“Yes! It wasn’t before” — the chief’s gaze hardened — “but now nearly a dozen of my men are out. About eight of them are in the hospital — battles have put them there. But there’s three — well—”
Cruikshank’s eyebrows arched questioningly as Chief Yates hesitated.
“Well?” queried the mayor.
“Well,” said Yates, “they’re unaccounted for — that’s all! Just gone out of the picture. Failed to report at the station house. No traces of them. What’s happened is something I can’t figure.”
“Who were they?”
“Two detectives, one patrolman. Both of the detectives were on duty at the Seaview Pier. Easy assignment, that. Make a check-up late at night, out to the end of the pier and back. They just haven’t turned up, since. The policeman was on regular patrol duty. He never came back.”
“You have investigated the pier?”
“Yes, sir. Sent down a detective sergeant. Nothing wrong with the place. He even looked into the old building on the end. It’s being used as a storehouse for boating supplies. Still has the tank that they used for submarine tests, but that’s no longer being used.”
“What else, chief?” questioned Cruikshank brusquely.
“Suicides,” asserted Yates. “Too many of them.”