The rich furnishings of the directors" room indicated, better than Bradstreet"s, the great wealth of the corporation. Uniformed pages stood at attention at each end of the long, mahogany table at which were seated the fourteen directors of the company. All were men of wealth, standing and engineering knowledge. The departed Darrow often had been summoned to such meetings, and at this one there was a hush because of his recent demise.
After a batch of preliminary business had been transacted, Ferguson arose and cleared his throat. The directors leaned forward in their chairs expectantly. The page boys lost their mechanical att.i.tude for the instant and fairly craned their necks around the bulks of the forms in front of them.
"The Darrow case has taken a sudden and sinister turn," said the president. "I have a letter. I will read it:
"Old Perk: Get wise to yourself. We are in a position to destroy you and all the pot-bellies in the Wall Street crowd. If you want to die of old age, remember what happened to Darrow and begin declaring us in on Wall Street dividends. If you do not you will follow Darrow in the same way.
"Our first demand is for $100,000. Leave this amount in hundreds and fifties in the rubbish can at the corner of 50th Street and Broadway at 10 A. M. next Thursday. If you fail we will break your d.a.m.ned neck. Bring the police with you if you like.
Invisible Death.
Ferguson pa.s.sed the letter around for inspection. It was painstakingly printed, evidently from the type in a rubber stamp set such as is sold in toy stores.
"I have decided," said Perkins at length, "to give this case to Walter Lees. He has never failed us in mechanical, chemical, or any form of scientific problem. I hope he will not fail in this. He will work independently of the police, who have requested that we keep the appointment at 50th Street and Broadway at the hour named. We will deposit a roll of newspapers, around which has been wrapped a fifty dollar bill and then we will stand by while the awaiting detectives do their duty."
"You do not think anyone is going to call for any supposed package of money at one of the most congested corners in the world in broad daylight?" asked a director at the end of the table.
"Why not?" asked Ferguson. "A seedy individual could pick a package from a rubbish bin at that corner without attracting the least attention."
"I guess you"re right," agreed the doubting one.
"I know I"m right," said the president. And he usually was.
"I have already arranged to have Lees instructed in his work," Ferguson volunteered as a pause came in the buzz of conversation about the table. "Lees is young, but he is capable." There was general discussion of the strange case of Darius Darrow; the room filled with the blue haze of many cigars.
Suddenly a low, humming sound was heard in the room.
Papers on the directors" table were bunched as if by unseen hands, and thrown to the ceiling, from which they descended like flakes of snow and scattered about the room.
A book of minutes was torn from the hands of a secretary. It was raised and brought down on vice-president Farnsworth"s head. A chair was pulled out from under another direction and he was deposited in an undignified heap on the floor.
Another director acted as though he had been tripped, and he fell on top of Farnsworth. Two big vases crashed to the floor in bits. Other decorative objects were scattered about.
The directors who had been hurtled to the floor stood up with expressions of comical surprise on their features. Their chairs catapulted into a far corner of the room, one after the other.
Startled expressions resounded from the group.
A small bookcase fell on its front with a crash of gla.s.s. Ferguson"s cane jumped in the air and crashed a window pane.
The humming ceased suddenly.
The room was a wreck. The a.s.sembled men stood aghast. They were simply nonplussed. Finally they phoned for the police.
After hearing the strange recital from so many highly reputable witnesses, a detective sergeant, who had responded to the call with others, reported to headquarters.
A uniformed police guard was sent to the place with instructions to remain on duty until relieved.
Ferguson sent for Walter Lees, the young engineer of whom he had spoken to the directorate. a.s.signed to the task of unraveling the Darrow death mystery, Lees ran true to form by getting busy at once. This was at midnight of the day of the surprising directors" meeting. Lees owned a big car; he piled into it and started for the scene of the crime.
Daybreak found him examining every inch of the road around the Darrow estate. Then he searched the hedge along the east road, where the phantom auto had disappeared after the crime. The brush along the opposite side of the thoroughfare was also gone over.
Pa.s.sing autos had stopped to ask the meaning of his flashlight. Lees explained he had lost a pocketbook. It was as good an excuse as any and served to keep him from drawing a crowd. He found nothing to reward his long and painstaking efforts.
At seven A. M. he decided to interview the Darrow widow, and found her already up and about her kitchen, weeping softly as she worked.
She bade him be seated in the living room.
"No, I am not afraid to stay here alone," she said in reply to Lees" first question. "Whoever killed my husband did so to get possession of his second model. They had already stolen the first. I have thought since that they were afraid that the finding of the second model after his death would aid in their detection. For some reason they had to have both models."
She agreed to tell all she knew of the case. Lees listened to the long recital as already recorded at the coroner"s inquest. By adroit questioning Lees gained just one new fact. Mrs. Darrow remembered that she had called her husband, just before he retired to his laboratory, to fix a towel hanger in the kitchen. "He found the pivot needed oiling," explained the widow. "That was all. He oiled it and went into the laboratory."
The idea of one of the world"s greatest mechanical engineers stopping his work to oil a towel hanger caused Lees to smile, but Mrs. Darrow did not smile.
"My husband was a genius at repairing about the house," she said, in all seriousness.
"I can imagine so," agreed Lees.
The conversation ceased. Lees sat for a few minutes with his head in his hands, thinking deeply. Finally he said:
"I am convinced that someone who was well aware of your husband"s habits committed this crime. Do you believe, positively, that the gardener is above suspicion?"
"Oh, it couldn"t have been Peck," insisted Mrs. Darrow. "I had seen him down near the gate from the window. He was too far from the house, and besides, he was devoted to us both."
"Then it was somebody from the neighborhood," said Lees.
"Maybe so," replied Mrs. Darrow, noncommittally.
"Who lives in the next house south?"
"That is towards the city," mused the widow. "There are no houses south on either side of the road for a little further than a mile, when you reach the town limits of Farsdale. The town line is about half-way between, and marks the southern end of this estate."
"Who lives in the first house to the north?"
"That is the cottage of Peck, the gardener."
"How near is the next house?"
"That was the parcel my father sold. It is about three acres, and in the center, or about the center, is the house built by Adolph Jouret, who bought the land. He lives there with his daughter. They built a magnificent place. The brook that traverses our grounds rises at a spring back of his house. Save for two West Indian servants, they are alone. The servants live in Farsdale and motor back and forth."
"What do you know of this-what"s his name?" queried Lees, who had a.s.sumed the role of examiner.
"Jouret? Very little. He is some sort of a circus man or showman, or was before he retired. He once had wealth, but my husband, some weeks ago, said that because of ill-advised investments he was not so well rated as formerly. I had the feeling that he might be forced to give up the place. I just felt that. I never heard it. I am so sorry because of the daughter. She is a beautiful girl, and seemed kindly, the one time I saw her. She was about twelve then. I do not like to say it, but she seemed a little dazed or slow witted, but really beautiful." Mrs. Darrow fell to smoothing out the folds in her house ap.r.o.n as Lees asked:
"When was the only time you saw her?"
"Ten years ago, about. Just after my father"s death. They called on us. We did not care to continue the friendship, as Jouret seemed a little flamboyant-his circus nature, I suppose. Anyway, we were quiet folks, and there was no need of close a.s.sociation with neighbors.
"I remember," continued the widow, after a pause, "that Jouret, when he heard my husband was a scientist, simulated an interest in science. He did have a smattering knowledge of science, but he was plainly affected, so we decided to just let him drop. No ill-feeling. We just-well, we were not interested."