The unknown seven : a detective story

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Woman in the Limousine ... 9

II. Temptation . . . ..20

Chapter I

CTANDING in the dark doorway of a delicatessen ^ shop, Kingdon Cole gazed, through the fog and drizzle of the October night, at a second-story window across the street. The brim of a slouch hat shaded his eyes and most of his face. His lean figure was draped in a mackintosh that reached almost to his feet. The upward slant of the cigar, clamped between his teeth, hinted at total absorp¬ tion in what he saw.

The building that claimed his attention was an ordinary three-story structure of murky brick. Flanked by a warehouse on one side and a second¬ hand clothing store on the other, it presented a sullen and gloomy aspect to the watcher across the street. Yet there was something in the very drab¬ ness of the house and the chill atmosphere which hung over it that might have appealed to the im¬ agination of a man like Kingdon Cole.

A man’s head and shoulders were dimly silhouetted against the lighted window shade at which he was looking so fixedly. For half an hour or longer the figure had not stirred. The rigid poise of the head and the stiff set of the shoulders suggested that the man at the window was engaged in a task that occupied his whole mind.

Cole struck a match and, holding it in his cupped hands, lighted his dead cigar. The flickering light shone for an instant on fingers that were long, slim, and finely tapering, the fingers of a man of great mental energy and a compelling personality.

“Wonder what the learned Professor Carmody finds so interesting,” he mumbled. “Some scientific treatise, very likely, or perhaps it is-”

He lowered his gaze, as he vaguely sensed that a pair of eyes was trying t b pierce the gloom in which he stood. What with the wet night and the lateness of the hour that dreary section of Bleecker Street was all but deserted. Now and then a cross¬ town car jogged along at a lumbering pace; occa¬ sionally a taxicab passed on its way.

Cole looked up and down the block. The im¬ pression was more distinct now. Some one was watching him, just as he was watching the solitary figure in the window. His senses, sharpened by long training, told him he was under observation even before he could trace the impression to its source. Now he saw a limousine drawn up at the corner, less than twenty paces from where he stood. Its sides of burnt sienna gleamed in the blurred lights. It seemed to lend a touch of affluence to the squalor and dreariness of the scene. How long the car had been there he did not know, for the window across the street had claimed all his attention.

The car began to move, crawling, snaillike and silent toward the point where Cole stood. It stopped opposite the doorway that sheltered him. He fancied that he saw the flicker of a face behind the curtains. Then the door opened a few inches,, and he caught a glimpse of a beckoning hand.

THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE n

His eyes narrowed under their puckering brows. The monotony of his vigil was being broken in a strange way, and the slow twisting of his lips sig¬ nified that the interruption was not altogether dis¬ pleasing. Once more he glanced up at the window across the street, noticing that the shadowy figure had not stirred. Then he crossed the sidewalk, and instantly the door of the limousine was flung wide.

“Won’t you step in, Mr. Cole?” asked a voice.

Though his life had inured him to surprises, Cole started a little. It was odd that the occupant of the car should address him by name. The in¬ terior was dark, but in the shadows he saw the figure of a woman.

“You are very patient, Mr. Cole,” the voice con¬ tinued. “You are wasting your time, however. It isn’t likely that Professor Carmody will go out to¬ night, so you might as well jump in.”

A sharp hunching of Cole’s shoulders registered surprise number two. It was all very mystifying. Not only did the occupant of the car know his name, but she seemed familiar with his business as well. He liked her voice, a deep soprano with a faintly playful undertone. For a moment he studied the long, slender lines of her figure, faintly dis¬ cernible in the dusk and melting, here and there, into a background of saffron-hued cushions.

“You hesitate? I happen to know that Professor Carmody is in for the night and that your vigilance is useless.”

Cole looked at her intently. The mist, the drizzle, and the blurred sheen from the street lamps seemed to lend a touch of unreality to what he saw and heard.

“What do you know about Professor Carmody,” He demanded.

“A great deal more than you do. IPs quite possible that I am in a position to give you some valuable information. At any rate my car is more comfortable than a dark doorway.”

She leaned forward slightly, and there was a trace of mockery on her faintly parted lips. “Not afraid, are you, Mr. Cole?”

He gave a low laugh at the implied dare. With a shrug he stepped inside the car and sat down beside her. She picked up the speaking tube and, turning her head away from Cole, said something which he could not hear. In an instant the car was in motion.

“You seem to know a great deal,” he observed, trying to obtain a glimpse of her face under the billowing brim that shaded it.

“And you are anxious to learn how much more I know. Isn’t it so, Mr. Cole? It was neither: vulgar curiosity nor adventurousness that prompted you to accept my invitation to ride with me. You accepted only because you hoped to learn something. Having heard me speak your name and mention Professor Carmody you naturally thought it might be profitable to cultivate my acquaintance.”

“Perhaps so,” said Cole dryly. “What do you know about me aside from my name and my interest in the estimable professor?”

“A great deal,” was the surprisingly prompt reply. “You are a student of criminology, a follower in the footsteps of Lombroso, Pinel, and Prichard, though you by no means accept their theories. You have yvritten two books on crime and criminals. They are too scientific for the general reader, I have been told, but experts on the subject regard them as authoritative. Perhaps some day I shall try to read them.”

“I fear you won’t find them very interesting,” replied Cole. “What else?”

“You live in a small apartment in Gramercy Park, which also serves as your office. Two years ago you did a very brilliant piece of work on the Wilmerding murder case, though you magnani¬ mously, or for reasons of your own, let the police claim the credit for the results. You follow crimi¬ nal investigations largely as a scientific pursuit. If you cared to devote all your time to it you could make a great success, but you accept only such cases as happen to interest you personally. As a result you lead a quiet and somewhat precarious existence, deriving your sole pleasure from your work and such inexpensive amusements as books, music, and, on rare occasions, the theater.”

“You seem to have taken considerable pains look¬ ing me up,” he remarked.

“Oh, I haven’t told you all I know yet. I have learned a number of things about your private life and personal habits, but we needn’t go into those things now.”

“Are you equally well informed in regard to Professor Carmody?”

“Not quite. The professor is a riddle. To all outward appearances he is interested in nothing but his experiments and his musty old books. He seems to be living in that kind of neighborhood by preference, because he isn’t so apt to be bothered by meddling neighbors. His house is said to con¬ tain one of the best-equipped laboratories of its kind in the world. That’s only a rumor, of course. The professor doesn’t encourage visitors. To the few people who have talked with him he is what the novelists call a man of mystery. He comes and goes without speaking to any one, and his life is a closed book. As far as I know, only one person has been inside his house in a year, and that person never came out.”

“Oh, you know that!”

“Yes, I am one of the very few who are aware of the fact. Let me see, it’s about three weeks since Malcolm Reeves disappeared. His relatives, your clients, in other words, have reason to believe that he visited Professor Carmody on the night of his disappearance. No wonder the case fascinates you, Mr. Cole. Disappearances are always interest¬ ing, but especially so when a mysterious person like Professor Carmody is involved.”

Cole regarded her in frank amazement, but her head was now slightly bowed, and all he could see of her face was the curve of the chin.

“The relatives did well to put the case in your hands,” she went on. “You are both capable and discreet and, as I presume you know, there were excellent reasons for not reporting Reeves’ disap¬ pearance to the police. Are you making satisfactory progress ?”

“My clients seem satisfied.”

‘‘You have not yet paid the professor a visit ?”

‘‘What would be the use?”

“You are right, of course. It would only put him on his guard. You prefer not to let him know that he is under suspicion.” She laughed gently, as if amused at something. “Besides, it is doubtful whether a search of Carmody’s house would reveal any clews to Reeves’ fate. The professor is a chemist, and I understand there are certain chemical processes by which bodies can be made to disappear completely, leaving no trace.”

“Then you think Reeves has been murdered?”

“Don’t you?” she asked quickly.

Cole smiled. Instead of answering the question He asked another. “How can you be so sure that Carmody will not leave his house to-night?”

“Because he has the best of reasons for staying in.”

“What are they?”

“One is that his engagement for to-night was canceled by telephone at four o’clock this after¬ noon.”

Cole gave her a puzzled stare. “How do you know that?”

She laughed a little. “There are ways of finding out,” she said mysteriously. “Tapped wires, for instance. But the professor’s principal reason for staying in to-night is that he is well aware that you are watching him. You see, Mr. Cole, he has more shrewdness than you have been giving him credit for. And the fact that he is staying in on your account shows that he has great respect for; your ability.”

She had raised her head a trifle, and Cole gave her a long, bewildered glance. He half ex¬ pected to see a smile on her lips, but her face was grave.

/‘Are you one of Reeves* relatives?** he asked abruptly.

“Then how-”

“I have certain sources of information. Sources so vast that you would be staggered if I were to tell you of them. Please don’t look at me like that. I am not insane, neither am I subject to hallucina¬ tions. The fact that I happen to know more about the Carmody case than you do is no reflection on your ability as an investigator. It merely shows that your equipment is inadequate. Care to hear more?”

“What else do you know?”

“I know that the case you are working on is only one minor angle of a vast mystery. The disap¬ pearance of Malcolm Reeves is nothing but an in¬ cident. Reeves himself was only an insignificant puppet in one of the greatest games ever played. All you have seen so far is one of the minor threads in the woof. I am always mixing my metaphors, but I know you won’t mind. Mr. Cole, this affair has ramifications that may some day rock the whole continent.”

“I feel considerably shaken up already,” admitted Cole. ‘ You realize, of course, that you are using strong words ?”

"No stronger than the situation demands.”

“If it is as bad as all that why doesn’t somebody put a stop to it?”

“Because-” She checked herself and regarded

him intently. “Well, because the man who is big enough for the task has not yet been found.”

Again Cole cast a glance at the window. The car had made several turns in the last few minutes. He caught only a blurred view of his surroundings, but he thought they were traversing one of the cavernlike streets near the southern tip of Man¬ hattan Island.

“Have you heard enough?” she asked.

“Just enough to give me an appetite for more.”

“In that case you must trust me implicitly and obey me without questions. I am taking desperate chances in confiding in you, Mr. Cole, and certain precautions are absolutely necessary. Will you promise me on your honor that you will not try to ascertain the location of the place I shall take you to?”

Cole considered. There was a flavor of mystery about the adventure that appealed to him, but the prospect of learning something more about the Carmody case was an even greater temptation. From what little the woman had so far told him he surmised that she must have unusual sources of information. Much that she had said coincided with what he already knew, so he had no cause to doubt her truthfulness.

“You have my promise,” he told her.

The car made another turn, swung down a dark block, then veered again to the south. Cole caught a hazy glimpse of dark, towering skyscrapers.

The woman looked at him fixedly, as if in doubt. “I believe you are a man of your word, Mr. Cole, but promises are sometimes broken in spite of the best intentions. Please don’t be offended.”

She produced a scarf and with a deft touch cov¬ ered his eyes, securing the bandage with a firm knot at the back. Cole chuckled amusedly. He might be walking into a trap, but it would not be the first time, and he had great confidence in his ability to take care of himself in any situation that might come up.

After continuing its zigzagging course a few min¬ utes longer the car stopped. His mysterious con¬ ductress touched his arm as they stepped out. She guided him across the sidewalk and up a few stone steps, and then they traversed what appeared to be a long corridor. Finally Cole found himself in a narrow inclosure which he guessed to be an elevator.

“We are in one of the tallest office buildings in New York,” the woman whispered in his ear, “but you’re not likely to guess its name.”

The door clanked shut, and the cage shot swiftly upward. Cole felt a rush of wind in his ears. He maintained a languid composure, but inwardly he marveled. A modern skyscraper was the last place he would have expected the woman to take him to. He tried to estimate the number of floors they were passing. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty-

Still the cage darted upward, and then it stopped so suddenly that he caught his breath sharply. They stepped out, and the girl removed the scarf from his eyes. He gazed around him bewilderedly. All about him, with the exception of a single elevator shaft was a vast expanse of blank wall. There was no sign of doors or windows, and the only illumination was a small electric bulb in the ceiling.

“We came up in a private elevator,’’ the woman explained. “This is the top floor. To the public at large and to most of the tenants of the building it practically does not exist. This way, Mr Cole.”

She stepped to one of the corners of the tri¬ angular space, of which the elevator shaft formedi the center, and Cole followed. In the dim light he could not see exactly what happened, but the woman’s hand went out and then a narrow portion of the wall slid back. Thep stepped through an aperture, and instantly the opening closed behind them. They were in a long corridor with doors on each side.

“Surprised?” she asked, starting to lead him down the hall.

“Rather. Never expected to find such mysterious contrivances in a modern office building.”

Her only reply was a low laugh. The floor of the corridor was luxuriously carpeted; the doors on either side had a solid appearance. Cole’s amaze¬ ment grew. He wondered what was beyond the massive doors and what was the nature of this establishment that was hidden behind blank walls. He had little time for speculation, for his com¬ panion opened a door and bade him enter.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cole,” she murmured when she had switched on the light. “I shall be back directly.”

The door closed, and she was gone. Alone, Cole looked about him, and his eyes opened wide in astonishment.

Chapter II

F OR a moment Cole forgot that he was in a building devoted to the pursuits of commerce. The room in which he stood, bordered by walls of paneled walnut, was worthy of a Fifth Avenue mansion. It struck him as a bit grotesque. From an elevator he had stepped, through a blank wall, into a magnificence that fairly dazzled him. It was like an “Arabian Nights” adventure. As he looked about him he saw quiet elegance everywhere, with¬ out a taint of showiness. For some time he stood lost in admiration, then he noticed that the room had no windows. A moment later he discovered that the door was locked on the outside. Despite the splendor that surrounded him he was virtually a prisoner.

He sat down and smoked a cigarette, waiting for his strange conductress to return. Evidently the walls were solidly built, for no sounds reached him. The air was fresh and pure despite the absence of windows, hinting that there was a concealed venti¬ lator somewhere in the room.

The armchair was comfortable, and he stretched out his lean figure, slightly short of six feet. The man suggested mental force rather than bodily strength, but a great surprise awaited any antagonist who underestimated Cole's physical prowess. He was far stronger than the average man, and his endurance was phenomenal. His gray eyes, with ai faint humorous twinkle in their depths, were fixed on the door. His dark face, slightly lined about the mouth and the outer corner of the eyes, bore a look of mild expectancy. In moments of repose he looked as though he had not a care in the world. His friends often wondered how he managed to maintain the freshness and sparkle suggestive of a recent needle shower. Perhaps it was because he was thoroughly in love with his work and had earned to shake off the minor frets and irritations of life.

In the midst of his musings the door opened, and he stared rather rudely at the vision that en¬ tered. It was the woman, and she had undergone an amazing transformation since he last saw her. He wondered whether the shimmering gown she wore had been designed by Poiret himself. Its deli¬ cate rose color afforded a charming contrast to her complexion, a sort of luminous white that somehow escaped being pale. Standing there, with a faint smile on her lips, her face fringed by an aureole of fine-spun gold, she was easily the most bewitching woman Cole had ever seen.

He rose, bowed, and gazed appreciatively at the simple, but strikingly effective, ornament she wore at her throat.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting/’ she murmured. “Sit down, please, and smoke as much as you like. I want to talk with you.”

Cole sat down. He wondered if she had arrayed herself like this for the sole purpose of having a talk with him.

“You promised to tell me something more about the Carmody case,” he reminded her. “I suppose you brought me to this charming place so that we might have a quiet talk without danger of interrup¬ tion or eavesdropping.”

She sat down a short distance from him. By degrees the smile faded from her lips. A curiously solemn expression crept into her face. “Haven’t I told you enough, Mr. Cole?”

“What little you told me was only a provocation. It gave me a taste for more. By the way, you have the advantage over me. Won’t you tell me your name?”

“You may call me Miss Brown.”

“The name doesn’t fit you,” he objected.

“Names never do fit. That’s one of the ironies of existence. For the present, until we know each other better, it will have to be Miss Brown. I had to tell you a little about the Carmody case in order to get your attention. I hope I convinced you that it is quite useless for you to continue at work on a case that is so enormous in scope and presents such insuperable difficulties, Mr. Cole.” A pleading note Fad come into her voice. “Can anything per¬ suade you to drop the Carmody case?”

She bent forward a little. With hands clasped across her knee, she studied him intently, and Cole looked into the deepest, bluest eyes he had ever seen.

“Drop the Carmody case!” he exclaimed.

“You must drop it, Mr. Cole! If you knew more about it, what terrible things you are going up against, you would willingly drop it without further argument. You would recognize your utter helplessness in the matter, not to mention a number of other things.”

Cole was momentarily speechless. He found him¬ self strangely impressed by her big, sorcerous eyes, full of mute pleading and entreaty.

“I don’t understand. You don’t realize what you are saying. Why should I drop the case?”

“Because of the things I have told you.”

Cole laughed. “They are only an added incentive for me to go on with it.”

She drew a long breath. “That’s your man’s way of looking at things. The greater the dangers and difficulties the more determined you are to forge ahead. You don’t stop to consider the price, or estimate the cost. The wreckage you scatter about you means nothing to you. All you think of is the gratification of your boundless ambition. Mr. Cole, won’t you forgo your foolish pride and do what I ask ?”

Her eyes held him despite his will. There was a look of terror in their depths that exerted a subtle appeal upon him. He got to his feet and tried to shake off the fascination of her beauty and her magnetic personality.

“Impossible,” he declared. “If you brought me here in the hope of inducing me to drop the Carmody case, your time and effort are wasted.”

“Please, Mr. Cole! Forget that you ever heard of this terrible case. Tell your clients in the morn¬ ing that you will have nothing further to do with it.”

“That wouldn’t alter matters. They would promptly accept my resignation and engage somebody else.”

‘‘There is only oue Kingdon Cole.”

“That’s a very neat compliment, but it won’t bear analysis. I haven’t accomplished anything very wonderful, and another man could finish what I have begun.”

She was silent for a time, her big, luminous eyes regarding him imploringly. “If you won’t drop the case for your own sake, because of the terrible dangers involved, then I beg you to do so for my sake.”

“For your sake? Really, Miss—er—Brown, I don’t understand. What is your interest in the Carmody case?”

She stepped up and clutched his hand. The touch of her fingers sent a thrill through him. Her eyes were moist, and the curve beneath her throat rose and fell with accelerated rhythm. “Yes, for my sake. I can’t explain, except to say that awful things will happen to me if you go on. Death would be as nothing in comparison. Doesn’t a woman’s soul mean anything to you, Mr. Cole?”

Cole looked down into her eyes, while her fingers spasmodically clutched his hand. Far into their blue depths he gazed, and suddenly his face un¬ derwent a change. His lips curled a trifle, and a hard glint came into his eyes. Somewhat roughly he released his hand.

“Very touching,” he dryly remarked, “but I don’t see the connection between the Carmody case and a woman’s soul.”

She drew back with a little sob of bafflement.

“If you meant your own soul, Miss Brown, you mentioned something that doesn’t exist,” he went on sarcastically. “Trickery and pretense are poor substitutes for soul.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged disgustedly. “Your acting is superb, but it don’t bear close inspection. You were splen¬ did at a little distance. Despite the fact that I am the only Kingdon Cole, as you so charmingly phrased it, I am rather susceptible to the tears of a beautiful woman. With your sobs and your love¬ liness you could have melted a stone, if such a feat were possible. As soon as I got a close view of you, however, I knew you were only shamming. Your eyes gave you away when you sprung that choice line about a woman’s soul. Perhaps you realized you were laying the pathos on too thick. Anyway the illusion is shattered, and all that re¬ mains is the gorgeous gown you are wearing. It is really stunning.”

“Thank you,” she said coldly, dropping the role she had been playing, as easily as she would a wrap. “No doubt I should have known better than to try such methods on you.”

“Yes, you should,” said Cole. “For, despite the little slip you made, I believe that you are really a very clever woman. Now that we are off the subject of women’s souls won’t you tell me your real reason for wishing to throw up the Carmody case ?”

She shook her head, but he thought he detected a gleam of unwilling admiration in her eyes. Mo¬ tioning him to follow, she stepped to the door and opened it, then preceded him down the hall. Cole guessed that his little adventure was over, and he felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought that, in all probability, he would never learn the meaning of her puzzling behavior. No doubt she would try to blindfold him again before conducting him away from the place, and he was prepared to raise strenu¬ ous objections.

But it appeared Miss Brown was not yet ready to let him go. She stopped before one of the massive doors that had already excited his curiosity, and knocked twice. It opened quickly and noise¬ lessly. In a moment, before he realized what he was doing, Cole was inside, and the door closed at his back.

The room was so dimly lighted that at first he could distinguish nothing but bare, gloomy walls. Miss Brown, who had followed him into the room, hastened forward and seemed to melt away in the dusk, leaving him to wonder what new turn his adventure was taking. Gradually, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he was able to see ob¬ jects with some degree of clearness. He was in a long, narrow room, and what he saw was in keep¬ ing with the other strange things that he had wit¬ nessed and experienced in this surprising establish¬ ment.

A number of shadowy figures were seated around a circular table in the center of the room. He counted seven of them, and at first he had a ludicrous impression that there were only blank spaces where their faces should have been. Then, as his pupils continued to respond to the strain imposed by the dim light, he saw that each man wore a mask. It was only a strip 'of cloth, with tiny slits over the eyes, but in the dusk it was the only covering that was needed to make recognition im¬ possible.

Again Cole w^s struck with a sense of unreality. The men, sitting stiffly erect in their chairs, caused him to wonder whether he was in the midst of some ghostly seance. He felt their eyes search¬ ing him through the vents in the masks. The gloom and the silence gave an added illusory touch to the scene. Cole had to shake himself before he could realize that he was on the top floor of a modern skyscraper.

Miss Brown stepped behind one of the chairs and held a brief whispered conversation with its occupant. The latter nodded, and the girl slipped away toward the door. A moment later it closed behind her, and the man, with whom she had been talking, indicated that Cole was to step forward. With a shrug he complied, and the masked faces stirred slightly as he approached. For a full min¬ ute nothing was said, and again he felt the sharp and steady scrutiny of seven pairs of eyes. Finally the man who had beckoned him spoke. “Mr. Cole, how much will you take to drop the Carmody case?”

Cole could not help but laugh. The words, spoken yrfth a directness and a matter-of-factness that left nothing to the imagination, had shattered the illu¬ sion completely. In an instant the spell of unreality was broken. He knew he was dealing with practical men who were in the habit of reducing everything to terms of dollars and cents. A blunt reply came to his lips, but his desire to learn more of these strange men caused him to hold it back.

“Suppose we put all the cards on the table,” he sug¬ gested. “I don’t like to talk business in the dark. Who are you, and what is your objection to my connection with the Carmody case?”