The Brand of Silence: A Detective Story by Johnston McCulley (electric book reader .TXT) 📗

friend, Jim Farland, who used to be on your detective force, and who now runs a private agency."

"I know Farland well, and I'll send for him."

"I talked with Jim for some time," Prale went on. "I told him, I believe, that I seemed to have enemies working in the dark. I told him about the scene with Shepley."

"Um! What did Farland have to say?"

"Nothing, except that he couldn't understand why Shepley had acted so. We talked the matter over for a while and then we separated."

"Very well. And where did you go next?"

"I walked up Fifth Avenue," said Prale. "It was after nine o'clock by that time."

"Go straight to your hotel?"

"I did not," Prale said.

"Care to tell me where you went and what you did?"

"I have no objections. I walked up the Avenue, and met my cousin, George Lerton, the broker."

"Meet him accidentally?"

"He overtook me—called to me."

"How long did you talk to him?"

"For only a few minutes," said Prale. "You must understand that, while George Lerton is my cousin, we are not exceptionally friendly, and never have been. We worked for the same firm ten years ago, and after I went to Honduras, George made some money and got into business for himself; at least he told me so last night."

"So you merely shook hands and renewed your acquaintance?" the captain asked.

"There was something peculiar about the meeting," Prale replied.

"In what way?"

"Lerton urged me to leave New York and remain away. He said that I had powerful enemies."

"What about that?"

"It is what has been puzzling me. So far as I know, I haven't a powerful enemy on earth. I suppose I have a few business foes in Central America; a man can't make a million without acquiring some enemies at the same time. But I don't know of a single influential person who is my enemy."

"Didn't Lerton explain to you?"

"He refused to do so," said Prale, "and I told him to go his way and that I'd go mine."

"Doesn't that story seem a bit weak to you, Mr. Prale?"

"It may, but it is a true story. Get Lerton and question him if you wish. I couldn't make him talk—maybe you can. I'd like to know the names of these enemies of mine, if I really have them."

"Anything else lead you to believe you might have enemies?"

"Yes. I have received several anonymous notes, some on board ship and some since landing, that say something about retribution about to be visited upon me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, captain. I never did anything in my life to merit such retribution. I am sure of that."

"What time was it when you parted from Lerton?"

"It must have been about nine thirty or a quarter to ten."

"Go to your hotel then?"

"No; I turned east and went to the river."

"Wasn't that a peculiar thing to do at that hour of the night?"

"It may seem so to you," said Prale, "and I scarcely can tell why I did it. I suppose it was because I wanted to think over what George Lerton had told me, and down in Honduras I always used to walk along the beach when I was thinking."

"Well?"

"I went out on a dock and sat down in the darkness to think."

"How long did you remain there?"

"For more than half an hour; and I had an experience. Another man came on the dock. He was going to jump into the river, but I convinced him that suicide was folly, and said I'd give him a job."

"Did you?"

"I did," said Prale. "I took him downtown and bought him some clothes, and then took him to a barber shop, and afterward to the hotel. I registered him as my valet. I call him Murk. I can prove by him that I could not have killed Rufus Shepley about eleven o'clock, because I was in Murk's company at that time."

"What time did you get back to your hotel with him?"

"It was a few minutes of midnight. We spent considerable time buying the clothes and visiting the barber shop."

"Um!" the captain said. "We'll have to question a few of these people. It seems peculiar to me that a millionaire would pick up a tramp and turn him into a trusted servant."

"Perhaps it was peculiar. I can read men, I believe, and I decided that Murk needed only a chance, and he would make good. He was broke and friendless, and I was a millionaire and almost as friendless. That's the only way I can explain it."

"I'm going to send you to another office under guard, Mr. Prale," the captain said. "I'll have these people here in a short time, and we'll question them. Just tell me where you bought the clothes for this man, and what barber shop you visited."

Sidney Prale did so, and the captain of detectives made notes regarding the addresses.

"That will be all for the present, Mr. Prale," he said. "I don't want to cause any innocent man annoyance, but I can tell you this much—things look very bad for you!"

CHAPTER VIII LIES AND LIARS

Sidney Prale waited in an adjoining office, a detective sitting in one corner of it and watching him closely. It was almost a prison room, for there were steel bars at the windows, and only the one door. Prale walked to one of the windows and looked down at the street, his arms folded across his breast, trying to think it out.

The finding of that fountain pen in the room beside Rufus Shepley's body was what puzzled and bothered him the most. How on earth could it have come there? He tried to remember when he had used it last, when he had last seen it. All that he could recall was that, the afternoon before, he had used it to write a note in a memorandum book. How and where had he lost it, and how had it come into Shepley's suite? Had he dropped it in the hotel lobby during his short quarrel with Shepley, while he was shaking the man? Had Shepley picked it up later and carried it home with him? Prale did not think Shepley would have done that under the circumstances.

Well, he'd be at liberty soon enough, he told himself. It was natural for the police to learn of his quarrel with Shepley and to make an arrest on the strength of that and of finding the fountain pen. His alibi was perfect; they soon would know that he could not have committed the crime.

It was almost an hour later when he was taken back into the other room again. Prale had spent the time standing before the window, smoking and trying to think things out. The captain of detectives was before his desk when Prale was ushered into the office.

"I've been investigating your story, Mr. Prale," the captain said, looking at him peculiarly. "It always has been a mystery to me why a man keen in business and supposed to possess brains goes to pieces when he commits a crime and tells a tale that is full of holes."

"I beg your pardon!" Prale said.

"Sit down, Mr. Prale, over there—and I'll have some of the witnesses in. I have not questioned them yet, but my men have, and have reported to me what they said. They have discovered several other things, too."

"I'm not afraid of anything they may have discovered," Prale told the captain.

"Last night, you told Jim Farland that you had had trouble with a bank, and at the hotel where you first registered after you came ashore, did you not?"

"Yes; don't those things bear out my statement about the powerful enemies?"

"We'll see presently," the captain said.

He spoke to the sergeant in attendance, who immediately left the room, and presently returned with the president of the trust company. He looked at Prale with interest, and took the chair the captain designated.

"You know this man?" the captain asked.

"I do," said the banker. "He is Sidney Prale."

"Ever have any business with him?"

"Mr. Prale transferred a fortune to our institution from Honduras," the banker said. "Yesterday he called at the bank, satisfied me as to his identity, and made arrangements concerning the money."

"Mr. Prale has said that, for some reason unknown to him, you told him you did not care to handle his business and didn't want his deposit," the captain said.

"I scarcely think that was the way of it," the banker replied. "We would have been glad to take care of the deposit, which was practically one million dollars. But Mr. Prale told me he had other plans and that he would remove the deposit during the day, which he did."

Sidney Prale sat up straight in his chair. "Didn't you tell me that you didn't want anything to do with me and my money?" he demanded.

"Certainly not," lied the banker. "You said that you wished to put your funds in other institutions."

Prale gasped at the man's statement. It was a bare-faced lie if one ever had been spoken.

"Why——" Prale began.

"I do not care to discuss the matter further," the banker interrupted. "I am a man of standing and cannot afford to be mixed up in a case of this sort."

"You'll not be mixed up in it," the captain said. "I just wanted to show Mr. Prale that there were some holes in his story. That is all, thank you!"

The banker left the room quickly, and Prale sprang to his feet, his face livid.

"That man lied!" he exclaimed. "You could read it in his face! I don't know why he lied, but he did!"

"Sit down, Mr. Prale, and let's have more witnesses in," the captain said.

Once more he spoke to the sergeant, and again the latter went out, this time to return with the manager of the first hotel at which Prale registered.

"Know this man?" the captain asked.

"He registered at my place as Sidney Prale, of Honduras."

"Well, what about it?"

"We furnished him with a suite on the fifth floor," the hotel manager said. "But he gave it up."

"Gave it up!" Prale cried. "Why, you called me into your office and told me to get out, that the suite has been reserved and that there was none vacant in the house. The bell boy can testify that he called me into the office."

"Certainly he called you into my office, and at my request," the manager said. "I wanted to know why you were leaving, whether any of the employees had treated you with discourtesy. You told me that you had been served poorly in the dining room the evening before, and that you were done with the hotel!"

Prale sprang to his feet. "That's a lie, and you know it!" he cried.

"Captain," said the hotel man, "do I have to sit here and be insulted by a man charged with a heinous crime?"

"That will be all, thank you," the captain said.

The hotel manager hurried from the room, and the captain grinned at Prale.

"So he lied, too, did he?" the captain asked.

"He did!" Prale cried.

"There seems to be an epidemic of falsehood, to hear you tell it. However, let us get on with the affair."

Once more he instructed the sergeant, and this time the man brought in the hotel detective who had witnessed the trouble between Prale and Shepley.

The hotel detective told the story much as Prale himself had told it, except that he made it appear that Prale had threatened Rufus Shepley on the walk in front of the hotel before they separated.

"Did you pick up a fountain pen of mine after I had gone?" Prale asked.

"I did not."

"See anybody else pick it up?"

"No, sir," said the hotel detective; and he went out of the room.

The sergeant next ushered in George Lerton. Prale sat up straight in his chair again. Here was where his proper alibi began, with the exception of Jim Farland. George Lerton's face was pale as he sat down at the end of the desk.

"Know this man?" the captain asked.

"He is my cousin, Sidney Prale."

"How long has he been away from New York?"

"About ten years," Lerton said. "He returned day before yesterday, I believe. I saw his name in the passenger list."

"Mr. Prale says that he met you last night on Fifth Avenue, and that you told him he had some powerful enemies seeking to cause him trouble, and advised him to leave New York and remain away."

"Why—why this is not so!" Lerton cried. "I haven't seen him until this moment. I would have looked him up, but did not know at what hotel he was stopping, and thought that he'd try to find me."

Prale was out of his chair again, his face flaming. "You mean to sit there and tell me that you didn't talk to me on Fifth Avenue last night?" he