The Casebook of Sidney Zoom

Chapter I The Fleeing Girl

Sidney Zoom swung the big sedan at the corner, crawled in close to the curb. He drove after the manner of cruising cab drivers who prowl the midnight streets looking for belated fares.

But the big sedan was no cab, nor would it readily be mistaken for one. It was low to the ground, long, slim, built for speed. The engine purred in powerful pulsations under the glistening sweep of the long hood. The body was streamlined for speed.

Beside the driver sat a police dog, yellow eyes glinting with a hard gleam of intense interest as he scanned the sidewalks, swept his gaze down the dark side streets.

The night was calm, and Sidney Zoom did not like the tranquillity of calm nights. He preferred, instead, the howl of the wind, the whip of rain, the lash of savage seas.

Upon such nights of storm Sidney Zoom could usually have been found out beyond the heads, aboard his yacht the Alberta F, fighting the crashing seas, the light of joy in his eyes.

Zoom enjoyed the thrill of conflict, whether with man or with nature. And this night, being too calm to offer adventure in his yacht, sent him patrolling the midnight streets, searching for some adventure which would offer excitement.

The car crossed an intersection. The dog gave a throaty growl, flattened forward on his forefeet, muzzle pressing close to the windshield.

Sidney Zoom’s foot touched the brake.

A running figure was coming down that side street, and the figure was that of a woman. Once she shot a glance over her shoulder, and then increased her speed.

She was running, not as most women run, trying to maintain some semblance of grace, careful lest their modesty shall be sacrificed to speed; but she was running as people run who are in a blind panic, heedless of appearances.

Her skirt impeded the action of her legs, and the left hand grasped at the folds, pulled it well above the knees. The feet spurned the pavement with a force and vigor which would have done credit to a trained sprinter.

Sidney Zoom brought the car to a dead stop. He reached back and flung open the rear door on the side next to the curb. The running figure made one final spurt, a leap, a grasping clutch of frantic hands. The car lurched with the weight of her body, the tug of her arms. Then she was on the rear seat, panting, gasping inarticulate words.

Sidney Zoom slammed the door.

A man’s figure rounded the far comer, paused. The man took in the situation, raised his arm. There was the spat of a bullet against the side of the car, the sound of a revolver.

Another man joined the first figure. Then a third.

Sidney Zoom’s hand flashed beneath the lapel of his coat.

The girl managed to get out words.

“Please, please don’t. For my sake. I’ll die. Please take me away!”

Sidney Zoom flashed her a glance, and knew the answer he must make. He disregarded the men who were running toward him, shooting as they ran, disregarded the snarling dog, fangs pressed against the glass of the door, begging with whimpered pleadings to be allowed to get out and launch an attack of his own.

Sidney Zoom snapped in the clutch, pressed on the throttle and the multi-cylinder power of the car produced instant results. The wheels gripped the pavement. The headlights swung, the car roared into speed.

It was not until they had gone some twenty blocks, straight down the road, shooting like an arrow from a bow, that she made explanation.

“They’re gangsters,” she said. “I run a little millinery business. These men were organizing a racket. I blocked them. I refused to pay tribute for myself, and also organized the other shops in a resistance. They... they were taking me for a tide. Can you imagine that?”

“How,” asked Sidney Zoom, “did you escape?”

“The car got a puncture,” she said. “They had to get tools from out of the back seat. They kept me guarded, but the car slid backwards on the grade, off the jack. It pinned one of the men by the foot. The others forgot about me for a moment and rushed to his help. I sneaked away, quietly at first, then running as fast as I could.

“That’s why they didn’t follow in a car. Their own car is disabled. They had to run. Thank goodness you were there!”

Sidney Zoom bowed.

“Perhaps it was chance,” he said, and his tone indicated that he might have other thoughts. But he kept those thoughts to himself. “If you’ll give me your address, the address of your shop, and tell me the names of those men, I’ll take great pleasure in seeing that no further demands are made upon you, and that you’re not taken for any more rides.”

She shook her head.

“No. They’re dangerous. I can’t let you do that. My name is Muriel Drake, and I live at the Continental Hotel. I have a millinery shop, but I won’t tell you the name. You’d just run into danger, and you’ve done enough for me already. I certainly hope they didn’t get your license number, or they’d make trouble. They’re dangerous men.”

Sidney Zoom swung the wheel.

“You wish to go to the Continental now?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You’ll communicate with the police?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t tell me who the men are, nor where you have your shop?”

“No.”

Sidney Zoom smiled.

“Very well,” he said. “Naturally, I won’t press the matter. However, I shall take certain steps looking toward your protection.”

“No, no, don’t do that! I’ll telephone the police!”

Zoom bowed, wordlessly.

The electric sign of the Continental Hotel flashed on and off in red brilliance, a few blocks down the street.

Sidney Zoom stepped on the throttle.

“Call the police at once. They may try to follow you.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “They don’t know about the Continental.”

Zoom piloted the car to the curb, alighted, opened the rear door. The young woman gave him her hand, her eyes and a smile.

“It was good of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Sidney Zoom.

“Come and see me. Drop in tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you,” said Sidney Zoom, and bowed.

She swept into the hotel. Sidney Zoom could see her through the plate glass windows of the lobby. She walked directly to the desk, engaged the night clerk in conversation, smiled sweetly at him, and walked toward the elevators.

Sidney Zoom parked his car, opened the door, nodded to his police dog.

“Out, Rip, and stay by my side.”

Then he rounded the corner, found a shaded doorway where the night shadows clung, and sat down to wait.

He waited ten minutes. Then a figure emerged cautiously, scanned the street, looking up and down it with furtive caution. Reassured at what she saw, the figure of the girl who had given her name as Muriel Drake started walking swiftly along the cement sidewalk.

Sidney Zoom spoke to the dog, held him by the hair on the neck, talking to him.

Not until the figure had been gone for a good ten minutes did Sidney Zoom loose the dog.

If she had taken a cab, Zoom knew the pursuit would be useless. But she had seemed so certain of herself and of the Continental Hotel, that Zoom felt her real residence might be close by.

He turned the dog free.

“Find,” he said, “then come back here.”

The dog barked once, a short, swift bark of excitement, and then started running along the sidewalk, snuffing, nose held dose to the cold cement, tail wagging in a slow circle as he rounded the comer of the block and vanished in the cool night shadows.

Chapter II Surrounded

Zoom walked back to the car, climbed into the front seat, lit a cigarette, turned to survey the back of the car.

Something that glittered on the floor of the car caught his eye. It was a red glitter, much like the reflection of a frozen drop of pigeon’s blood.

Zoom switched on the dome light, leaned over the back of the front seat, and picked up the object.

Sidney Zoom knew something about stones. That was a very fine ruby. The depth of color, the fire, the flawless perfection of the stone told of its value.

Zoom held it cupped in his hand, examined it closely. Then he crawled into the back of the sedan and began a systematic search.

He found where the rich robe had been folded over and jammed so as to form a pocket of cloth. It had been hastily done. Zoom straightened the cloth.

Instantly a showering cascade of glittering light shot into view, rained to the floor of the sedan, sparkled in brilliant reflections.

Zoom started picking them up.

They were unset stones of rare brilliance, and they included rubies, diamonds, emeralds.

Zoom pocketed them, switched out the light in the dome of the car. He heard running feet, a short, excited bark. The police dog, Rip, had returned, was wagging his tail; his mouth, the lips twisted back in a canine smile, telling of the success of his mission. For the dog had been well trained in police work, and knew the art of trailing, as well as the reason for it. When his quarry took to rubber-tired transportation and eluded the keen nose of the dog, Rip felt the disgrace of failure as keenly as though it had been caused by some lack of skill on his part.

Sidney Zoom left the car, locked the ignition and transmission, accompanied the dog.

The dog paced at the side of his master, tail held erect, waving slightly at the tip, tongue lolling out, panting slightly from his run.

Together they went through the deserted streets of the city, the dog’s feet padding along, rattling claws making more noise than the sound of his cushioned feet.

Sidney Zoom made no effort to muffle the noise of his steps. He strode forward with a vigorous, purposeful gait. It was as though he were going into a battle and was eager to taste the first thrill of conflict.

The dog took the lead from time to time, then, as his master kept on the trail, dropped back to his side. That trail led to an apartment house, some seven blocks from where Zoom had left the car. The apartment house was simple, unpretentious. The name was scrolled in gilt on the glass of the door.

“Bratten Arms Apartments.”

Sidney Zoom tried the door. It was locked. The lobby was dark.

Zoom pursed his lips, looked at the directory. There was no person listed under the name of Drake; nor did the first name of any of the tenants seem to be Muriel.

Sidney Zoom walked across the street, paused in the shadows, looking up at the front of the building, seeking to ascertain if there was a light in any of the front apartments.

While he stared, the front door of the apartment opened. A man emerged. He had on a gray-checked overcoat, a gray, wide-brimmed hat, carried a stick, wore gray gloves, and pounded the steps leading down to the sidewalk with feet that seemed to be very much in a hurry to get somewhere.

Zoom started to call to this man, then thought better of it.

He walked back across the street, tried the door once more, found that it was still locked. There had been, in his mind, the possibility that perhaps the catch hadn’t clicked as the door had swung slowly shut after the exit of the man in the gray overcoat.

Zoom muttered a word to the dog, turned, walked swiftly back toward the place where he had left his car. The man in the gray overcoat, hearing those steps, suddenly whirled, stared at Sidney Zoom.

Zoom caught a glimpse of the face. It was white, drawn. The cheeks were high and bony. The skin was drawn tightly over the forehead. There was a little, close-clipped mustache, and the eyes were dark, bright as with a fever.

For a long moment the light of the street corner shone on the features. Then the gloved hand jerked the wide brim of the hat down. The right hand dropped into the side pocket of the overcoat.

Sidney Zoom walked past, apparently giving no heed to the man who waited, watchful, poised.

Zoom turned to the right. The man in gray turned to the left, abruptly.

Zoom returned to his car. He made no effort to follow the man who had emerged from the apartment house. Zoom had absolutely nothing to connect him with the girl. Nor did he have any reason to regard the man with suspicion. It is not unusual for the belated wayfarer to scrutinize carefully those who come purposefully from behind. And this is particularly true of those who materialize suddenly from streets that are apparently deserted.

Zoom walked back to his car. He had a nebulous idea of cruising the streets and picking up the man in gray, offering him a ride.

He unlocked the transmission and ignition in his car, stepped on the starter.

The police dog growled.

Sidney Zoom paused, his hand creeping slowly toward the lapel of his coat. A dim shadow lurched from an adjacent doorway. Another man came walking diagonally across the street. A car which had been parked without lights, came drifting silently down the street, shortening the distance between it and Zoom’s car.

Zoom’s lips set in a grim line. The hawklike eyes snapped cold fires. Then a red spotlight flooded the scene. One of the approaching men jerked back his coat and disclosed a police star.

He walked to the running board of the machine.

“Okay, buddy. Don’t make any sudden moves. Nothing’s going to happen to you unless you’ve got it coming.”

The police dog, hearing the antagonistic tone of the man’s voice, stared at his master appealingly, waiting for the command which would enable him to forget restraint and tear into these men. But that command did not come. Zoom sat quiet, calm, scornful.

A man’s voice drifted in through the open window to the left of the driver. The man was examining the back of the car.

“This is the car!” said the voice. “I can tell by the way it’s shaped in back... And here’s a bullet hole. That’s where my shell hit!”

The plainclothes officer nodded his head, called in a low voice to the men who were in the police car with the red spotlight: “This looks like the guy. Watch him!”

Sidney Zoom, his lip twisted in something of a sneer, made no move, said nothing.

“Where were you about twenty minutes ago, buddy?”

Sidney Zoom regarded the questioner with cold eyes.

“I was cruising the streets.”

“What for?”

“Pleasure.”

“Yeah. Well, you seen a broad making a getaway, and you acted as the getaway guy. You had the car planted ready for her to make a break...”

Sidney Zoom interrupted.

“I did nothing of the sort. I was cruising the streets. I saw a young woman, running from a group of men who seemed to be filling her with fear. Those men opened fire upon me without warning.”

The man who stood at Zoom’s side pushed a little closer. The police dog gave a low, throaty growl. Two men from the back of the car moved up.

“Yeah?” said the man at the window. And his tone conveyed utter disbelief.

“Exactly!” snapped Sidney Zoom. “I am telling you exactly what occurred. This woman was running, evidently in fear. I opened the door. She jumped in. Three men showed up and started shooting. The woman told me later that they were gangsters and racketeers who were trying to take her for a ride.”

The plainclothes man grunted.

“Well, buddy, you got yourself in a tough spot. That woman was being taken to Headquarters for questioning in connection with a robbery an’ murder. Then you horned in and gave her a getaway... Where’d you take her?”

“Continental Hotel,” said Zoom unhesitatingly. “She walked in, talked with the night clerk and then went up.”

“What’s your name?” asked the officer.

“Zoom, Sidney Zoom.”

The officer was plainly surprised.

“The hell it is!” he said.

“Exactly,” said Zoom. “And if those men who pursued the girl were police, why the devil didn’t they blow a police whistle or give me some sort of a sign instead of just opening fire? Furthermore, if they were police, taking a lone, unarmed woman to Headquarters, why didn’t they take her there instead of letting her get a seventy-five yard headstart on them?”

The plainclothes man was a little less belligerent.

“They were private dicks, from the company that was engaged by the store that got robbed. They’d pinned something on the woman. On the way to Headquarters they had a blowout. When they jacked the car something happened and it slid off the jack and down on the leg of one of the boys. It broke the leg, and the other three had to lift the car to get him out.

“The broad was giving them a good song. She’s a clever little liar. They didn’t think she was particularly hot. Then she dusted out. When they found her making a getaway they knew she was mixed up in it bad. Pete, go over to the Continental and check that information about her going in there. If she’s there, get the place surrounded. She’s slippery.

“So you’re Zoom, eh? The guy that prowls around at night looking for adventure, eh? Well, buddy, you’ve got plenty of adventure now. You’re an accessory after the fact, an’ you’ll go up on the carpet!”

Sidney Zoom’s level, hawk-like eyes bored in scornful appraisal into those of the officer.

“Since when,” he asked, coldly, “has it become a crime for a citizen to offer a young woman a lift? And since when has it become a crime to drive away from three men who open fire without a word of explanation?”

The plainclothes man’s face darkened.

“None of your brass!” he growled.

“That,” snapped Sidney Zoom, “is not brass. It’s steel!”

The plainclothes man moved away, over to the police car.

“Sidney Zoom,” he growled. “I’ve heard he’s got some sort of a special commission, and he’s in solid with the mayor. Better let Headquarters know and see what they say.”

Chapter III Murder

The driver of the car nodded. He turned a microphone into action, spoke in a harsh, mechanical voice.

“Police car sixty-two. We’ve located the car in which Muriel Drake made her escape. It’s driven by a man named Sidney Zoom who claims he saw the woman running down the street, gave her a ride, and. didn’t stop when he saw the private dicks, because they just opened fire, and the girl said they were gangsters. There’s a lead that the girl went to the Continental Hotel. We’re checking that lead. Shall we bring Zoom in?”

He switched off the microphone, grinned at the other.

“We’ll pass the buck to somebody higher up.”

There was a period of brief silence. Then a man came running across the street.

“A dodge,” he said. “She went in to the night clerk all right, told him she might like a room for a week, asked him to let her take a look at it. She got a key, and the elevator boy showed her the room. She stalled around for five minutes, gave him back the key and a dollar, let the boy take the key to the desk while she ducked out the side door.”

The plainclothes officer who seemed to be in charge of the investigation, puckered his forehead.

“That checks with this guy’s story. She pulled that to throw him off the trail.”

He turned back to Zoom.

“Just what’d she say to you?” he asked.

“Said she had a millinery store, that some men were organizing a racket and she’d been fighting them, that these men were taking her for a ride when the car had a puncture. That the car slipped off the jack, and that one of the men was caught under it. When the others were lifting the car she beat it.”

The men exchanged glances.

“Pretty slick!” said one of the men.

“It’s a damned lie. He was in on it. He was the getaway car!” stormed the man who claimed to have been the one who fired the shot that had taken effect in the side of the car. “I could tell from the way she ran into the car without hesitating or anything, that it was a plant...”

“Shut up, Joe,” said the plainclothes man. “She couldn’t have told when the car you guys was in was going to have a blowout, nor that the jack was going to bust. She got a break, that’s all, and she took it. I’ve heard of this guy. He drives around the streets all the time. He’s helped the department on a case or two.”

He turned to Zoom.

“Now, then, did you see this broad leaving the hotel? She ducked out of the joint to give you the slip and there’s a chance you might have seen her.”

The man paused, stared at Sidney Zoom.

A harsh, metallic voice rasped into raucous sound from the automobile.

“Police car sixty-two! There’s been a murder at the Bratten Arms Apartments. A young woman was killed in the elevator. She answers the description of Muriel Drake. The body was found wedged in the elevator by a man named Hackett who was coming in from a party.

“Better chase around there, look at the corpse, interview Hackett and make sure he’s on the square. The corpse was searched thoroughly by the man who did the job. Clothes were ripped and torn. Looks like Muriel.”

There followed a startled silence which contrasted strangely with the mechanical voice, magnified by a loud speaker, coming in over the police radio; a voice that mentioned murder in so matter-of-fact a manner.

The man who had been standing near Zoom’s car jerked his head at Zoom.

“Get your dog in back and make him behave. I’m coming in.”

Sidney Zoom nodded, made a motion to the dog, a waving motion of the right wrist. “Back and down, Rip.”

The dog cleared the back of the front seat in a graceful leap, stretched out on the back seat. The plainclothes man walked around the car, flung open the door.

“No rough stuff,” he said. “Follow that police car.”

The siren wailed. The exhaust of the police car roared. The two cars shot out into the middle of the street, gathered speed, flashed past intersections.

It was but a matter of seconds until the lights of the lead car showed the knot of curious spectators which had gathered, even at that hour of the night, impelled by a morbid curiosity to gaze upon the features of the dead.

There was an ambulance backed up to the curb, a pair of uniformed policemen, keeping the crowd back. Lights blazed in the windows of the apartment house, as well as in the windows of adjoining houses. Oblongs of light framed the black silhouettes of the curious.

The cars swung to the curb, lurched to a stop. The plainclothes man touched Zoom on the arm.

“We go in,” he said.

Zoom turned to the dog.

“Stay here, Rip, and watch.”

The dog pricked up his ears then drooped them.

The pair left the car. A knot of police and detectives pushed their way into the lobby of the apartment house. It was now a blaze of light. A middle-aged woman with sagging flesh drooping from the bones of her face, a triple chin and puffs under her eyes, rushed toward them. She was clad in a kimono and slippers with a glimpse of silk showing at the neck of the kimono.

“I’m the manager. She wasn’t registered here. She didn’t have an apartment. It ain’t fair to pin a black eye on the place just because...”

The men pushed her to one side. An officer led the way.

“We parked her in a vacant apartment,” he said, “soon as we knew she might be connected with the stick-up.”

They pushed their way through white-faced, half clothed inmates of the apartment house, who had huddled together in the hallways as chickens huddle when the dark shadow of a hawk skims along the ground.

The officer opened a door. The men walked in. Zoom felt a hand on his arm, felt himself pushed forward. Then he was in a semicircle of men who stared silently down upon a still form.

“Choked,” said one of the officers.

“And how!” agreed another.

“Clothes just the way they were when she was found?” asked the man who was in charge.

“Just the same,” said the officer. “She was wedged in the elevator when we got there.”

“You put the elevator out of business?”

“Yeah. Sure. The boys are looking it over for finger-prints.”

The plainclothes man nodded.

“Well,” he said, “somebody sure as hell wanted something this broad had, and he wanted it bad. Lookit those clothes!”

Sidney Zoom stared at the distorted features.

“The girl you gave the ride to?” asked the plainclothes man.

“The same,” agreed Sidney Zoom.

“Got her identified?” asked the officer who had been at the apartment when the others arrived.

“Yeah. Name’s Muriel Drake. She works at Harmiston’s Wholesale & Retail Jewelry. She was there when the stick-up took place this afternoon. You know, the one where they gunned out the guard and looted the box.

“There was plenty of evidence it was an inside job and the boys were getting ready to give her a shake-down. She got a break and made a getaway. Went to the Continental and ducked. She lives at the Wentmore Apartments over on Ninety-sixth. But she was too foxy to head for there. She’s probably got a friend in this joint.

“The door’s locked at night, and she couldn’t get in unless she had a key or unless somebody answered the ring and gave the door a buzz. Better start checking ’em over...”

He was interrupted by a commotion at the door.

“Here’s the baby she called on,” said one of the officers, and pushed a girl into the room.

Chapter IV In the Clear

The girl was clothed in a kimono over pajamas and slippers. Her hair was uncombed. Her face was white, eyes stating. She drew back from the gaze of the men, purposeful, appraising, hostile as that gaze was.

The officer behind her pushed her forward.

Then the girl saw that which was on the bed.

She screamed.

Her right hand, clenched into a fist, sought her mouth. The white teeth sank into the knuckles, and she screamed again.

She turned, tried to run. A man grabbed her around the waist, whirled her back so that she faced the bed.

“Take it easy, sister,” he said.

The girl stood rigid, staring, quivering. Then she started to cry and the sobs twisted her frame, shook her shoulders, sent tears coursing down her cheeks. The circle of men stared at her, nor offered her their slightest sympathy.

“Okay,” said the man who had brought her in. “She’s Stella Denny in 639. I knocked on all the doors and asked ’em if they knew a Muriel Drake. This jane gave me a tumble. I found she was holding something out and that she knew the broad, so I brought her down.”

The plainclothes man who had questioned Sidney Zoom moved so that he was between the sobbing girl and the bed.

“Okay, sister,” he repeated, “take it easy. That’s Muriel?”

The sobbing girl nodded.

“How long you known her?”

She tried to speak twice before the words came.

“T-t-two years.”

“Pretty friendly?”

“Yes.”

“You knew she was working for Harmiston’s Jewelry?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you work?”

“In a law office, Mr. Stringer’s office.”

“I see. And you were out some place tonight?”

“No. I was here. I came to my apartment right after I quit work. I cooked supper and didn’t go out.”

“Okay. You read the evening paper?”

“Yes.”

“Then you knew about the stick-up at Harmiston’s?”

The girl hesitated for a second before she answered.

“I d-d-don’t know. I guess so!”

“Guess so, hell!” roared the plainclothes officer. “You know so, don’t you?”

The girl nodded.

“That’s better. Now, you may be all right, sister, or you may be in a tough spot. So you kick through and don’t hold anything back and we’ll give you the breaks.

“Now, you tried to get Muriel on the telephone to see if she was all right and ask her about the stick-up, didn’t you?”

The girl nodded.

“And Muriel said she’d come over a little later and talk things over, didn’t she?”

Another nod.

“And you kept waiting for Muriel to come, and she didn’t come, and you rang her apartment and a man’s voice answered, and you got frightened and slid the receiver back on the hook, didn’t you?”

Her answer was a gasp.

“How... how did you know?”

“We had men planted in that apartment, waiting for Muriel to come back. And you called and they took the call.

“So you sat up and waited for Muriel and got tired, and went to bed. And then what happened?”

There was a moment or two of silence. Stella Denny had ceased to sob now. The necessity for answering questions had served to distract her attention somewhat from that which was on the bed.

“The telephone rang,” said the girl.

“Yes, who was it?”

“Muriel.”

“What’d she want?”

“She said she was in a jam and that I was to be all ready to let her in as soon as she rang the bell, and she didn’t know just when she’d get here, and then she hung up.”

“Well, what happened after that?”

“Nothing. Not for a long time. I moved the chair over by the button which opened the front door, and waited. I waited so long I fell asleep. I woke up when someone was pressing the button of the front door bell. I immediately pressed my button, the one that opened the door.

“Then I waited for Muriel to come up, and I waited and waited, and nothing happened. So I thought maybe someone had rung my bell by mistake. That sometimes happens. Or sometimes someone wants to get in, and he’ll press all the buttons at once to make sure someone will give him a tumble.

“So I waited, and then I heard the siren, and I knew the police were coming, and I remembered what Muriel had said about being in a jam, and I thought the best thing I could do was to sit tight.

“So I just sat there, and the door-bell rang, the one that’s on the apartment door, and I opened it, and it was this man who asked me if I knew Muriel.

“I thought it was a message from her, so I told him I knew her, and then he showed me his badge and told me to come with him. And that’s every single thing I know.”

The officers exchanged glances.

One of them flung the girl around so she faced the body on the bed once more.

“You’re the one that killed her. She had something you wanted. She had some of the stones that were stolen, and...”

“No, no, no!” screamed Stella Denny. “Don’t make me look. For God’s sake, don’t make me...”

She slumped in a faint, her lips bloodless, her face the color of death.

The plainclothes man picked her in his arms, dumped her unceremoniously into a chair.

“It wasn’t a woman’s job,” he said wearily. “It was a man that did it. Let’s go up to this frail’s apartment and give it a good frisking. Then we’ll check up on her boy friends and give them a shake-down. And we’ll check up on Muriel’s boy friends, and see what they know.”

He turned, regarded Sidney Zoom.

“I guess you’re in the dear,” he said. “You seem to have given us the straight dope. She ducked through the hotel to give you the slip. We can locate you whenever we want you, eh?”

Sidney Zoom nodded.

“Aboard the yacht, Alberta F.,” he said uncordially.

“Guy,” the officer said, “you’re gettin’ all the breaks, an’ you ain’t got sense enough to know it.”

Sidney Zoom said nothing. He strode from the room, tall, gaunt, unsmiling, pushed his way out of the apartment house, to his car, and stepped on the starter.

As he drove away, his left hand dropped to the side pocket of his coat. The gems which he had found in the robe in his machine rattled like pebbles.

He smiled, an enigmatical smile.

Nor did he return to his yacht. He went, instead, to a hotel where he registered as Loring Grigsby of Chicago. He went to his room, left the dog in the car at the garage near by, and slept until morning.

Chapter V Edgar Carver

In the morning he read the newspaper accounts of the murder of Muriel Drake and a rehash of the account of the hold-up at Harmiston’s.

The bandits, two in number, had moved with perfect efficiency, and with a knowledge of the exact location of what they wanted which led the police to believe that there was an accomplice employed within the stores. There had been a guard who had refused to surrender when he saw a gun poking at his stomach. He had made a motion toward his hip and had been shot down in his tracks.

The crime had been singularly businesslike, utterly merciless, and had netted gems worth almost a hundred and fifty thousand dollars wholesale. There had been a big shipment received but a few hours earlier in the day, and the bandits seemed fully aware of this shipment, its nature and extent, and exactly where it could be found.

Sidney Zoom digested the newspaper accounts.

With the finding of Muriel Drake’s murdered body, the police and newspapers alike had concluded that the case was virtually closed, so far as the inside accomplice was concerned.

It seemed that a private detective agency, taking the employees in turn for grilling, had interrogated Muriel Drake. Her answers to questions had not been entirely convincing. She seemed unduly nervous. The private detectives had bundled her into their car, started for Headquarters, had an accident which had distracted their attention, and the girl had escaped, gone to the apartment house where her friend lived.

The police theory was that one of the men concerned in the hold-up had been afraid Muriel would confess if she were taken to the station, or that some independent criminal had sensed that Muriel was an accomplice. In any event, the man, knowing in advance that she planned to spend the night with Stella Denny, had secreted himself within the apartment house and waited for the girl to show up.

He had overpowered her, choked her, made a search of her garments, found, perhaps, that for which he searched, and made his escape. No one had seen him come, and no one had seen him go. He had waited, accomplished his sinister purpose and then faded into the night.

Police were conducting a systematic round-up of the men friends of both Muriel Drake and Stella Denny. Those men were being questioned, asked to prove where they had been when the murder was committed.

Sidney Zoom strolled to a barber shop, was shaved; went to the garage where he had stored his car, took his dog for a brief walk, and then went to Harmiston’s Jewelry Company.

He entered the store and noticed that there were quite a number of people present. They were the curious who desired to see the safe which had been rifled, the exact spot where the man had fallen.

Mechanics were busy repolishing the floor, removing certain sinister dark stains. The place where a bullet had entered the wood work was being repaired so that the dark hole in the polished mahogany was no longer visible.

Sidney Zoom strolled the length of the store, peering into the show cases, studying the display of gems, flashing glances at intervals at the watchful clerks who stood at courteous attention.

As he started back toward the door, on the other side of the store, he saw the man he had expected to find. He was standing behind a counter displaying diamond rings, looking quite expressionless of feature, wary of eye.

It was the man who had worn the gray suit and overcoat, the man Sidney Zoom had last seen leaving the Bratten Arms Apartments shortly after Muriel Drake had entered the place, and but a short time before her body had been discovered.

Sidney Zoom let his attention focus upon the diamonds.

The man moved forward.

“Was there something?” he asked in the tone of voice one uses when striving to be courteous, but expecting nothing reassuring in the way of a reply.

“Yes,” said Sidney Zoom. “That diamond pendant interests me. What is the price?”

Harmiston’s was the sort of a place where the commercial side of the transaction is kept purposely subordinate to the merit of the merchandise, the artistic beauty of the design. The man in gray looked slightly shocked.

“You had better examine it, sir,” he said, and took out the pendant.

Sidney Zoom stared at it, did not touch it.

“The price?” he demanded.

“Twelve hundred dollars!” snapped the clerk.

“Wrap it up,” said Zoom.

The man in gray gave an exclamation of surprise.

“What was that? Er... what did you say?”

“I said wrap it up,” said Sidney Zoom, and reached in his inside pocket, opened his wallet, examined the contents.

He raised his eyes to the man’s face.

“You sometimes take jewelry out for inspection?”

“Yes, when a deposit is made.”

“I shall make a deposit then, have you go with me to determine whether or not it meets with the approval of the person for whom the gift is intended.”

“Yes, sir. A deposit of, let us say, two hundred dollars?”

Sidney Zoom flipped two one-hundred-dollar bills upon the glass show case.

“I am in a hurry,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” said the man behind the counter. “I’ll be with you at once. Let me get my hat and coat, and get this pendant wrapped. Then I’ll give you a receipt.”

“Very well,” said Sidney Zoom. “We’ll take a cab to the garage where I have my car stored. Then I’ll drive you to consult the young lady.”

“I’ll take along another design as an alternate,” the man in gray called over his shoulder, and bustled away. Within five minutes he was back, ready for the street. Zoom called a cab, drove to the garage, indicated the sedan, and opened the door.

Rip, the police dog, stretched his tawny length, turned a questioning nose toward the newcomer.

“Your name?” asked Sidney Zoom.

“Edgar Carver,” said the man.

Zoom nodded.

“I want to present you formally to the dog. Rip, this is Edgar Carver.”

The dog extended his paw. Carver took it with a nervous laugh.

His eyes turned to Sidney Zoom, and there was a peculiar expression in them, an expression of bewildered wonder with just the faint glint of panic.

“You keep him with you all the time, that dog?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Sidney Zoom. He meshed the gears, and swept out of the garage at a rapid rate of speed.

Carver showed that he was uneasy.

“I... er... wonder if I didn’t see you last night. I saw a man of about your build, walking with a dog.”

Zoom shook his head.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” he said, “whether you saw me or not.”

And he yawned.

The man in gray showed visible relief.

“After all,” he said, laughing a short nervous laugh, “there are lots of police dogs who walk around with their masters at night.”

“Lots,” agreed Sidney Zoom.

The car was flashing into speed.

“Where do we go?” asked Carver, as the better class of apartments dropped behind and they turned toward the water front.

“To my yacht,” said Sidney Zoom.

Carver settled back, lit a cigarette.

“This is the life,” he observed.

Zoom garaged the car at the wharf, motioned to Carver to accompany him, walked down the planks of the big wharf, then down a flight of steep stairs to a mooring float against which was his trim white yacht.

Carver walked aboard.

“This way,” said Zoom.

He led the man down the deck, into a cabin, down a short, steep flight of stairs. There was a door at the side of the little passageway at the foot of those stairs, and that door was painted green.

Chapter VI Caught!

Carver did not notice the color of the door, nor did he notice that the door was so low that he had to stoop to enter. That stooping prevented him from seeing the interior of the room until after he had entered it.

Then he straightened, grinning, started to say something, and stopped. The smile faded from his face. His eyes grew large and glassy with horror. He screamed, whirled, tried to run from the room.

There was a deep-throated growl at his heels.

Rip, the police dog, barred the way with bared fangs.

Carver’s hand raced to his hip, came out with a weapon that glinted an ominous blue in the half light of the horror chamber.

The dog moved with incredible speed. His fangs caught the wrist, clamped down. The dog flung his weight in a sideways lunge, wrenching the wrist.

The gun thudded to the floor.

Sidney Zoom indicated the room.

“Go in,” he said, “and sit down.”

Edgar Carver seemed about to faint. His knees wobbled. His eyes stared at the gruesome interior of the room. That room was barely furnished. The chief object in it was a chair. Wires ran from the floor into that chair. It was straight-backed, businesslike, horrid.

“What does this mean?” yelled Carver.

“Go in,” said Sidney Zoom, “and sit down.”

The man whirled in a fear and fury. He lashed out with his fists, bit, struck, clawed and kicked.

The dog rushed forward, but was sent to the floor at a single sharp command from Sidney Zoom. Zoom’s long arms wrapped around the panic-stricken, struggling figure, bore him from the floor, carried him to the chair, flung him down.

A strap circled the body, held it. The arms and legs frantically kicked. Sidney Zoom secured one of the arms with a strap which was fastened to the arm of the chair. Then he secured the other arm. Next he strapped the legs.

He made his motions with a swift efficiency which showed skill and practice. And he pinioned the flying arms and legs with a speed of motion that indicated the great strength which was in those long, sinewy muscles.

Zoom stared down at the man and nodded.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Good God, are you mad!” screamed the man, struggling against the straps.

Zoom shook his head.

“Very sane, thank you. I thought you might like a little taste of that which is to come. The chamber with the green door, the iron chair, the electrodes. Presently, I shall turn on a little current. Not too much. Just enough to let you know how you’ll feel when the state gives you the big jolt. They say that prisoners rise against the straps, that the chair shivers with their agony.

“It’s all for the best, the performance of justice. You have killed, and you shall be killed. You have lived by the sword and you shall die by the sword.

“I’ll go out for a while and you can sit and see how you look. Let your mind think ahead to the thing, that is in store for you.”

And Sidney Zoom, stooping, backed through the green door, closed it after him.

There was a mirror in the other side of that green door. It was so adjusted that the occupant of the chair stared at his reflection every time he raised his eyes.

There was also a little peek-hole in the door, just to one side of the mirror. Through this hole, Sidney Zoom, unobserved, could study the features of the man who occupied the chair. It was a subtle bit of third degree which Zoom had perfected.

He pressed his eye to the opening, watched Edgar Carver.

Carver stared, fascinated, at the reflection of himself in the chair. His complexion was a sickly yellow. His eyes were wide and there was sweat dripping from his forehead.

The man tore his eyes away, strove to look elsewhere and failed. The eyes, fascinated, always came back to that reflection.

After a few minutes Sidney Zoom opened the green door.

“Why,” he asked, “did you kill Muriel?”

“I didn’t kill her,” said Carver.

Zoom leveled a finger.

“My friend, you have one chance, and one chance alone to escape the torture of that chair. I want a confession. If you confess to me you stand some slight chance of escaping the embrace of the electric chair. If you fail to confess, then nothing can save you.”

“I have nothing to confess,” insisted Carver, the sweat dropping from his forehead.

“Very well,” said Sidney Zoom, “I shall summon the police. They will take you to jail. You will be convicted, sentenced, and the fate that is in store for you will weigh on your mind day after day, sleepless night after sleepless night!”

And he stepped outside, closed the green door.

He heard the man’s scream as the eyes once more sought the grim reflection.

“No, no! Come back! Come back!”

Sidney Zoom opened the door.

“Almost too late, my friend,” he said, and his voice held the timbre of a solemnly tolling bell.

Edgar Carver burst into speech.

“I’ll tell it all! I didn’t mean to kill her. I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know what to do, I was between the devil and the deep sea. I had to do it! You won’t understand. You don’t, you can’t understand! It’s horrible.

“I got drawn into it, a little at the time. It started when I got to taking a few stones on my own. Then I felt I was likely to be caught. I knew they were going to take an inventory. The shortage would be discovered. I had to do something.

“I knew this gang of gem thieves, I arranged to get in touch with one of the men in that gang. I wanted them to rob the place so that my own shortage would never be known.

“I didn’t tell him I was short. He was a fence, I guess. He didn’t do the work himself. He said he could arrange to have it done for me. But, he said I’d have to rip the gang of when there was a heavy shipment of valuable stones coming in, and that I’d have to see that the vaults were on open so they could make a clean-up and a quick getaway.

“I never met the real gangsters. I carried on everything through the fence. The girl, Muriel, knew something was going on. Maybe she’d been dipping in some, herself. I don’t know.

“I only know that the gang staged the stick up. But things didn’t go right. The watchman was a fool. They killed him. That was the first time I realized what I was up against. There had been a murder, and I was in on the job!

“It meant the chair! Think of it — the chair! The chair!”

His voice rose to a crescendo of hysterical fear, then trailed into silence as he sat and shuddered.

Sidney Zoom regarded him with unsympathetic eyes.

“But the girl’s death,” he said, “What of that?”

The man went on with his story.

The girl was wise, too wise. She knew what was in the wind, and she started to hijack the proposition. Just before the gang came in, she made a sweep of the cream of the stock. She got a bunch of the stones that were the best values and could be the most easily sold.

“Then the stick-up, and the gang found, when they went to fence the stuff that they had the inferior merchandise, and not as much of that as they should have. Naturally, they thought I was the one that had pulled the fast one on ’em, and the fence sent for me and gave me something to think about.

“That started me using my wits. The fence gave me twenty-four hours to produce the missing stones. If I didn’t produce them within that time I was to be put on the spot.

“I hunted up the girl and found that she had left her apartment. I figured she’d go to spend the night with Stella Denny, so I hot-footed over there and stuck around. The girl came in to the apartment house. I caught her in the elevator.

“She denied it at first, and then admitted what she’d done, but claimed she’d ditched the stones. Then when I got to pressing her, she told me I could either like it or lump it, and that if I said anything more she’d tell the detectives what she knew and I’d fry for murder.

“That was what set me crazy. The idea of being in the power of Muriel Drake, having her threaten to spill what she knew, and send me to the chair. I knew right then that it was my life or hers, I figured she had the stones on her somewhere.

“And if I didn’t get those stones I was going to be croaked. If the girl talked, I was due to be killed. So I grabbed her and choked her. I guess I was crazy at the time.

“And then the damned broad didn’t have the stones on her at all. It was a pickle. I chucked her body against the comer of the elevator and beat it. No one knew I had been waiting in the corridor for her, and there wasn’t any one moving at that hour of the night. I’d run the elevator way up to the loft before I started in working on her, and there wasn’t any one who had heard a thing.

“So I just pressed the button which took the elevator to the third floor, got out, closed the door. When the door closed that made the contact, and the elevator went down. I ducked out by the stairs and came out the front.”

The man was rattling out the words with no regard for the effect they might have. He gave the impression of telling the truth.

Sidney Zoom stared at him.

“When was your twenty-four hours to be up?” he asked.

“At nine o’clock tonight.”

“Who was the fence you dealt with?”

“Sol Asher. He’s got a pawnshop on Harrison Avenue.”

“Ever seen anybody besides Asher — any of the gang?”

“No. Not a one.”

“You contacted them through Asher, made all the arrangements through him?”

“Yes.”

“How did you happen to meet Asher?”

“I used him to pawn my stuff through. Remember I’d been taking a stone or two on my own hook when I needed the money. I figured it was safe for a while. Then, when they were going to take inventory, I had to do something. I asked Asher for advice. Maybe Asher knew I had been dabbling, but he didn’t pass on the information to the gang.”

Sidney Zoom let his eyes narrow.

“Then at nine o’clock tonight, or before, you were to be at Asher’s place with the missing stones?”

“Yes.”

Zoom nodded.

“Okay. Where do you live?”

“At a little apartment in the Monadnock Apartments. That’s off Central Avenue.”

“Asher know where you live?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“What’s the number of your apartment?”

“Three hundred and ten.”

Chapter VII In Apartment 310

Sidney Zoom nodded his head, went to the chair, released the straps. He had to give Edgar Carver a hand to assist him from the chair. The erstwhile dapper clerk was as weak as a half drowned kitten. He could hardly stand when he had got to his feet.

“I will have to take steps to see that you are quiet,” said Sidney Zoom, “while I make an investigation.”

And he led Carver into a small cabin, stretched him out on a couch, mixed a glass of whiskey and ginger ale, shook in a white powder.

“Drink this,” he said. “It will soothe your nerves.”

The man drained the glass.

He was nervous, weak. From time to time, he shivered, as with cold, moaned.

“What a mess! There’s no way out. I’d better kill myself. And I thought I was so smart. I’m in the power of the gang, in your power, in the power of a crooked fence. They can all kill — kill me, and they’re going to kill me, too. There’s no escape! I don’t mind dying so much as that cursed electric chair. Good God! I nearly died when you opened that door and sent me into that room. I’d thought of the chair before, but I never dreamt it was so hideous, so sinister!”

Sidney Zoom stared at him sternly.

“You knew that crime doesn’t pay. You knew that sooner or later all criminals come to grief. It’s just a question of time. Yet you went blindly rushing into the crime web, floundering deeper and deeper. And, even now, you’re not sorry for what you’ve done. You’re only sorry you got caught. And you’ve got sympathy for yourself — none for that unfortunate girl you strangled with your greedy fingers.”

Carver tried to sneer, but the sneer was a failure.

“You talk like one of those damned reformers,” he said. “Lots of crooks make a good living, and they don’t get caught. I just didn’t get the breaks, that’s all. I had bad luck. I... shouldn’t be... shouldn’t be... blamed...”

And his head dropped on the pillow and he slept.

Sidney Zoom knew exactly the strength of the sleeping powder he had given the man. He knew almost to the hour when the man would awaken.

He walked to the front part of the yacht, rapped on the door of a cabin.

“Yes?” called the deep, rich voice of his secretary, Vera Thurmond.

“I have a man asleep in the guest cabin,” said Sidney Zoom. “He will probably not waken before midnight. But he is not to be allowed to escape. See to that. I will be back some time tonight.”

The young woman opened the door, giving the finishing touches to her complexion. She looked at Sidney Zoom with tender eyes in which there was a hint of the maternal.

“You’re going into danger?” she asked.

“I hope so,” rasped Sidney Zoom. “Going into danger adds zest to life.”

She made a little grimace.

“I do wish you’d get over that everlasting love of conflict, of danger, of struggle.”

Zoom’s voice was solemn.

“That is the way that nature brings about evolution. We grow from conflict. Our periods of pleasure are but the mental bromides which enable us to recuperate. We get our growth from adversity.”

Vera Thurmond shook her head.

“You’re hopeless... Tell me, what’s behind that green door? You’ve had a new lock put on it, and carpenters and electricians working...”

He smiled at her and shook his head.

“No. That is one of my secrets. Perhaps I am a bluebeard, and keep the bodies of my victims hidden behind the door of that room. Never open it. Don’t worry about me, and don’t waste sympathy on the man who occupies the guest cabin. Have the captain make everything ready for sea. I may want to get away as soon as I come aboard.”

And Sidney Zoom turned on his heel, strode down the narrow passageway to the stairs which led to the dock. The police dog padded at his side.

There was, in the manner of Sidney Zoom, that subtle something which characterizes a man who is going into a welcome danger. And the dog sensed this attitude, whether it came from some extra force with which the heels of the master pounded the planks of the boat, or from something more subtle, some auric emanation of tension.

Sidney Zoom walked to his car, drove to the Monadnock Apartments, went boldly to the door of apartment 310, paused over the lock long enough to insert the key he had taken from Edgar Carver when that individual had dropped into his drugged sleep.

Zoom entered the apartment, looked around him.

It was a typical small apartment, furnished with conventional, uncomfortable overstuffed furniture. The apartment was used as a single, but there was a door which led to another single apartment, enabling the suite to be let as a double furnished apartment if desired.

Sidney Zoom knocked upon that connecting door.

There was no answer. He went out to the hall, approached the hall door of the adjoining apartment. He knocked, received no answer, and picked the lock of the door. The apartment was vacant.

Zoom opened the connecting door between the two apartments, saw to it that his gun worked easily in his shoulder holster, pulled a sheet from the bed, tore it into strips, placed his police dog just within the door of the apartment which adjoined that rented by Edgar Carver. He ascertained that any one entering apartment 310 could not see the dog, crouched in the adjoining apartment.

Then Sidney Zoom opened the collar of his shirt, loosed his necktie, sprawled in a chair, and gave the impression of being very much at home. He found a book which interested him, alternately read and dozed, while the dog slept.

It was rather late in the afternoon when there sounded a knock at his door.

“Come in,” called Sidney Zoom.

The handle of the knob turned. A well tailored man walked into the apartment, stood near the door.

“I’m looking for Edgar Carver,” he said.

Zoom got to his feet.

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

“You’re Carver?”

“Of course.”

The well tailored man took a step inside the door.

“I’m from Sol Asher,” he said.

Zoom let his manner become cold.

“Yeah?” he asked.

The man nodded.

“You been actin’ funny, and we read about what happened to the broad. You ducked out of the store today, and didn’t leave word where you was goin’, or when you was comin’ back, and that’s not so hot. There’s talk going around.”

“Yeah?” said Zoom.

“Yeah!” snarled his visitor. “Now did you get those stones or not?”

Zoom’s right hand dropped to the side pocket of his coat. The hand of his well tailored visitor darted to the lapel of his own coat.

“Bring that hand out clean!” he said.

Zoom brought out his hand. In the cupped palm were stones of a quality and fire to arouse the greed of either a crook or a collector.

“These,” he said.

A gun snapped out of his visitor’s shoulder holster. He advanced menacingly, “Okay. I’ll take those.”

“You will like hell,” snarled Zoom, adopting the manner which his visitor would evidently have anticipated had Zoom actually been Carver. “Those are mine. I’ll make a division — with the proper parties. That’s all.”

“Bah!” sneered the other. “You, with a murder rap hanging over you, start to tell us what you will and what you won’t do!”

He pushed the gun toward Sidney Zoom.

“Fork ’em over!”

Zoom smiled.

“All right, Rip,” he said.

The gangster whirled to face the tawny streak which charged out from the adjoining apartment. He had expected some man, either an accomplice of the tenant of the apartment, or, perhaps, an officer. His eyes were raised about the height of a man’s chest, and he was swinging the gun, holding it at about that level.

Not until too late was he able to get his eyes down sufficiently to see the charging dog. He tried to lower the gun and fire, but he was far too late.

The dog’s jaws clamped about the wrist. The gangster gave a low cry of pain, tried to brace himself, and was swept to his knees.

“That’s all, Rip,” said Zoom, speaking in a low, conversational voice.

The dog let go his hold, backed away, eyes watchful and hard, lips curled back from fangs.

Chapter VIII The Sleeping Powder

Zoom was apologetic.

“Trust you haven’t been inconvenienced,” he said. “The dog is really dangerous, you know. He’s been trained for exactly that sort of thing. If you do exactly as I say, you won’t have any more trouble.”

“Go in to that adjoining room, lie down on the bed, stretching out flat on your stomach.”

The gangster took a deep breath, let his eyes sweep the room appraisingly. Zoom motioned to Rip. The dog took a swift step forward, eyes glaring, lips curled back, hot breath coming on the gangster’s nostrils. The gangster moved at once, obediently, toward the door of the adjoining apartment, stretched himself on the bed, and let his wrists be bound with the strips of cloth. His ankles were also fastened.

Zoom gloated over him.

“Hang a murder rap on me, will you? I’ll show you a trick worth two of that. You can’t pull that stuff on me and get away with it!”

Then he strode from the room, leaving the dog on guard behind him.

He walked to the telephone and took down the receiver, holding his right forefinger, however, over the catch so that the hook did not rise up and complete the connection. He called a number, and that number was the number of Charles Stanhope, the well known criminal attorney.

After an interval, Sidney Zoom carried on a one-sided conversation, speaking into the transmitter of the dead telephone.

“Hello. Let me speak with Mr. Stanhope at once. He’s expecting me to call... Yes, the name’s Carver...

“Hello, Mr. Stanhope. This is Carver talking. Say, listen, that idea of yours worked like a charm. The dog was a wonder. I tied the man up just like you told me to. Yes, I’ve got the gems... Now what do I do next?”

And Sidney Zoom waited a minute as though receiving telephoned instructions.

“Not until tomorrow, eh?” he said, at length, injecting a note of disappointment into his voice. “Gee, that’s sort of long to wait, ain’t it? I know the district attorney don’t come into his office until ten o’clock. But we should be able to get a deputy... I see... Can’t grant immunity, eh? Only the D. A. himself. Okay.

“Now, listen. I can tie this bird up so he’ll stay, and I’ll gag him. I can keep him here. What the hell do I care if he does choke on the gag? Yeah!

“Well, I’m going down to a guy’s yacht tonight. A man named Zoom. He’s got a yacht, the Alberta F., moored down near the commercial docks. Yeah, it’s easy to find. Just remember the name, Alberta F. I’ll be there a little after midnight. Then I’ll duck out some place and hide until nine o’clock. Then I’ll come direct to your office.

“I won’t come back to this place. It’s too hot. And if you want me you can send a messenger to that yacht. Yeah, the Alberta F. But if you send a messenger see to it that he’s got that secret password I gave you. Otherwise I won’t pay no attention to the message.

“Yeah, that’s right. Okay. I’ll be there until midnight. Yeah, sure I got the stones. That’s tight, you get half of them as your fee. Yeah, sure. First thing tomorrow morning. Okay. G’bye.”

He slammed the receiver back on the hook, making considerable racket with the instrument in doing so. Then he walked into the adjoining apartment, stared down at the bound gangster.

“I don’t think you’re the kind to let out a bellow,” he said, “but my lawyer says I gotta slip a rag in your mouth. You got a long wait, buddy. You’ll have to stick around until tomorrow morning. So take it easy. You’re getting the bum breaks. When you leave here it’ll be to take a nice ride in a black wagon. After that you’ll have some more bad luck. I don’t even dare to tell you what it is. G’bye.”

“I won’t talk,” mumbled the gangster, speaking through the gag Zoom was thrusting into his mouth.

“You’re right about that,” grinned Zoom, and pushed the gag deeper into the mouth, tied it in place.

Then Sidney Zoom called to his dog, left the apartment occupied by the tied and gagged gangster, paused long enough in the Carver apartment to adjust his collar and tie, and then left the house.

He had seen, to it that there was a loose knot in the strip of cloth which tied the gangster’s wrists. He estimated that less than fifteen minutes would suffice to bring about the man’s release.

Sidney Zoom went to a pay station, called police headquarters.

“Detective Sergeant Staples, please,” he said when the connection had been completed.

Sergeant Staples was a man who had one code. “Never compromise with crooks,” was his slogan. He had waged a bitter war against gangsters, and the gangs hated and respected him. Sergeant Staples was about due either to find a bomb fastened to the starter of his car some morning, or to learn that he had been demoted and transferred to some quiet spot where he could do no harm.

In the meantime, he had become friendly with Zoom, was interested in the savage philosophy of the yacht owner, and came to dinner once in a while.

“Hello,” said Detective Sergeant Staples, speaking with that gruff accent which creeps into the voices of those who have the courage of their own convictions, yet know that the world is against them.

“Sidney Zoom talking, Sergeant. Can you come down to the yacht for a midnight supper tonight? Yeah, come around eleven o’clock. I’ve got something to show you, and I’ve got some rye bread and cheese, some mighty fine claret, and...”

There was no need to say more.

“At eleven on the dot,” growled the sergeant’s voice.

“And better come in plain clothes with a coat that has a collar turned well up,” went on Zoom. “I may have a couple of chaps watching the boat, and I’d rather they didn’t think that I was getting too chummy with the police... That’s right. Okay, Sergeant, eleven o’clock. G’bye.”

And Zoom hung up the receiver, got in his car, went to his yacht with the expression of a man who has done a good day’s work.

He summoned his Chinese cook, explained just what he wanted for a midnight supper, reassured his secretary, looked in on the sleeping form of Carver.

Then Sidney Zoom stretched out in his own cabin and slept peacefully. There was about him nothing to suggest that gaunt savagery, that uncanny ingenuity, and that grim skill as a fighter which puzzled the police and had caused so many criminals to come to a luckless end.

Sidney Zoom was awakened promptly at ten thirty as he had ordered; shaved, showered, dressed, and received Detective Sergeant Staples as that individual thudded to the deck of the yacht.

Sergeant Staples was a quiet, unassuming man who felt that society was at war with organized crime, and wasn’t so certain that the outcome would be favorable to society.

He had twinkling, rather kindly eyes, broad shoulders that showed no inclination to stoop, and a jaw that was like a jutting chunk of granite.

He enjoyed the food which was served, enjoyed the companionship of Sidney Zoom and his secretary.

The table was spread in the dining salon. The food was excellent, and the conversation dear to the heart of a sergeant of detectives who goes about his work with a religious zeal.

In the guest cabin the Chinese cabin boy squatted on his heels against the wall, stared with beady, glittering eyes at the form of Edgar Carver, the man who had been directly guilty of one murder, indirectly guilty of another.

Through the door which opened to the dining salon, came the hum of voices, the occasional sound of feminine laughter. The conversation was dealing, among other things, with the very crime which the unconscious sleeper had committed.

The figure on the bed stirred, moaned. The mouth made little tasting noises.

The Chinese cabin boy arose, slipped as noiselessly as a shadow through the side door of the guest cabin, entered the dining salon, caught the eye of Sidney Zoom.

Sidney Zoom arose, affably expansive, glowingly cordial, the perfect host, entertaining guests who were enjoying themselves.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said. “A small matter which requires personal attention. The cabin boy had orders to summon me.”

And he bowed, smiled, left the salon, entered the guest cabin through the side door.

Edgar Carver was struggling to a sitting position.

Sidney Zoom smiled at him.

“I’m afraid I owe you a very abject apology, young man,” he said. “I certainly didn’t know that my secretary had put a sleeping powder in the bottle of whiskey which was on the buffet. You’ll remember you had a drink from it, and lost consciousness almost at once.

“But that’s not the worst. I understand that the drug is used as a heart remedy and is inclined to give horrible nightmares. I hope you haven’t had any bad dreams.”

Slow incredulity upon Carver’s face gave way to an expression of horror.

“Good God! You! The green door! The chair...”

He broke off, wildly staring.

Sidney Zoom soothed him with his voice.

“I’m afraid you did have some dreams after all. Really, I don’t care for the pendant, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the two hundred dollars I paid as a deposit. That will be for your personal account, and will compensate you to some extent for the annoyance.”

Carver blinked his eyes, started to say something, then checked himself.

“You see,” explained Zoom, “you came aboard the yacht. We sat down and I asked you if you’d have a drink. You took whiskey, and I took brandy. You dropped over like a log as soon as you’d had the drink, and then I realized what had happened.

“Sometimes the drug plays thunder with your memory, makes you forget things that have happened, and think other things happened. Now I trust that your own memory is all right. You’re Edgar Carver, you know, and you’re employed at Harmiston’s Jewelry Company. I came into the store this morning to purchase a diamond pendant, and you showed me one that I liked. I asked you to take it to let the prospective wearer see it, and made a two-hundred-dollar deposit on it.

“You came here with me. We stepped aboard, and I offered you a drink. You immediately showed signs of being drugged, and then I knew that I had given you a drink from the whiskey bottle which contained the opiate.”

Edgar Carver made a swallowing motion with his throat.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” said Sidney Zoom, “that’s all.”

He sighed, lowered his eyes.

“Was there... was... was there a room... with a green door?”

Sidney Zoom’s eyes widened.

“Room with a green door? My dear chap, you’ve been dreaming. I feel guilty. You most certainly have been dreaming! I hope it was nothing very alarming?”

Edgar Carver reached a surreptitious hand down along his leg, pinched the muscle, then smiled.

“Shucks, no!” he said. “It wasn’t anything alarming at all. I had a perfect system worked out, and I dreamt it didn’t work, that’s all. Of course it was a dream!”

Zoom nodded.

“That’s fine. Just wait here for a moment until I excuse myself to some dinner guests and I’ll see that you’re driven to your apartment.”

Sidney Zoom bowed, withdrew, leaving behind him a very bewildered, but greatly relieved young man.

Chapter IX Lusting for Conflict

He returned to the dining salon, smiled at Sergeant Staples, crossed to a sideboard, opened a drawer.

“Sergeant, I have a little present I want to make you, something that will show my regard for you, and something that you can always keep with you.”

He opened a handsome wooden box, disclosed a pair of revolvers. These were the newest type of gun designed for police work, throwing a shell with a terrific muzzle velocity, guaranteed to pierce the body of an automobile, and be able to account for itself when it had gone through the metal.

There was a leather belt, two holsters dangling from it, and the belt was filled with shells.

“The guns,” explained Sidney Zoom, “are loaded. I purchased four of them. I have a pair that are exactly like yours. You’ll find them quite satisfactory, I’m certain.”

Sergeant Staples gave a deep inhalation.

“Gosh,” he said, “I’ve been wanting one of these ever since I saw them advertised! Gee, Zoom, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll keep ’em with me all the time, one of ’em at any rate. Two guns are all right for the cowpunchers, but that’s a little too much hardware for a plain cop.”

He grinned, fingered the guns.

“Buckle them on, man, let’s see how they look.”

Sergeant Staples buckled on the guns.

Sidney Zoom took out a similar box, extracted from it similar equipment and buckled them on himself. There was a gleam in his eye.

Vera Thurmond looked at that expression on his face, and then inhaled with a sharp catching of her breath.

“You’re not... not...”

Zoom silenced her with a glance, and the remark passed unnoticed by the officer who was busy admiring the balance of his weapons, throwing them down upon imaginary criminals, fingering the triggers.

“Sure a bunch of guns!” he exclaimed in admiration. “Only thing is I’ll never get a chance to use them. Other chaps have had the breaks lately. They’ve been in on the fights. Gosh, Zoom, there’s nothing that gives a fellow the advertisement a good gun fight does. You know what I mean, not one of these kind of shootings where you have to cut down on somebody that’s running away, but a pitched battle with thugs where you stand up and swap lead, and the police come out on top of the heap.

“That’s the sort of stuff the public like to read about when they sit down to their toast and coffee in the morning. It makes ’em feel the cops are on the job. And that’s the sort of stuff that puts us in solid with the chief. He likes to feel that we’re getting the confidence of the public. You know this thing of public confidence is a pretty big factor with us.

“Now that crooks are getting organized, it’s a pretty vital thing to have the public feeling the police are a part of their side of the game. Now that we’ve got such a split in sentiment over prohibition, there’s a tendency on the part of lots of people to sneer at the police.”

Zoom nodded his sympathy.

“I know, Sergeant. I know how you feel. And I know something of your skill with six shooters. I’ve heard of your wonderful target scores. Well, I’m wishing you luck with these guns. I have a hunch they’ll see use before long.”

Sergeant Staples grinned.

“Think so? Well, I bet the babies can sure talk!”

Vera Thurmond’s face was drained of color. She watched Sidney Zoom with eager, apprehensive eyes. Full well she knew the significance of that glitter that was in his eyes, that slight expansion of the aquiline nostrils, that tightening of the comers of the mouth.

“Please,” she said to him, “won’t you remember...”

And she said no more.

There was the crack of a revolver, sounding very close, the smashing impact of a bullet against the deck of the yacht. A man screamed a curse. There sounded the patter of running feet, then a fusillade of shots.

The police dog was on his feet, hairs along his back bristling, eyes gleaming. Sidney Zoom gained the door in three swift strides. Sergeant Staples was at his heels.

They raced down the corridor, up the companionway to the deck.

The darkness of the wharf loomed like a vast mass of ink against the sky. There were boxes and barrels, odds and ends of piled timbers. The deck of the yacht was also dark save where the after companionway opening caught the rays of light that streamed down from a drop light.

A man lay on the deck of the yacht, hardly twenty feet from that opening. He was gasping. Red stains streaked the white deck of the yacht. One leg was doubled under him. His white face was twitching, but he was holding a revolver, shooting slowly, regularly. Three shots he fired, and then the hammer clicked.

And the darkness of the wharf was spurting little tongues of flame.

Bullets flicked down upon the deck. Long furrows appeared in the white wood as by magic. The body of the stricken man twitched under the impact of a bullet, straightened, gave a convulsive quiver. Two furrows appeared in the deck within inches of his body, then another bullet thudded into the inert flesh.

Sergeant Staples fired one of the new guns.

A man leapt up from behind a pile of timber, screamed, flung himself half around and pitched forward. The flickering tongues of flame from the wharf were directed toward the two men who had debouched from the forward companionway. Bullets hummed and sang.

Sidney Zoom, his face showing a keen zest for conflict, looking like the face of some savage eagle as it is about to swoop, shot twice from the hip.

Sergeant Staples fired once more.

The police dog gained the landing float in a single long leap, tore through the night, his paws beating a tattoo upon the heavy timbers of the wharf.

A man yelled and jumped up. A tawny figure was springing through the air. The man swung his gun.

He was dead before he fired, dead before even the dog’s fangs sank in his throat. Staples had fired one of his deadly accurate shots, and the bullet, hitting its mark with that terrific smashing impact which is the distinguishing mark of the new weapon and ammunition, hurled the man as though he had been blasted by some unseen thunderbolt.

Sidney Zoom, grinning with savage joy, was running after the dog. Sergeant Staples, feet flat on the boards to give him a steady support, lips compressed in a thin line, twinkling eyes gleaming in cold calculation, studied the black outlines of the wharf.

Suddenly there was a hissing noise, a blinding glare of light.

A switch on the yacht had been turned, and searchlights rigged on the masts, directed toward the wharf, turned the night into day.

A man screamed, jumped to his feet, fired almost point blank at Zoom. Zoom returned the fire. The man crumpled as though a pile driver had smashed him in the stomach.

“They’re running, Sergeant!” yelled Zoom.

Sergeant Staples nodded grimly.

Tongues of fire were still flickering toward him from the far corner of the wharf. He ran for cover. A bullet ticked his shoulder, striking with enough impact to falter him in his stride.

“Get him, Rip!” yelled Zoom.

The dog charged. The gangster, realizing the import of that charge, jumped to his feet to fire, and was blasted back by two bullets which thudded into his body with simultaneous impact.

A car exhaust roared. Then a siren sounded. Police whistles were blowing.

The wharf was now silent.

The roar of the fleeing car mingled with the wail of a siren. There sounded the spiteful clatter of a machine gun. Then a battery of sawed-off shotguns belched forth noise. The sound of tires screaming in a death skid on pavement was swallowed in a terrific crash, then silence.

Zoom and Sergeant Staples ran the length of the wharf. A red spotlight flooded them.

“It’s Sergeant Staples,” roared that individual. “Don’t let them get away. They’ve done murder.”

The voice of an excited officer sounded from the darkness back of the red light.

“They’re not gettin’ away, Sergeant. Sol Asher and Bill the Biff were in that car. There was one other one. We don’t know him. They ain’t gettin’ away.”

Sidney Zoom sighed and holstered his weapons.

“Come, Rip,” he called.

Two hours later, Sidney Zoom sat in the hospital beside Sergeant Staples. The sergeant was grinning, smoking a cigar. The room was temporarily cleared of reporters, but the haze of flashlight smoke still clung to the ceiling.

Sergeant Staples gazed at Zoom.

“Well,” he said, “it was a great fight. I always figured that if I got in a fight with gangsters I could shoot as well as I do on the targets. I’ve always held that thought in mind, it’s subconscious. I’ve trained myself to think it every time I pull down on a target in the police revolver range.”

Zoom nodded.

“You sure cleaned up on ’em tonight, Sergeant. The gang was the toughest bunch of birds that’s ever been rounded up. Sol Asher confessed the whole business. They pulled a couple of frying jobs before this one. Those that aren’t killed will be meat for the chair.

“And it cleans up that Harmiston job.”

Sergeant Staples let his smile fade. A pucker appeared between his eyebrows.

“What gets me, Zoom, is how this chap happened to be on your boat.”

Zoom grinned, a frank and open grin.

“I went into the store to get a pendant for my secretary,” he said. “I wanted her to see it. This man came out to bring the pendant, also one other. They were found in his pocket, you’ll remember.

“I paid a deposit of two hundred dollars on the pendant. Fortunately, I have the receipt, which fully accounts for his presence on the yacht. You see, he had a drink or two, and became a little befuddled. He was sleeping it off in the adjoining cabin. I guess he woke up, heard some of your conversation when I gave you the guns, and realized you were an officer.

“That bothered him, and he tried to make a sneak. He couldn’t take the forward companionway without having to pass the open door of the dining salon. So he took the back exit, and the lights were blazing down on the deck there.

“He came out, was recognized by Sol Asher and the gang, who felt he had turned state’s evidence, and were waiting to bump him off. Then you know what happened.”

Sergeant Staples sighed.

“Yes,” he said. “I know what happened. But I’d sure like to know what was back of it all. It was a funny coincidence that you happened to shove two loaded guns into my hands just before the fireworks started!”

Zoom grinned.

“It was that! Well, I’ll toddle along and let you get some sleep. They tell me you’re slated for a captaincy, and you’ll want to get your beauty sleep so you can look pretty for the pictures.”

Sergeant Staples sighed again.

His sigh was one of perfect contentment. It was the sigh of an epicure who has dined well, of the artist who has completed a first class canvas.

“Zoom,” he murmured contentedly, “I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t give a damn, but it was a pretty fight, and if anybody asks you embarrassing questions, refuse to answer and refer ’em to me!”

And Sidney Zoom, smiling, tiptoed from the hospital room.

But there was to be no sleep for him that night.

The wind had come up. The seas would be crashing out beyond the heads, and Sidney Zoom, the lust for conflict aroused within him, would be unable to sleep until after he had sent his yacht out to fight with those giant combers, letting the huge seas sweep over the frail craft.

For Sidney Zoom, grim, uncompromising, believer in dealing with criminals as they deserved, detested ways of peace and the humdrum routine of life. He wanted conflict and adventure. His soul craved combat as the soul of many men craves strong drink.

The girl’s death had been avenged. A desperate gang had been routed in fait fight. A good sergeant had been given the opportunity to go far on the force. A crooked employee and murderer had been given the chance to cheat the chair.

But Sidney Zoom craved still more action, demanded more conflict before sleep could come to his taut nerves.

And so he headed for his yacht, anxious to gain the open sea.