CHAPTER XII

  BATTERED KEYS

  Farland started moving slowly toward them, making his way through thecrowd in such fashion that he did not attract too much attention tohimself. He was feeling a sudden interest in this case. There were greatpossibilities in the fact that two persons connected with it fromdifferent angles were in conversation.

  As he made his way toward the show window, he remembered how this GeorgeLerton had tried to induce Sidney Prale to leave the city and remainaway, and how, afterward, he had denied that he had seen Prale on FifthAvenue and had spoken to him.

  "He's connected with this thing in some way," Farland told himself."It's my job to discover exactly how."

  But he was doomed to be disappointed. Before he could get near enough tomake an attempt to overhear what they were saying, they suddenly parted.Kate Gilbert went into the shop, and George Lerton crossed the streetand hurried down the Avenue.

  It was no use wasting time on Kate Gilbert. Farland knew where to findher if he wanted her, and he knew there would be no use in shadowing hernow, since she probably had gone into the shop to purchase a hat. ButGeorge Lerton was quite another matter.

  The detective did not hesitate. He swung off down Fifth Avenue in thewake of George Lerton.

  Farland was a rough and ready man, and he had little liking for malehumans of the George Lerton type. Lerton always dressed in the acme offashion, running considerably to fads in clothes, appearing almosteffeminate at times. And yet it was said in financial circles thatLerton was far from being effeminate when it came to a business deal.There had been whispers about his dark methods, and it was well knownthat a business foe got small sympathy or consideration from him. He wasa fashionable cut-throat without any of the milk of human kindness inhis system.

  It was a surprise to Jim Farland to see Lerton walking. He was the sortof man who likes to advertise his success, and he had a couple ofimposing motor cars that he generally used. But he was walking thismorning, and the fact gave Farland food for thought.

  Lerton continued down the Avenue, and Jim Farland followed him closely.He expected to see Lerton meet some one else and engage in anotherwhispered conversation, but Lerton did not.

  "That boy is worried," Farland told himself. "He's one of those birdswho like to walk when they want to think something out. If I could onlyknow what was going on in that mind of his----"

  Lerton had reached Madison Square, and there he did something foreign tohis nature. He crossed the Square, proceeded to Fourth Avenue, anddescended into the subway.

  Farland was a few feet behind him, and got into the same car when Lertoncaught a downtown train. He followed when Lerton got off and went up tothe street level again, and now the broker made his way through thethrongs and along the narrow streets until he finally came to thefinancial district. After a time he turned into the entrance of anoffice building--the building where his own offices were located.

  The detective watched him go up in the elevator, and then he turned backto the cigar stand in the lobby and purchased more of the black cigarshe loved. For a time he stood out at the curb, puffing and thinking. Hewatched the building entrance closely, but George Lerton did not comedown again.

  As a matter of fact, Farland scarcely had expected that he would. Hebelieved that Lerton had kept an appointment with Kate Gilbert, and thenhad continued to his office to take up the work of the day. Farlanddecided that he would give Lerton a chance to attend to the morning mailand pressing matters of business, before seeking an interview.

  Finally, Farland threw the stub of the cigar away, turned into theentrance of the building once more, and walked briskly to the elevator.He shot up to the tenth floor, went down the hall, and entered thereception room of the Lerton offices. An imp of an office boy took inhis card.

  "Mr. Lerton will see you in ten minutes, sir," the returning boyannounced.

  Farland touched match to another cigar. He was a little surprised thatLerton had sent out that message. Lerton knew Farland, as Sidney Pralehad known him in the old days. He knew Farland's business, and he knewthat the detective and Prale were firm friends. He could guess thatPrale had engaged Jim Farland to work on this case and clear him of thecharge of having murdered Rufus Shepley.

  After a time the boy ushered him into the private office. George Lertonwas sitting behind a gigantic mahogany desk, looking very much theprosperous man of business.

  "Well, Farland, this is a pleasure!" Lerton exclaimed. "Haven't seen youfor ages. How's business?"

  "It could be better," Jim Farland replied, "and it could be a lot worse.I'm making a good living, and so have no kick coming."

  "If I ever need a man in your line, I'll call you in," George Lertonsaid. "And the pay will be all right, too."

  "Don't doubt it," Farland replied.

  "Want to see me about something special this morning?"

  "Yes, if you can give me a few minutes."

  "All the time you like," Lerton replied.

  That was not like the man, Jim Farland knew. Lerton was the sort to tryto make himself important, the always-busy man who had no time foranybody less than a millionaire.

  Farland smiled and sat down in a chair at one end of the desk. Hetwisted his hat in his hands, looked across at George Lerton, clearedhis throat, and spoke.

  "You know about Sidney Prale being in a bit of trouble, of course?"

  "Yes. Can't understand it," Lerton replied, frowning. "Sidney always hada temper, of course, but I never thought he would resort to murderduring a fit of it. You know, I never got along with him any too well.He had a quarrel with his sweetheart in the old days and left forHonduras twenty-four hours later and remained there for ten years."

  "I know all about that, of course," Farland said. "You perhaps haveguessed that he sent for me--engaged me to get him out of this littlescrape."

  "Murder, a little scrape?" Lerton gasped. "I should call it a veryserious matter."

  "Let us hope that it will not be a serious matter for Sid," Farland saidwith feeling. "I believe that the boy is innocent, and I hope to be ableto clear him. Will you help me?"

  "I never had any particular love for Sidney, and neither did he for me,"George Lerton said. "However, he is my cousin, and I hate to see him introuble. But how can I help you? I don't know anything about theaffair."

  "An alibi is an important thing in a case like this," Farland said. "Wewant to prove an alibi, if we can, of course. Sidney says that you methim on Fifth Avenue----"

  "And I cannot understand that," Lerton interrupted. "Why should he saysuch a thing?"

  "You didn't meet him?"

  "I certainly did not! I cannot lie about such a thing, even to save mycousin. Why, it would make me a sort of accessory, wouldn't it? I cannotafford to be mixed up in anything of the sort. You must understandthat!"

  "And you didn't urge him to leave New York and remain away for the restof his life?"

  "I didn't see him at all," George Lerton persisted. "Why on earth shouldI care whether he remains in New York or takes his million dollarselsewhere?"

  "I don't know, I'm sure," Farland said. "But it seems peculiar to methat Sid would tell a rotten falsehood like that. Doesn't it lookpeculiar to you?"

  "I must confess that it does not," George Lerton replied. "I suppose itwas the first thing that came into his head. He was trying to establishan alibi, of course, and he probably thought he would get a chance totelephone to me and ask me to stand by the story he had told, thinkingthat I would do it because of our relationship."

  "I was hoping that you would tell me you had met him on Fifth Avenue,"Farland said. "It would have made his alibi stronger, of course, andevery little bit helps."

  "Stronger? You mean to say that he has any sort of an alibi at all?"

  "A dandy!" Farland exclaimed. "In fact, we have an alibi that tells usthat Sid was quite a distance from Rufus Shepley's suite when Shepleywas slain."

  "Why, how is that?"

  "Sid picked up a bum and tried to mak
e a man of him. He bought thefellow some clothes and took him to a barber shop. The clothing merchantand the barber furnish the alibi."

  An expression of consternation was in George Lerton's face, and JimFarland was quick to notice it.

  "Of course, I am glad for Sidney's sake," Lerton said. "But I had reallybelieved that he had killed Shepley. It caused me a bit of trouble,too."

  "How do you mean?" Farland asked.

  "Shepley was a sort of client of mine," Lerton said. "I handled a dealfor him now and then. He has been traveling on business for some time,as you perhaps know. I had hopes that he would give me a certain largecommission and that I would make a handsome profit. He was aboutconvinced, I am sure, that I was the man to handle it for him. His smalldeals with me had always been to his profit and my credit."

  "Oh, I understand!"

  "And a possible good customer is removed," Lerton went on. "So you havean alibi for Sidney, have you? In that case--if he did not kill RufusShepley--he must have told that story about meeting me when he was in apanic immediately following his arrest. Sid always was panicky, youknow."

  "I didn't know that a panicky man could pick up a million dollars in tenyears."

  "Oh, I suppose Sidney was fortunate. There are wonderful opportunitiesat times in Central America, and I suppose he happened to just strikeone of them right. He was very fortunate, indeed. Not every man can havegood luck like that."

  "Well, I'm sorry that I troubled you," Farland said. "And now, I'll getout--if you'll do me a small favor."

  "Anything, Farland."

  "I see you have a typewriter in the corner, and I'd like to write ashort note to leave uptown."

  "Just step outside and dictate it to one of my stenographers," saidGeorge Lerton.

  "That'd be too much trouble," Farland replied. "It's only a few lines,and I can pound a typewriter pretty good. Besides, this is a littleconfidential report that I would not care to have your stenographer knowanything about."

  "Oh, I see! Help yourself!"

  Farland got up and hurried over to the typewriter. He put a sheet ofpaper in the machine, wrote a few lines, folded the sheet and put itinto his coat pocket.

  "Well, I'm much obliged," he said. "I think we'll have Sid out oftrouble before long."

  "Let us hope so!" George Lerton said.

  There was something in the tone of his voice, however, that belied thewords he spoke. Farland gave him a single, rapid glance, but theexpression of Lerton's face told him nothing. Lerton was a broker andused to big business deals. He was a master of the art of the blankcountenance, and Jim Farland knew it well.

  Farland had said nothing concerning Kate Gilbert, for he was not readyto let George Lerton know that he suspected any connection of MissGilbert with the Rufus Shepley case. Farland was not certain himselfwhat that connection would be, and he knew it would be foolish to sayanything that would put Lerton on guard and make the mystery moredifficult of solution.

  He thanked Lerton once more and departed. Out in the corridor and somedistance from the Lerton office, he took from his pocket the note he hadwritten on Lerton's private typewriter and glanced at it quickly.Farland was merely verifying what he had noticed as he had typed thenote.

  "That was a lucky hunch about that typewriter," he told himself. "Thiscase is going to be interesting, all right--and for several persons."

  Farland had noticed particularly the typewritten notes that had beenreceived by the clothing merchant and the barber. There were two certainkeys that were battered in a peculiar manner, and another key that wasout of alignment.

  He knew now, by glancing at the lines he had written himself, that thoseother notes had been typed on the same machine. He guessed that it hadbeen George Lerton, the broker, who had sent those notes and the moneyto the barber and the merchant.

  Why had George Lerton been so eager to destroy his cousin's alibi?

  Why was George Lerton trying to have Sidney Prale sent to the electricchair for murder?

 
Harrington Strong's Novels