CHAPTER XIII.
THE LOST TRAIL.
So saying, Sturgis settled himself in his chair and began his narrative.
"After leaving you this morning, my first step was to gain admission to the Tombs——"
"To the Tombs?" interrupted Dunlap.
"Yes; the cabman has been remanded to the Tombs to await trial for complicity in the murder of the unknown man whose body was found in his cab."
"Arbogast's?"
"Yes, Arbogast's. But of course the police do not yet know that."
"Were you allowed to see the cabman?"
"Yes. As reporter of The Tempest, I was able to obtain an interview with him. When first arrested, the man, whose name, by the way, is Reilly, was incapable of making a connected statement; the lawyer assigned to defend him laughed in his face when he heard his story, and advised him to leave the romancing to a trained lawyer as his only chance of escaping the electric chair. Naturally, under the circumstances, the poor fellow hesitated to unbosom himself to a stranger. But I finally managed to gain his confidence by showing him that I believed his story, and that I was trying to find the men whose scapegoat he now is. It seems that yesterday afternoon, at about three o'clock, he was stationed at the cab-stand in front of Madison Square, when he was accosted by a man, answering Chatham's description, who engaged him to drive him to the Fulton Street ferry. On reaching the ferry, the man ordered Reilly to proceed to a low grogshop on South Street. Here he entered, returning in a few minutes to invite the cabman to take a drink with him. The men seated themselves at a table upon which a bottle and two filled glasses were already placed. Chatham handed one of these glasses to Reilly, who drank it and probably many more. At all events, he remembers nothing further until he was rudely shaken by Chatham, who led him out into the street. Here the cold air revived him, and he remembers noticing several things to which he did not pay much attention at the time, but which seem significant now as he recalls them:
"Firstly,—It was now quite dark.
"Secondly,—The cab, which had been facing south when he entered the barroom, was now facing north.
"Thirdly,—Chatham persistently carried his left hand in the bosom of his coat; he was very pale and seemed weak and ill.
"He with difficulty climbed upon the box beside Reilly and ordered him to drive uptown. Presently the cabman became drowsy again. The next thing he remembers is coming to himself after the overturning of the cab by the cable car. That the man was drugged there can be no doubt. It is probable that while he sat apparently drunk in the barroom, Chatham took the cab to the Knickerbocker bank, expecting to smuggle Arbogast into it without Reilly's knowledge;—a deep move, since it would effectually cover up the trail, if they wanted to make away with the bookkeeper, as they evidently did. Seymour may have met him at the bank by appointment; but I am more inclined to believe that he was there unknown to Chatham, and possibly for the purpose of spying upon the latter, to see that his instructions were carried out. He lent his accomplice a hand in the nick of time; and then, like a prudent general, he retired to a safe position, thence to direct further operations. What I cannot yet understand is, why Chatham should have taken the enormous risk he did in conveying Arbogast's body from the bank, since Seymour's intention was plainly to make away with the bookkeeper in any event. I can explain this only on the supposition that Seymour thought he could conceal the body in some way and prevent it from falling into the hands of the police. On the part of any ordinary criminal this would have been rank folly; but the resources of such a man as Seymour are such that I do not feel disposed to criticize his generalship in this particular without first understanding his ultimate object. From what I have seen of his work thus far, I have derived a profound admiration for the man's genius and cunning deviltry. Fortunately, fate was against him this time. Its instrument was the cable car which overturned the cab, thus delivering Arbogast's body into the hands of the police and furnishing the key without which, it is quite likely, Seymour might have remained forever undiscovered."
"You think, then, that you will succeed in unearthing this villain?" asked Dunlap eagerly.
"While there's life, there's hope," said Sturgis, with grim determination; "but I must confess that the outlook at present is not exactly brilliant. However, let me finish my report. During the excitement that followed the overturning of the cab, Chatham managed to escape, as you know, and he has thus far succeeded in avoiding arrest, although the police have kept a sharp lookout for him. Every steamship that sails, every train that leaves New York, is watched, but thus far without result. For my part, I am convinced that Chatham has not yet attempted to leave the city."
"Isn't it probable, on the contrary, that he fled from New York immediately after running away from the overturned cab?" asked Dunlap.
"I do not think so," replied Sturgis; "with his wounded hand he is a marked man; he would be easily recognized in a strange city. His safest hiding-place is here in New York, where he doubtless has friends ready to conceal him. Be that as it may, he remains for the present under cover and the scent is lost. The police are groping in the dark just now, and,——and so am I."
The banker looked sorely disappointed.
"And so that is all you have been able to discover? Not a trace of the money? It does not seem possible that a quarter of a million dollars can disappear so completely without leaving the slightest trace."
"If we can ever find Seymour," replied Sturgis, "I make no doubt we shall be able to locate the lion's share of the money.
"Yes," he added, thoughtfully, "that is all I have been able to discover up to the present time; or, at least, all that seems to be of any immediate importance. Of course, I called on both Mr. Murray and Mr. Scott; but, beyond the fact that Chatham, like Arbogast, was a model employé, all I got from them was the address of Chatham's boarding-house; there I was informed that the accountant had moved on New Year's eve without leaving his new address. There is one other link in the chain of evidence which I have investigated; but I cannot tell yet whether it will lead to anything or not. It may be immaterial; but who knows? Possibly it may prove to be the key to the entire problem."
"And what is this promising link?" asked Dunlap eagerly.
"There is not much to tell on this score," answered Sturgis. "You will recall that according to the evidence which we have thus far collected, Chatham was attacked by Arbogast while he was in the act of using the telephone."
"Yes; I remember how minutely you reconstructed that scene."
"Well," continued the reporter, "I saw at once that the telephone might possibly prove to be an important witness for the prosecution, if I could only discover the name of the person with whom Chatham was talking when he was shot. I therefore called at the Central Office to make inquiries. As I was able to specify almost the exact minute at which this call was sent, it was an easy matter to find the young woman who had answered it; but the chances were that she would not remember the number called for. She did, however, for it had been fixed in her memory by some unusual circumstances. It seems that after giving Chatham the connection he wanted, the operator rang him up. While she was listening for a reply, she heard a sharp report, followed by a scream; then a sound of confused voices, and presently another sharp report. After that came complete silence, and she was unable to obtain any reply to her repeated calls."
"You have here corroborative evidence of the scene between Chatham and Arbogast," said Dunlap.
"Yes; but I did not need that. What I wished to know was the name of the person with whom Chatham wanted to converse."
"Did you discover it?"
"The number of the telephone he gave is that of the Manhattan Chemical Company."
"And what is the Manhattan Chemical Company?"
"That is the question I asked people connected with the commercial agencies. They replied that they knew very little concerning this firm; because, although it has been in existence for a couple of years, it apparently never asks any one for credit, preferring to pay cash for all the goods delivered to it. I called at the office of the Manhattan Chemical Company to investigate on my own account. The office and store occupy the basement of an old ramshackle building, whose upper stories are rented out as business offices. The laboratory and manufacturing department are down stairs in the cellar. The store contains only a few chairs and a long counter behind which rise shelves containing rows of bottles with brilliantly colored labels. A few painted signs upon the walls vaunt the merits of Dr. Henderson's Cough Cure and Dr. Henderson's Liver Specific. I did not expect to find any one in on New Year's day. I was, therefore, surprised to see a solitary clerk sitting with his feet upon a desk and apparently absorbed in the reading of a newspaper,—a pale young man of the washed-out blond type, with watery green-blue eyes and a scant moustache which fails to conceal a weak mouth. He rose to greet me with an air of surprise which does not speak well for the briskness of trade in the establishment. Indeed, if we are to judge by the aspect of things in the office of the Manhattan Chemical Company, business in patent medicines does not appear to be flourishing just at present. By the way, did you ever hear of Dr. Henderson's remedies?"
"No; I cannot say that I have," answered Dunlap.
"That is the curious part of it," said Sturgis. "I have been unable to discover any advertisement published by this firm; and it is only by profuse advertising that such a concern can live."
"Yes, of course," exclaimed Dunlap, somewhat impatiently; "but what has all this to do with Chatham?"
"I don't know," replied Sturgis; "possibly nothing; perhaps a great deal."
"I asked to see Dr. Henderson," he continued, "at which the sleepy clerk stared at me in open-mouthed amazement. Dr. Henderson was not in; it was quite uncertain when he would be in. Indeed, as far as I was able to judge, Dr. Henderson appears to be a rather mysterious personage. No one knows much about him. Even his clerk admits that he has seen him only once or twice in the eighteen months during which he has had charge of the office. The Doctor attends to the manufacturing part of the business himself; his laboratory, which is down in the cellar, is a most jealously guarded place. No one is ever admitted to it under any pretext. He is evidently afraid that some one may discover the secret of his valuable remedies."
"You say that as if your words were meant to convey some unexpressed meaning," said Dunlap, studying the reporter's face.
"No," Sturgis answered, thoughtfully, "but I am trying to attach some ulterior significance to the facts. There is certainly something mysterious about Dr. Henderson and the Manhattan Chemical Company; but whether the mystery is legitimate or not, and if not, whether it is in any way connected with the Arbogast case, is more than I am at present able to determine."
After a short pause he continued:
"When I found that there was no chance of seeing Dr. Henderson himself, I inquired at a venture for the manager. For an instant a puzzled look lent expression to the otherwise vacuous features of the young man. Then a sudden inspiration seemed to come to him. 'Oh! ah! yes,' he exclaimed, 'you mean Mr. Smith.' 'Yes,' said I, catching at the straw. 'Well, but Mr. Smith is not in either.' I offered to wait for Mr. Smith, and started toward the door of the private office in the rear, because it bore in prominent letters the inscription, 'NO ADMITTANCE.' I had turned the knob before the clerk could stop me; but the door was locked. Mr. Smith, it seems, comes to the office only once a week to receive the clerk's report and to pay him his salary. I tried to make a special appointment to meet Mr. Smith, on the plea of important business. I left a fictitious name and address so that Mr. Smith's answer might be sent to me. That was all I was able to do for the time being; but I thought it worth while to keep an eye open on the Manhattan Chemical Company; so I have engaged private detectives to watch it for me night and day until further notice. And there the matter stands."
Dunlap rose wearily from his chair. He looked anxious and care-worn.
"Mr. Sturgis," he said, "if you can find any part of that two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, a good share of whatever you can recover for the bank is yours."
The reporter flushed and bit his lip; but he answered quietly:
"You mistake me for a detective, Mr. Dunlap; I am only a reporter. I shall be paid by the Tempest for any work I may do on this case. You would better offer your reward to the police."