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The Confidence King
by
“There has been an accident up there,” he remarked as he hung up the receiver rather petulantly. “They returned in the car this afternoon with a large package in the back of the tonneau. But they didn’t stay long. After dark they started out again in the car. The accident was at the bad railroad crossing just above Riverwood. It seems Williams’s car got stalled on the track just as the Buffalo express was due. No one saw it, but a man in a buggy around the bend in the road heard a woman scream. He hurried down. The train had smashed the car to bits. How the woman escaped was a miracle, but they found the man’s body up the tracks, horribly mangled. It was Williams, they say. They identified him by the clothes and by letters in his pockets. But my man tells me he found a watch on him with ‘W. F.’ engraved on it. His hands and arms and head must have been right under the locomotive when it struck him, I judge.”
“I guess that winds the case up, eh?” exclaimed O’Connor with evident chagrin. “Where’s the woman?”
“They said she was in the little local hospital, but not much hurt. Just the shock and a few bruises.”
O’Connor’s question seemed to suggest an idea to Burke, and he reached for the telephone again. “Riverwood 297,” he ordered; then to us as he waited he said: “We must hold the woman. Hello, 297? The hospital? This is Burke of the secret service. Will you tell my man, who must be somewhere about, that I would like to have him hold that woman who was in the auto smash until I can – what? Gone? The deuce!”
He hung up the receiver angrily. “She left with a man who called for her about half an hour ago,” he said. “There must be a gang of them. Forbes is dead, but we must get the rest. Mr. Kennedy, I’m sorry to have bothered you, but I guess we can handle this alone, after all. It was the finger-prints that fooled us, but now that Forbes is out of the way it’s just a straight case of detective work of the old style which won’t interest you.”
“On the contrary,” answered Kennedy, “I’m just beginning to be interested. Does it occur to you that, after all, Forbes may not be dead?”
“Not dead?” echoed Burke and O’Connor together.
“Exactly; that’s just what I said – not dead. Now stop and think a moment. Would the great Forbes be so foolish as to go about with a watch marked ‘W. F.’ if he knew, as he must have known, that you would communicate with London and by means of the prints find out all about him?”
“Yes,” agreed Burke, “all we have to go by is his watch found on Williams. I suppose there is some possibility that Forbes may still be alive.”
“Who is this third man who comes in and with whom Harriet Wollstone goes away so willingly?” put in O’Connor. “You said the house had been closed – absolutely closed?”
Burke nodded. “Been closed ever since the last arrest. There’s a servant who goes in now and then, but the car hasn’t been there before to-night, wherever it has been.”
“I should like to watch that house myself for a while,” mused Kennedy. “I suppose you have no objections to my doing so?”
“Of course not. Go ahead,” said Burke. “I will go along with you if you wish, or my man can go with you.”
“No,” said Kennedy, “too many of us might spoil the broth. I’ll watch alone to-night and will see you in the morning. You needn’t even say anything to your man there about us.”