”

“One death. And she’s got yeller hair. Oh, my God, she’s got—”

Starr’s voice had risen to a shriek and Darwin thrust his hand over his mouth.

“Sit down, Starr,” said Farnsworth, pushing forward a chair.

His whole body trembling, Starr seated himself.

Farnsworth waited until he had calmed somewhat.

“That’s better, old man,” he remarked soothingly. “You haven’t anything to fear. You’re in the presence of death, that’s true, but there is nothing to fear in death. That little girl over there” — he nodded toward the desk — “couldn’t have hurt a strong man like you when she was alive. Dead, she is even more powerless. We’re officers of the law and we’re armed. You’re safe.”

“Safe,” mumbled Starr.

“Yes, safe. Then there’s another thing you’ve forgotten. You’re the night superintendent of the Tremont Building. Mr. Thompson owns the Tremont, and because you’re the night superintendent, you’re Mr. Thompson’s representative. Isn’t that correct?”

“Mr. Thompson’s my boss,” answered Starr, a note of assurance in his voice.

“That being true, you have a duty to perform. It’s just as much of a duty as seeing that the night women do their work, that no one without a right gets into this building, and running the elevator.”

“I mop up the lobby, too.”

“But you have still another duty.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a dead woman in Mr. Thom—”

“Oh, my God, don’t I know that?”

“Somebody killed her. You must help us find the murderer.”

Beads of perspiration stood out brightly on Starr’s low, slanting forehead.

“You must help us,” insisted Farnsworth.

“How can I help?” asked Starr in a barely audible voice.

“Who is the night woman on this floor?”

“There ain’t no night woman on the sixth.”

“But the night woman cleaned this table top.”

“The night woman from the fifth’s supposed to keep the sixth floor clean.”

“Who is the woman on the fifth floor?”

“I just can’t think of her name,” Starr replied slowly, his forehead wrinkling. “She’s only been here about a week. I’ll have to git my book. The names of all of ’em is in my book. They’re in my book with the floors they work on.”

Through the wide-open window, the light night wind again carried a long drawn, mournful cry.

“There it is!” exclaimed Starr, jumping to his feet, his face greenish.

“It’s only a dog,” assured Farnsworth. “A lonesome dog.”

“Let’s go downstairs in the lobby. Please let’s go downstairs in the lobby,” begged Starr huskily. “I could hear it there, too, mebbe, but I’d feel easier downstairs in the lobby.”

Shivering violently, he turned so that he could not see the desk.

“Do you know that girl?” asked Farnsworth, stepping closer.

“I don’t know her!”

“She was young — not more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old. She was five feet tall. She didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Her dress, shoes, and other clothing are expensive. She was accustomed to luxury. Her nails were manicured only a short time before her death. Her complexion’s fair — extremely blond — and her eyes are blue — a deep blue.”

Starr did not seem to be listening and Farnsworth paused.

“She was shot squarely between the eyes. Do you know what that means, Starr?”

“No,” whispered the superintendent, his lips again dry.

“It means she was facing the person who shot her. It means she knew the one who killed her!”

Farnsworth’s eyes were fixed on Starr’s greenish face.

“I don’t know her,” said Starr in a trance-like voice.

“You haven’t seen her distinctly.”

“I seen her plain enough.”

“Come over here and look at her again.”

Starr moved toward the desk, but did not raise his eyes.

“Look at her,” ordered Farnsworth quietly.

Starr stepped forward slowly, did not stop until he was within a couple of feet of the body. His eyes rested an instant on the face of the corpse.

Then he leaped to the open window and sprang to the sill. Below him was a clear drop of six stories. Simultaneously, Farnsworth and Darwin bounded forward. Just as Starr leaped they caught him. There was the sound of tearing cloth.

For an instant, it seemed that Starr must surely plunge to his death.

But the cloth held and Farnsworth and Darwin got the man back into the office.

As if he were rubber, he bounced to his feet.

Before he could offer any resistance, Farnsworth had the irons on his wrists.

Starr’s lips parted in a smile.

“A fine joke!” panted Darwin. “A fine joke. If we hadn’t caught you, you’d been smashed to pieces down there on the pavement!”

At that Starr began to laugh.

His mirth, silent at first, quickly gave place to guffaws — guffaws which grew heavier and heavier — laughter curious and outlandish, with a beautiful dead girl at his elbow, yet laughter that caused his wide shoulders to shake and his stomach to roll; such laughter as if, even in the presence of death, he had encountered a mighty joke, such a tremendous jest that he could not control himself.

Darwin looked into the laughing man’s eyes.

“He’s gone off his nut!” he exclaimed. “He’s gone clear off his nut!”

Farnsworth picked up the telephone and called headquarters.

Chapter V What the Dust Told

A deep silence hung over Thompson’s brilliantly lighted but deserted office. The big mahogany desk was empty. The corpse had been taken to the morgue where, on a sheeted slab, it awaited identification.

Apparently, no autopsy was necessary. The bullet that had left the purple hole in the center of the white forehead had passed through the brain and lodged in the spun-gold hair just back of the left ear. Therefore, death had come quickly indeed.

Black stained the tips of the small, tapering fingers. At headquarters experts were comparing those fingerprints with smudges on neatly filed cards, while ballistic experts were examining with their microscopes the leaden pellet that had ended a young life. Below, in the Tremont Building, Farnsworth and Darwin were poking into dusty corners.

Starr, his tremendous laughter changed to low moans and animal-like sounds, had been taken to General Hospital. Closely guarded, he was under observation in the psychopathic ward.

Dawn grayed the East. The door to Thompson’s office opened, without a sound. A slight rustle followed. Then the switch clicked and the office suddenly became dark.

Into the gray room slipped an uncanny figure, a thing which, emerging from the shadows, seemed of no more substance than the gray shadows themselves, since it, too, was gray and nebulous.

All the more unreal did it seem inasmuch as it had such little definiteness of shape that it could not be told whether it was man or woman or child, and it might not have been human save that it carried itself upright.

After a moment of hesitation, the gray thing sped noiselessly over the deep green carpet to the table, where it stopped. Then the gray figure turned back and disappeared through the door.

From the hall came the sound of light footsteps.

The door opened and Farnsworth and Darwin entered; Farnsworth, as usual, immaculate and showing no signs of a sleepless night, Darwin dusty and disheveled, eyes black-ringed.

Just inside, and with the door still open, Farnsworth stopped suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Darwin sharply.

“We left the lights on in here.”

“I thought we did, too. Mebbe the fuse—”

“They’re still on in the hall.”

Farnsworth gave the door a quick look, then turned his attention to the switch, an expression of dissatisfaction on his lean face. Up and down the brass plate his magnifying glass moved. At last, with a shake of his head, he replaced the glass in his pocket and pressed the button.

As the lights came on, Darwin, whipping out his revolver, dashed into the corridor.

In less than a minute he returned.

“Nothin’ doin’,” he growled.

“You saw nothing?”

“I didn’t see nothin’.”

Farnsworth’s high, white forehead puckered.

“Whatta you tryin’ to puzzle out now, inspector?” asked Darwin, stifling a yawn.

“When we entered, I felt certain some one was in this office. I had that same feeling before.”

“Yeah?”

“When you were in the basement with Starr, putting in a new fuse, I heard a rustling noise like bare feet running over the carpet.”

“A rat come in to make you a visit.” “But when we come back up here we find the lights out.”

“Mebbe I turned ’em out and forgot it. I’m always turnin’ out lights at the house. Anyhow, I’ll put the frisk on this joint again.”

He closed the door and threw the catch. For the next several minutes he was exceedingly busy, looking into and under the desk, under and behind the couch, and even opening the filing cabinet.

“Nothing’s been disturbed,” he asserted positively.

“We might just’s well get a little rest.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not? We’re stopped till Thompson or somebody else who knows somethin’ ’bout this dump’s located. All we can do’s wait till we hear from headquarters or the day superintendent shows up. We’ve searched the old Tremont from top to bottom and all we’ve found’s junk, rats and dust. Might’s well give headquarters a buzz and park right here.”

With a great yawn he sank into a chair.

Farnsworth busied himself about the desk and Darwin’s head began to sink toward his chest. Lower and lower it drooped and finally a gentle snore escaped his lips.

The sudden ringing of the telephone bell brought him to his feet.

Farnsworth lifted the receiver and listened, while Darwin leaned forward.

“That same laugh,” he whispered.

Farnsworth worked the hook.

“Where did that call come from, central?” he asked.

“What!” he exclaimed, after a moment of silence.

He replaced the receiver slowly.

“What did she say?” asked Darwin tensely.

“She said there wasn’t any call.”

“She said there wasn’t any call?”

“None showed on her board.”

“Jeez, inspector, I’m hard-boiled but I can feel prickles on me! This whole damn’ thing’s spooky. You get that laugh at headquarters. I think somebody’s kiddin’, but you turn up a dead girl in Horace G. Thompson’s office. We’re lookin’ at that dead girl. The phone rings. You get that laugh again. Then the lights go out. And right in broad daylight you get that laugh again and central tells you there ain’t no call!”

“I wonder where Starr keeps his book?”

“What book?”

“The one he said he kept the names of the scrub women in.”

“If he’d had a book, we’d found it. He was just ravin’.”

“We haven’t found how that body was brought up here.”

“Starr’s the answer.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Sure I do.”

“Why would he kill that girl and hide her body in the desk of his employer?”

“He’s crazy, and a crazy man’s liable to do anything. Only a crazy man’d try to throw himself outta a six-story winda.”

“You think Starr’s the murderer?”

“I’m too old a dick to go that far at this stage of the game. But I’ll say it was an inside job! Mebbe Starr didn’t kill her, but he’s got guilty knowledge. He either run the body up here on that elevator, or carried it up the stairway. He’s strong ’nough to do that easy.”

“That body wasn’t brought up here on the elevator and it wasn’t carried up the stairway.”

“How’d it get here then — airplane?”

“We found all the doors of this building locked. Starr was on duty in the lobby. Nobody could have entered unless he knew it.”

“That’s what I say — he knew it.”

The inspector shook his head dubiously.

“On the way over here, you said you knew Horace G. Thompson.”

“I said I knew him when I seen him. I don’t see him very often. He’s outta town a lot. His old man left him ’nough dough so he don’t need to work.”

“As a matter of fact, about all his father, Ezra Thompson, left him was the big house out on Russell Road and the Tremont Building.”

“Where’d he get his jack then? He ain’t never worked.”

“According to all reports, he got it in Wall Street in the bull market.”

“I said he was a lucky stiff. A lotta others lost their shirts.”

“I’ve heard a lot about Thompson. He’s of the type that insists on strict obedience to all his orders. Lately, he’s insisted on underlings jumping at the snap of his fingers.”

“When was he ’round here last?”

“I don’t think he’s been around here for quite some time.”

“We’re gettin’ a long ways away from Starr,” reminded Darwin.

“Starr has worked for Thompson for ten years. He knows his temperament. Evidently, Thompson has given him orders to keep out of his office and never to touch his desk. Starr’s the type that strictly obeys his boss’s orders.”

“That explains some things, but not everything. Why did he run when the lights went out, and keep on runnin’ when I was shootin’? Why did he give me an argument when I was bringin’ him back upstairs after puttin’ in a fuse? Why did he try to throw himself outta the winda when you made him look at that corpse?”

“Terror—”

“Just the same I think Starr knew that body was in the desk. It was put there till there was a chance to dispose of it.”

“How could it be disposed of?”

“There’s a heatin’ plant down in the basement.”

“Let’s go down to the basement.”

“We’ve been down there. I ruined this suit down there.”

“Let’s go down again.”

Darwin arose slowly.

“Elevator.”

As they passed the various doors along the hall, Farnsworth glanced at each.

“I’ve been through all them offices,” asserted Darwin.

“And the storeroom?”

“The storeroom too. It’s got a light in it. Come on. The day superintendent’ll be here at any minute and we’d oughta get to him the first thing.” The huge basement, even with all the lights turned on, was full of shadows and dark corners. It was all one room save for a portion at the rear, which had been partitioned off with stone. In the old days, that had been a kitchen. There was a range, covered with red dust and some pots and pans in evidence.

Rubbish also littered the floor of the larger portion and against the walls and in corners stood rickety tables, dressers and parts of beds, together with piles of chairs — furniture that had not been disposed of when a hotel that had once occupied the building had gone out of business. From the big furnace, asbestos-covered heating pipes extended upward like fat, gray worms and dust-covered wires webbed the ceiling.

There was a workbench, on which were tools and electrical equipment of various kinds. Near it hung two pairs of overalls, and beside them the uniform of an elevator operator.

“Nothin’ doin’,” said Darwin, after a quick search of the clothing.

Farnsworth nodded and started for the only exit — outside of the elevator and the stairs leading to the lobby — that they had discovered. It was a heavy iron door in the kitchen part which evidently opened into an areaway in the rear court. The door was locked and further secured with a great oak beam which fitted snugly in mortises in the stone.

The oak door showed no signs of having been disturbed for a long space of time, though Farnsworth scrutinized it inch by inch. When he had concluded that inspection, he sorted among Starr’s keys until he found one that fitted the lock. But so rusted were the tumblers they would not turn.

Farnsworth, followed by Darwin, then searched the shadowy reaches.

“Nothin’ down here,” Darwin declared, after a violent coughing spell. “Let’s go back up. I’m chokin’ to death in this damn dust.”

Briskly, Farnsworth walked over to a heap of furniture so far back that the light shone on it only dimly. Quickly, he touched a finger to a dresser top and holding the finger toward the light, stared at the thick smudge of dust. Then he ran his finger over the back of a bed, and again held it toward the light.

“Look, Darwin!” he exclaimed. “My finger is clean. No dust. We better move this furniture.”

Darwin’s lethargy vanished.

In the wall, behind the pile, was a steel door.

Chapter VI The Hidden Door

As if pushed by an unseen hand the steel door swiftly and soundlessly swung shut behind Farnsworth and Darwin. In complete darkness, they stood in a small, musty stone chamber.

“What done that?” demanded Darwin sharply.

“Spring hinges,” responded Farnsworth, pressing the button of his flash light.

“We’re in a trap!” exclaimed Darwin. He drew his revolver.

He would have leaped at the door, but Farnsworth stopped him.

“There isn’t any lock,” said the inspector quietly.

Darwin pulled at the door. It opened readily. He released it and it closed quickly.

“Not a squeak,” he observed. “Plenty of oil on them hinges.”

Farnsworth turned his flash light here and there. Ahead, a small archway in the wall showed only more rough stones. To the right, a narrow flight of iron steps led upward and on that stairway, he centered his attention.

“Queer,” he remarked after a brief inspection.

“This whole damn buildin’s queer.”

“Those steps are clean.”

“They are clean,” assented Darwin, interest in his voice. “They’re clean and everythin’ else in here’s dusty.”

Farnsworth turned and went through the archway, Darwin at his heels.

An abrupt right turn brought them into a narrow tunnel which led toward the rear of the building. They had gone but a short distance when Farnsworth whirled and sent the beam of his flash light traveling over the course they had followed.

Darwin, his revolver ready, also faced the rear.

“See anything?” asked Farnsworth in a whisper.

“No, but I—”

“I don’t see anything either.”

“I feel like we’re being followed.”

Farnsworth extinguished his light, and in thick darkness they both stood listening tensely.

“Come on,” said Farnsworth, after a considerable interval.

“O.K.”

With the flash sending a white pencil of light ahead, they proceeded until another steel barrier stopped them.

Farnsworth’s light played on the knob.

“Wiped clean.”

Farnsworth placed his hand on the knob and pulled. When he pushed, the door opened.

Darwin put his foot against the door and examined the outside.

“No knob,” he said. “But there’s a keyhole.”

Swiftly, he tried the various keys on Starr’s ring.

“No can do,” he remarked.

Farnsworth produced another key.

“That’s the right one!” Darwin exclaimed. “And ties up with Starr.”

“With Starr?” asked Farnsworth without interest.

“Sure with Starr. That’s the key I took outta the watch pocket in Starr’s pants. It’s the key to the special lock on the door to Thompson’s office.”

Farnsworth passed through the door into a small chamber, roofed over with heavy planking and began to climb an iron stairway, Darwin meanwhile holding the steel door open with his foot.

At the top Farnsworth pushed against the planks and a trap door opened, a rush of clean air following.

“Lock the door before you come up,” he said the Darwin.

Darwin allowed the steel door to close, turned the key, and ascended.

Farnsworth was waiting for him in the court in the rear of the Tremont Building.

“If Starr’d got away with his Brodie he’d been mashed to a pulp on this concrete,” observed Darwin, looking from the pavement up to the windows in Thompson’s office.

The planking that roofed the exit to the tunnel extended partially over an areaway. Down into the areaway went a flight of wide steps which ended at the basement door.

“Two entrances to that cellar ’steada one,” said Darwin. “You’re right, inspector. That body could ’a’ been brought in without Starr seein’ it.”

“We’ll go back now,” replied Farnsworth.

Darwin preceded him into the stone chamber, unlocked the door and held it open while Farnsworth passed through.

“Plenty of oil on them hinges,” he mused, allowing it to swing shut.

“Lock it,” ordered Farnsworth, looking at his watch.

“What time is it?” asked Darwin.

“Four minutes after six.”

“We’d better hurry. The day superintendent oughta be showin’ up and we’d oughta get to him first dash outta the box.”

Within a minute they were very near the archway.

Suddenly Darwin stopped with such abruptness that Farnsworth collided with him, the jar causing him to drop the flash light. The darkness was complete.

Instantly Farnsworth and Darwin flattened against the rough, damp wall, stood immobile.

After a few seconds of silent waiting, Farnsworth began to crouch. Inch by inch, he noiselessly sank toward the floor until at last he was able to touch the stone. Still without a sound he fumbled until his fingers closed over the light. Just as noiselessly, he straightened.

“I’m all set,” Darwin breathed in his ear.

Holding the flash at arm’s length Farnsworth pressed the button. It sent out a ray of light. It had not been broken by the fall.

“Not a damn thing,” muttered Darwin, his voice unnatural. “I’ve been workin’ too hard. My nerves’ve blowed up. Didn’t know I had any nerves.”

“What did you think you saw?” asked Farnsworth quietly.

“Somethin’ just ahead of your light — a dim outline. It come up all of a sudden; startled me a little, and I stopped and you bumped inta me.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t real, just a kind of shape, a blob.”

“Was it gray?”

“My God, you seen it, too!”

Quickly they walked to the door through which they had entered.

“No tracks on the stairs,” observed Darwin.

Farnsworth did not even glance at the steps, he was inspecting the door.

“What next?” asked Darwin.

Farnsworth started up the narrow iron stairway.

At the first landing he stopped and his flash played on a metal door. It had neither knob nor lock. Darwin placed his powerful shoulder against the door and gave a mighty heave, but it did not budge.

“No use,” said Farnsworth. “That door can be opened only from the other side.”

“What’s the big idea?”

“Don’t you know what you’re in?”

“It looks like some kinda secret passage.”

“The Tremont Building once was a hotel.”

“What’s that gotta do with it?”

“This is a fire tower.”

“I get you. Hadn’t run into one before. It’s nothin’ but an inside fire escape.”

“Right.”

“Then all these doors is alike — open only from the other side.”

They stopped at each landing, while Farnsworth made a careful inspection of each door. His flash light was growing dimmer and dimmer, the battery rapidly nearing the end of its usefulness. At the sixth floor, he turned the dull beam on the door. At first glance, it looked the same as the others, especially in the dim light, but closer inspection showed that a small knob had been affixed to it.

Farnsworth placed his hand on the knob.

“Let me try it,” said Darwin.

He grasped the knob and jerked.

The door opened with such suddenness that he was flung back against the wall, the jar causing tin pails to rattle and various objects to fall.

“The storeroom!” he exclaimed, peering into the darkness. “Wait, I’ll turn on the light and you can save your battery.”

Stepping into the storeroom, he groped about until a snap was followed by the faint illumination of a dirty, old-fashioned carbon lamp.

“Damn funny I missed this door when I looked in here,” declared Darwin.

“You could easily have overlooked it,” said Farnsworth.

Darwin went closer to the door. It had no frame and the hinges were flush. The knob on the inside of the storeroom had been removed and the hole plugged skillfully. Gray paint had been applied so heavily the whole resembled solid wall.

“Good job o’ camouflagin’,” said Darwin.

“There are fire escapes on the outside of the building,” replied Farnsworth. “This tower was evidently sealed up when they were installed.”

“Then nobody knowed about this old fire tower.”

Farnsworth played his light, which was all but out, on the door.

“Somebody must have,” he remarked.

“Because the stairs is clean?”

“Something else, too. Look here.”

Darwin stared at the lock.

A thin bit of copper that might have been a contact for a light switch held the spring catch on the door back.

“An inside job,” declared Darwin. “That hooks up Starr with this murder.”

“You think he brought that girl’s body up through the fire tower?”

“No. That’d be a sucker trick. He coulda run it up on the elevator or carried it up the stairway. Either’d been easier. Wouldn’t took so long neither. Nobody’s goin’ to waste any time when he’s gettin’ ridda a body.”

“Then how does this unsecured fire tower door link Starr with the murder?”

“I told you before Starr had guilty knowledge. Bein’ superintendent, he knew ’bout the fire tower. He fixed this door so some one else could bring up the body without him seein’ it.”

Farnsworth peered from inside the closet to the fire tower landing. He stepped out, stooped, and felt in a dark corner.

“I thought I saw something here when we came up,” he remarked, and rose and backed into the storeroom.

“Whatta you got?” asked Darwin.

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s Starr’s book.’”

“Can’t read in this light. We’d better go out into the hall.”

“We’ll go back to Thompson’s office.”

“Good idea. Headquarters might be tryin’ to get us.”

As they neared Thompson’s office, they heard a telephone ringing.

“Bet that’s headquarters right now,” said Darwin, speeding his steps. “I got the key.”

He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“You answer,” said Farnsworth.

Darwin lifted the receiver. Farnsworth, busy inspecting his find, gave no heed until Darwin hung up the receiver.

“Nothin’ new except Molly Davis ain’t at headquarters now,” Darwin reported.

“Where is she?”

“She died in General Hospital at—”

He stopped abruptly, a strange expression on his face.

“Go on,” ordered Farnsworth.

“It’s a good thing I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Don’t be a damned fool. What time did she die?”

“It was four minutes after six when you looked at your watch down there in that tunnel. A minute later, we seen somethin’—”

“You thought you saw something.”

“You seen it too — you musta seen it ’cause you asked me if it was gray. We seen that gray thing at five minutes after six and Molly Davis died at five minutes after six!”

“What was the cause of her death?”

“Molly Davis died at five minutes after—”

“What was the cause of her death?”

“The doctors won’t know till after the post mortem. But they think it was bad booze. What difference does it make what she died from?”

Farnsworth closed the book slowly.

“According to Starr’s records,” he said. “The name of the night woman on the fifth floor is, or was, Molly Davis.”

Chapter VII The Day Superintendent

Farnsworth, a long conversation with headquarters concluded, hung up the receiver of the telephone in the dingy lobby of the Tremont Building and made several entries in his little black book,

Darwin, his stiff hat on his knees, his graying black hair tousled, his dusty brown suit badly out of press, slouched in Starr’s chair near the elevator, his chin nearly touching his chest and his lips parted.

Farnsworth stepped over and touched Darwin on the shoulder. The detective’s head came up with a jerk, and his eyes snapped wide open.

“Wasn’t asleep,” he asserted, the thickness of his voice belying his words. “Only waitin’ for you to get through phonin’.” He sprang to his feet and jammed his hat on his head.

Standing side by side, the contrast between the two was marked. Farnsworth was more than six feet, Darwin, several inches shorter and though not fat, much heavier; Farnsworth with long, narrow, nervous hands, the profile and brow of a student, concealing his dynamic nature as well as the enormous energy and persistence of his youth; Darwin with short, pudgy hands, on his heavy face, along with the imprint of years, the marks of many rough and tumble encounters, and his jaw thrust forward as though inviting physical combat.

“The day superintendent’d oughta be—”

“He’s coming now.”

A large, raw-boned, red-headed man in his middle thirties, puffed through the door with a newspaper clutched in a big red hand.

“Thought I’d find you here, Inspector Farnsworth,” he panted. “I’m Pat Dow, superintendent of the Tremont Buildin’. I just read about this in the papers. I double-timed. Late, anyway. Didn’t get to bed very early last night.”

“What time did you get home?” asked Farnsworth casually.

“After 2 A.M.,” replied Dow. “Heard plenty ’bout it, too. You get what I mean if you’re a married man.”

“I get you all right,” announced Darwin.

“Never saw cards run like they done last night. Nothin’d stand up. Had fours beat three times. But gimme the low down on this murder. Couldn’t read and run at the same time.”

A short, dark youth entered, hesitated and would have gone on, but Dow signalled to him with a jerk of his head.

“Come here, Bennett,” he said. “Inspector Farnsworth wants to talk to you. You can tell him all ’bout that dead girl up in Mr. Thompson’s desk.”

“Whatta you tryin’ to do, gimme the razzberry?” demanded Bennett, staring at Dow with defiant brown eyes.

“You’ll get plenty razzberries tryin’ to explain to the inspector why you murdered that girl, Bennett,” answered Dow, with a wink at Farnsworth.

“What dead girl—”

“Have you read the morning papers?” asked Farnsworth.

“Nah. Hadda hustle down here and get on the job.”

“How old are you?”

“Who wants to know?”

“You damn little shrimp you’d better answer the inspector,” advised Dow.

“Nineteen — I’m nineteen next month,” replied Bennett, looking at Farnsworth with a sullen expression on his dark face.

“Take us up to the sixth floor,” ordered Farnsworth.

“I ain’t got my uniform on yet.”

“You don’t needa stop for that,” declared Dow. “And you don’t needa stop to shave either.”

Bennett flushed and drew on gloves which he took from his coat pocket and stepped into the elevator without replying.

The car creaked its way to the top floor and stopped. Bennett had to make two attempts before he could open the door.

“Kinda weak this mornin’, ain’t you?” asked Dow, rubbing the boy’s thick, wavy brown hair with his knuckles.

Bennett, as if angered too much for words, glared at him.

“Want Billy to wait for us, inspector?” asked Dow affably.

“It isn’t necessary,” replied Farnsworth.

“Good thing, inspector. Some of the old-timers get here early and kick if they have to wait for this rattle trap elevator longer’n usual. Get on down to the basement, kid, and change duds. Don’t let the rats bite you!”

Bennett’s fingers went to his nose. Dow reached for him, but the door of the elevator clanged shut too quickly and immediately the car began a creaking descent.

“How long has he been working here?” asked Farnsworth, starting down the corridor.

“’Bout two months.”

“Does he ever run the car nights?”

“That punk? The rats’d make a bum outta him. He shivers whenever he sees one. Tries to act hard, but he’s only a kid. Get that expression on his map when I accused him of murderin’ that girl?”

“He’s fresh,” said Darwin. “Gimme a lotta lip the last time I was in here. Got a night boy, too?”

“No. Starr runs the elevator nights. S’pose you busted in the door to Thompson’s office?”

“We used Starr’s key,” replied Darwin.

“That’s damn funny!”

“What’s funny?”

“Nobody’s supposed to have a key to Thompson’s office; there’s a special lock on the door. If any of the help goes in there, they get fired.”

“How about the cleaning women?”

“Outside for them, too, unless Thompson sends for ’em.”

“Where is Thompson?”

“How should I know where Thompson is?”

“You’re the superintendent of his building, aren’t you?”

“Sure I’m superintendent and porter and electrician and repair man and a lotta other jobs, too. But that don’t make Thompson and me buddies. He ain’t never spoke to me yet. I ain’t seen him for two months, mebbe three months.”

Darwin unlocked and threw open the door of Thompson’s office. Dow gazed about him with inquisitive eyes.

“Looks just like I thought it would,” he declared.

“Haven’t you ever been in here before?” asked Farnsworth.

“Nope. I been learned how to obey orders.”

“Didn’t you come up here when Thompson hired you?”

“Thompson didn’t hire me. Cyrus Conroy, his agent, put an ad in the paper and I went to his office to answer it. He hired me and give me my orders. I ain’t broke ’em. I wanta keep my job. It ain’t much of a job for money, but jobs is scarce and it feeds me and the old lady and keeps a roof over our head.”

“You’ve been superintendent of the Tremont Building for some time, haven’t you?”

“I’m here a little more’n a year. I took Terence Gallagan’s place. He was here ever since the Tremont was turned into offices ten or ’leven years ago. Before that he was head porter of the hotel.”

“Where is Terence Gallagan now?”

“That’s ’nother question I can’t answer. I don’t know the kinda life Terence led.”

“He’s dead?”

“Dead, God rest his soul. That’s why I’m superintendent of the Tremont. If he wasn’t dead, he’d be hang-in’ onto his job. He hung onto everything else he ever had, so I’m told.”

Dow raised the hand which, all the while he had been answering Farnsworth’s questions, had been resting on the glass table top. Farnsworth glanced at Darwin and he changed his position only slightly. Dow was forced away from the table.

“Where is Conroy?” asked Farnsworth as if the question had just occurred to him.

“Mr. Conroy left town a week ago. He’s on his vacation, and when he’s on his vacation, even his office can’t reach him. He goes way up in the Canada woods fishin’ and stays a month. Goes there every year. Makes it tough for me. I gotta let everythin’ slide. Still, it don’t make so damn much difference — I gotta do that mosta the time. Thompson won’t spend no money on this buildin’. We’ve lost a lotta tenants; we’ll lose a lot more on account of this murder.”

At the mention of the murder, Farnsworth turned toward the desk and Dow’s eyes followed his movement.

“Was her body found in there?” he asked, much interest in his voice.

“That’s where we found it,” answered Darwin.

Dow walked slowly toward the desk.

As he neared it, a small bird, with a great flutter of wings, alighted on the window ledge.

“My God!” exclaimed Dow. “Didn’t get ’nough sleep last night,” he added sheepishly. “When that damn sparrow lit, I thought the whole Tremont Buildin’ was failin’ down.”

“It’s goin’ to rain,” remarked Darwin, looking out of the window at the overcast sky.

Dow glanced at the clouds and approached the desk hurriedly. He went very close to it, but did not touch it.

“How was she killed?” he asked.

“Shot in the forehead,” replied Darwin.

“No other wounds?”

Darwin looked at Farnsworth, who was still standing near the table.

“Headquarters says there were no other marks on her body,” Farnsworth responded.

Dow again eyed the desk.

“She was dead when she was put in there,” he declared.

“How do you know?” asked Darwin.

“I can tell by the bloodstains.”

“What do you know about bloodstains?” asked Farnsworth.

“I was in the A. E. F.”

Farnsworth stepped forward.

“Let me see your gun,” he ordered.

“I ain’t got no gun.”

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“That ain’t no gun.”

Farnsworth made a quick move, held Dow’s arm in a vise-like grip while Darwin took a short-barrelled thirty-two from him.

“What the hell you tryin’ to do?” asked Dow, quite calmly.

“I’m not taking any chances,” replied Farnsworth.

Dow laughed, not only with his lips, but with his blue eyes.

“You don’t overlook no tricks, do you, inspector?” he asked as if pleased. “But you got me wrong. I wouldn’t try to pull nothin’ — not with no one with your rep’ anyway. I read every line of that Pope case. You done good work on that.”

“Why did you try to lie?” demanded Darwin. “The inspector—”

“Say, don’t you know the difference between kiddin’ and lyin’? I don’t call that damn peashooter a gun. I’m used to a forty-five. That’s the baby that stops ’em. But I’m pretty good with that thirty-two. Whammed at an oak plank down cellar ’til I learned her tricks. But she ain’t worth nothin’ at more’n ten yards.”

“An oak plank,” repeated Farnsworth. “Where is that plank?”

“You’ve searched the basement?”

“We sure did,” replied Darwin, brushing some dust from his trousers. “Searched it plenty. But we didn’t find no oak plank with lead in it.”

“Sure you didn’t. I got tired of shootin’ away my own money, so I sawed up the plank and put it in the furnace just before we pulled the fire last week.”

“Did you buy this?” asked Farnsworth, taking the revolver from Darwin.

“Nope. Mr. Conroy issued it to me when he hired me.”

“What was his object in arming you?”

“Holdups was pretty frequent then and he thought I might need it. Never did though.”

Thick clouds entirely obscured the sun and in the distance, thunder growled.

“We are goin’ to have a storm,” declared Dow. “Hope you brought your overshoes along, inspector.”

Farnsworth placed the revolver in his pocket.

“Gimme my gun!” snapped Dow, all traces of good humor gone. “I got a permit to carry it. Mr. Conroy attended to that.” From his wallet he extracted a pink paper. “That’s my license,” he growled. “Gimme my gun or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” demanded Darwin, his words clipped.

“The girl whose body we found in Thompson’s desk was killed by a bullet from a short-barrelled, thirty-two caliber revolver,” remarked Farnsworth very quietly.

“The hell... why... why... Starr’s—”

His lips shut in a straight line.

“Go on,” ordered Darwin, his jaw thrust further forward than usual.

Dow shook his head doggedly.

“I have Starr’s weapon in my possession,” said Farnsworth.

A look of relief came into Dow’s face.

Again thunder growled in the distance.

Chapter VIII Night Mists

“Does Starr work under you?” continued Farnsworth.

“We both work under Mr. Conroy. Say, where is Starr? He’s supposed to wait for me no matter if I am late. I have to wait for him enough nights. Have you got him in the mill?”

“Did Starr act any differently than usual when he relieved you last night?”

“Not a bit different — grouchy as ever. He was half an hour late. I was fit to be tied. I wanted to get to supper on time, because if I didn’t, the old lady wouldn’t let me out. I made it by breakin’ my neck. Say, I asked you if you had Starr locked up?”

“He’s in General Hospital under, observation,” said Darwin. “He tried to throw himself outta that winda behind you.”

“Tried to jump outta the winda!”

“Where does Starr live?” Farnsworth inquired.

Dow shook his head.

“Even Mr. Conroy don’t know that,” he averred.

“Who employs the women who clean up here nights?”

“Starr. He’s their boss. I don’t know any of ’em.”

“Do you know a woman by the name of Molly Davis?”

“What does she look like?”

“Medium height, rather slender, dark blue eyes, brown hair—”

“Kinda good lookin’ except for her eyes. Funny look, as if she’s a dope?”

Farnsworth nodded.

“Sure I know her.”

“You said you didn’t know the night women in this building!”

Dow started, then grinned.

“Before I come here, I was a watchman in Black’s department store. One day Pete Kennedy, the head store dick, caught this Molly Davis shoplifting. I was in the office when he brought her upstairs. She got six months. I remember the name now.”

“Could Molly Davis work here and you not know it?”

“She couldn’t. I take the pay rolls to Mr. Conroy’s office and I check ’em so Starr can’t put nothin’ over.”

“How often do the help here get paid?”

“Twice a month — the first and the fifteenth.”

“Then if she was hired by Starr between pay days you wouldn’t know anything about it until you saw the pay roll?”

“That’s right, unless I happened to see her when she come on. Not much chance for that. I generally get away before the night women show up.”

The storm was much nearer. Deep shadows lurked in the corners of Thompson’s office and the thunder’s growl had changed to occasional peals.

“Was Molly Davis the girl you found in the desk?” Dow asked.

“The girl in the desk has not been identified yet,” replied Farnsworth.

“What’d she look like?” Farnsworth rapidly described the fair young corpse.

“That ain’t Molly Davis.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“I don’t know. Starr didn’t know her, did he?”

“We haven’t got anything definite from Starr yet.”

“Didn’t think you would. He’s—”

“He’s what?”

Dow’s lips closed stubbornly.

“Say, fella—” began Darwin threateningly.

“It’s gettin’ late and I got a lotta work to do,” Dow protested.

“We can hold you for twenty-four hours without a warrant,” warned Farnsworth.

“That won’t hurt me none.”

“What’d your wife say ’bout you bein’ in the can?” asked Darwin.

“Well, plenty. Whatta you wanta know, inspector?”

“Have you and Starr had trouble?”

Dow nodded sullenly.

“What kind of trouble?” asked Farnsworth.

“I jumped him because the halls was dirty. It didn’t do no good. I jumped him a couple more times. He told me to mind my own business. I told him I’d turn him in to Mr. Conroy. He didn’t say nothin’, but he looked at me with them black eyes of his and I seen the whites begin to turn red. I know that sign. But the next mornin’ I went to Mr. Conroy’s office and turned Starr in. It didn’t get me nothin’, but I done my duty.

“That night when Starr came in, he went down to the basement and didn’t come up again. I figgered he was waitin’ for me to come down so we could have it out. I wanted it settled, too. So I went down. We tangled. I beat him up. Since then, we ain’t spoke.”

Dow stopped, and Farnsworth gazed into his eyes intently. Dow’s foot moved slightly and the toe of his shoe scuffed the carpet.

So thickly did the clouds overcast the sky now that the shadows extended from the corners to the center of the room. The sparrow had deserted the window ledge. The rumble of the thunder could no longer be heard. The voice of the city had become muted. No sounds came through the wide open windows. The breathless silence seemed unreal.

“You haven’t told us all,” said Farnsworth, his voice, though there was no change in pitch or tone, sounding strange in that unnatural stillness.

Dow brushed a big hand across his eyes quickly.

“I skipped some,” he admitted.

“Why?”

Dow raised his head.

“Were you in France, inspector?”

“I was over there with the Thirty-Second Division.”

“I can talk to you. Funny things happened over there. Nights, when we was waitin’ to go over the top, I seen the gray mists. You know, them gray night mists that hang over the battlefields, that change to human shapes and dance. I seen the dead layin’ out in No Man’s Land get up and dance with ’em. I seen other queer things, queer things that’d make a fella believe in ghosts — things nobody could explain.”

“There are things none of us can explain.”

“And in this buildin’, in the old Tremont Buildin’, right downstairs in the basement of the old Tremont Buildin’, I seen somethin’ I can’t explain!”

A few drops of rain splashed gently on the window ledge. Dow drew back into the shadows, and Darwin, in response to a barely perceptible motion of Farnsworth’s hand so changed his position that he stood between Dow and the window beside Thompson’s desk.

“It was dark down there in the basement,” Dow went on as if having once started he was eager to continue. “There wasn’t no lights on. But the furnace was goin’ and the dampers was up. From them dampers come two red streaks — runnin’ across to the wall. I looked around tryin’ to see Starr. It was so late all the tenants had went. I stood there strainin’ my eyes and peerin’. I don’t know what held me there.

“All of a sudden, somethin’ broke them two red rods — somethin’ went right through ’em. I couldn’t hear nothin’ and I couldn’t see nothin’ except that them two red rods was broke. I thought for a second it was imagination.

“Then I seen it!” In the semi-darkness Dow’s face looked like bread dough. “I seen it plain. But I couldn’t make out what it was. It didn’t have no shape. It was just a gray thing. It was like them gray night mists dancin’ in the night breath from the battlefields. I reached for my gun.

“Then somethin’ got me — got me from behind! Two arms closed ’round me — two arms like a gorilla’s. I didn’t have a chance. When them arms closed ’round me, I was in France, in France lookin’ at gray night mists. It was Starr that had me — Starr was gruntin’ in my ear while his ape-arms was squeezin’ me. My strength come back and I fought.

“Down there in the dark we went to it. I couldn’t use my arms at all, but I could struggle. The harder I struggled, the harder he squeezed. Blue lights blinded my eyes. The harder Starr squeezed, the bigger and more blindin’ them blue lights got.

“My breath was goin’ fast. I felt like somethin’ insida me had busted. I was sick. I got so weak I thought I was all through — that Starr’d kill me down there. I stopped strugglin’ and collected what strength I had left. Then I kicked backward. I kicked hard. Starr’s arms came loose.

“As he was keelin’ over, I staggered away from him and fell down myself. But my eyes was open and. the blue lights was gone. That gray thing come outta the black and walked right toward me. It wasn’t night mists. I hadn’t gone nuts. It was real. God knows how I got on my feet and pulled my gun. I was nearly all in. With my gun in my hand, I advanced. As I advanced, the thing backed up. It went into the shadows and... and... disappeared — completely.”

Without any warning, a tremendous, unreal, bluish glare dispelled all the shadows in Thompson’s office.

Instantly there was a roar as if a battery of heavy guns had fired a mighty salvo, such a mighty salvo that the ancient Tremont Building trembled as if it had been jarred loose from its old stone foundations.

Then a deluge of rain beat through the open windows.

Chapter IX Timmons, the Attorney

The storm had passed. The sun shining from the clear blue sky made the streets gleam and glisten. But in contrast with its modern, tall neighbors, the Tremont Building, even in the bright sunlight, looked like a stunted, ragamuffin orphan, and broodingly sinister.

From the Tremont, Farnsworth, a well-tailored, immaculate figure, started briskly, the expression on his face that of one driven by fleeting minutes.

The latest report he had received from headquarters was that the girl found in the desk of Horace G. Thompson was still unidentified.

Nor had the whereabouts of Thompson been ascertained, though diligent efforts had been made by a detail from the detective bureau. Apparently, he had vanished without leaving a trace.

His big house on Russell Road, with its extensive grounds and screen of unkempt hedge, was empty, the windows and doors boarded up and no caretaker in charge. In fact, Farnsworth had been informed, the residence seemed to have been closed for a very long period of time.

Interviews with neighbors had produced nothing. Most of them did not know Thompson; others had caught only occasional glimpses of him. There was nothing strange or mysterious about that. Since the time when old Ezra Thompson, at the height of his success in the hotel business, had built the big red-brick residence, the character of the neighborhood had changed completely. Descendants of other old families had moved to new residential districts. Those who were living in Russell Road now made their livings with their hands. They regarded Horace Thompson merely as one who wished to be left alone.

Business associates of Thompson had proved hardly more helpful. The general opinion was that he was out of town. Within the last two years he had been away so much that his absences caused no curiosity, particularly as contacts with him were never more than casual. He had no close friends.

They had got nothing from Starr. Under the soothing influence of tepid baths and mild currents of electricity, he had quieted much, but was still disturbed. The last word received by Farnsworth had been that the attending physicians had put a stop to further questioning.

Not until Farnsworth reached the new Franklin Building, did he slow his rapid steps. There, after consulting the directory, he took an elevator to the twenty-fifth floor, and followed the marble corridor to a door marked, “Wallace Timmons, Attorney at Law.”

Despite the modern structure in which it was housed, Timmons’s office gave the impression of being a holdover from another day. In one way it resembled Thompson’s office; it consisted of but a single long room with no dividing partitions. But there, the resemblance ended.

Around three sides ran high book shelves crowded with volumes bound — a big store of well-thumbed legal lore. On the walls were steel engravings of jurists — faces that looked as if they had never known a smile.

Near one of the three wide windows stood a big square desk of highly polished golden oak, before it a capacious swivel chair.

At the door was a smaller golden oak desk, at which sat a dumpy little woman well past middle age, with short-sighted, watery blue eyes and gray bangs.

“Mr. Timmons has been delayed by the storm, but I expect him at any moment now,” she told Farnsworth in a voice that had a peculiar bird-tone quality.

“I’ll wait, if I may,” responded the inspector.

“Certainly.” She bounced to her feet, and before he could stop her, picked up one of the heavy oak chairs and placed it near the large desk.

“Sit right down here,” she said. “Mr. Timmons has no appointments this morning so he can attend to you right away.”

“Thank you, Miss—”

“Miss Harkness — Mr. Timmons’s secretary. Excuse me if I seem a little distraught. I don’t like electric storms. Electric storms make me very nervous. I know it’s foolish, but it’s the thunder that affects me. Thunder can’t hurt one, but I want to hide somewhere. I don’t get over the effects for hours.”

She minced over to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a newspaper.

“Here’s the morning paper,” she said, mincing back to Farnsworth. “Nothing in it except that horrible murder in the Tremont Building. The body of a young girl found in a desk! Terrible! But if the young girls of today would behave themselves as they should, they wouldn’t get in scrapes and they wouldn’t get murdered.”

She stopped, her watery eyes on Farnsworth and her attitude that of one expecting complete accord with her views.

“Thank heavens, I had the right bringing up,” she continued. “My life has been an open book. The paper says that girl was pretty. And her body was found in Mr. Horace G. Thompson’s desk — of all places in Mr. Horace G. Thompson’s desk!”

“You know Mr. Thompson?” asked Farnsworth casually.

“I know — I hear Mr. Timmons’s footsteps!”

She sped back to her desk, dropped into her chair and began sorting blue-bound files.

Timmons entered unhurriedly.

“Good morning, Miss Theodora,” he said in a full, round voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Timmons. This gentleman is waiting for you.”

Timmons peered at Farnsworth. Then the light of recognition came into his eyes.

“I didn’t know you, inspector,” he said. “My eyes have lost their keenness. I read of the homicide in the Tremont Building, but I did not anticipate a visit from you.”

Leaning back in his chair and thrusting forward his high, black shoes, he clasped long, white hands over a stomach that bulged his white vest. His gray hair, though neatly trimmed, was worn so long it curled over his coat collar; a heavy drooping gray mustache very nearly hid his mouth. His gray eyes were bright and there was animation, as well as a certain air of breeding in his strong face.

“I called because you are Horace G. Thompson’s attorney,” answered Farnsworth.

“You are entirely in error,” declared Timmons quickly.

“I have been informed—”

“I was Ezra Thompson’s counselor for many years. I served his son in like capacity several years. But I am no longer retained by him.”

“Who does look after his interests?”

“Cyrus Conroy.”

“I mean his legal interests.”

“So far as I know, he is not represented by any member of the local bar.”

“Are you able to give me any information about Thompson?”

“If you will excuse me, I would rather not discuss Horace Thompson.”

“Mr. Timmons, I am engaged in the investigation of a murder.”

“I am aware of that, inspector, and I have no information of any value whatsoever.”

“I do not mind admitting to you, Mr. Timmons, that I have made very little definite progress.”

“You have been unable to learn anything concerning Thompson?”

“Practically nothing. Cyrus Conroy is in Canada. I have talked with the superintendent of the Tremont—”

“Henry Starr?”

“Pat Dow.”

“I do not know him.”

“Then your visits to the Tremont were only at night?”

“Lately, yes. Starr took me up in the elevator. Why don’t you question him? He has been in the Tremont Building a great many years.”

“His mental condition at the moment is such that he cannot be questioned.”

Timmons’s hands came unclasped suddenly and gripped the arms of the chair.

“I do not believe I caught your answer,” he declared, as if confused. “My hearing—”

“When we discovered that body in Thompson’s desk, Starr gave indications of a complete mental collapse. He was taken to the psychopathic ward of General Hospital.”

“And the body you found was that of a young girl, a beautiful young girl. Please describe it to me — describe it minutely.”

Farnsworth repeated a detailed description.

When he had concluded, Timmons raised his eyes suddenly.

“What is it, Miss. Theodora?” he asked sharply.

“I... I... I,” stammered the secretary, “I’ll wait till Inspector Farnsworth leaves. It really isn’t important. It really isn’t.”

She minced back to her desk quickly, a flush on her sallow face, and immediately became very busily engaged with the pile of blue-bound files.

“You are wasting your time here, inspector,” said Timmons. “I can give you absolutely no information regarding my former client. As a matter of fact, I have not seen him within the last two years. As for the reason I am no longer his counsel, that is a matter — a matter that rests between lawyer and client.”

Farnsworth nodded.

“Furthermore, this is a very busy morning with me. I have some important appointments. I must ask you to excuse me.”

Farnsworth arose and Timmons picked up his mail.

“Mr. Timmons,” said Farnsworth.

The attorney did not lift his head, but slit an envelope deftly with the opener.

“Mr. Timmons,” repeated the inspector. He didn’t raise his voice, but Timmons, looked up.

“Well?”

“Why did you stop at the morgue on your way to your office?”

Timmons’s gray features went white.

“Why I—” Timmons hesitated. “How did you know I stopped at the morgue?”

“I talked with headquarters from the Tremont Building. You were in the morgue when I started for your office.”

Timmons’s smile increased the haggard appearance of his face.

“You and your men are remarkably efficient, sir,” he said. “I did drop into the morgue along with many other visitors. I looked at the corpse. I have never seen that girl before. Of that I am certain. Are you satisfied?”

“Yes,” said Farnsworth, and walked toward the door.

As he passed the dumpy Miss Harkness, she looked up and he nodded.

“Good morning, Inspector Farnsworth,” she said primly.