American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

There he excused himself to Hatch and stopped in the manager’s office. He remained only a few minutes, afterwards climbing into a cab in which he and Hatch were driven back to police headquarters.

After some wire pulling and a good deal of red tape The Thinking Machine and his companion were permitted to see Knight. They found him standing at the barred cell door, staring out with weary eyes and pallid face.

The Thinking Machine was introduced to the prisoner by Hatch who had previously tried vainly to induce the young man to talk.

‘I have nothing to say,’ Knight declared belligerently. ‘See my attorney.’

‘I would like to ask three or four questions to which you can have no possible objection,’ said The Thinking Machine. ‘If you do object of course don’t answer.’

‘Well?’ demanded the prisoner.

‘Have you ever travelled in Europe?’

‘I was there for nearly a year. I only returned to this country three months ago.’

‘Have you ever been interested in any other woman? Or has any other woman ever been interested in you?’

The prisoner stared at his questioner coldly.

‘No,’ he responded, emphatically.

‘Your answer to that question may mean your freedom within a few hours,’ said The Thinking Machine quite calmly. ‘Tell me the truth.’

‘That is the truth – on my honour.’

The answer came frankly, and there came a quick gleam of hope in the prisoner’s face.

‘Just where in Italy did you buy that stiletto cane?’ was the next question.

‘In Rome.’

‘Rather expensive?’

‘Five hundred lira – that is about one hundred dollars.’

‘I suppose they are very common in Italy?’

‘Yes, rather.’

Knight pressed eagerly against the bars of his cell and gazed deeply but uncomprehendingly into the quiet squinting blue eyes.

‘There has never been any sort of a quarrel – serious or otherwise – between you and Miss Oliver?’

‘Never,’ was the quick response.

‘Now, only one more question,’ said The Thinking Machine. ‘I shall not ask it to hurt you.’

There was a little pause and Hatch waited expectantly. ‘Does it happen that you know whether or not Miss Oliver ever had any other love affair?’

‘Certainly not,’ exclaimed the young man, hotly. ‘She was just a girl – only twenty, out of Vassar just a few months ago and – and –’

‘You needn’t say any more,’ interrupted The Thinking Machine. ‘It isn’t necessary. Make your plans to leave here tonight, not later than midnight. It is now four o’clock. Tomorrow the newspapers will exonerate you.’

The prisoner seemed almost overcome by his emotions. He started to speak, but only extended an open hand through the bars. The Thinking Machine laid his slender fingers in it with a slight look of annoyance, said ‘Good day’ mechanically and he and Hatch went out.

The reporter was in a sort of a trance, not an unusual condition in him when in the company of his scientific friend. They climbed into the cab again and were driven away. Hatch was thinking too deeply to note the destination when the scientist gave it to the cabby.

‘Do you actually anticipate that you will be able to get Knight out of this thing so easily?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Certainly,’ was the response. ‘The problem is solved except for one or two minor points. Now I am proving it.’

‘But – but –’

‘I will make it all clear to you in due time,’ interrupted the other.

****

They were both silent until the cab stopped. Hatch glanced out and recognized the Oliver home. He followed The Thinking Machine up the steps and into the reception hall. There the scientist handed a card to the servant.

‘Tell Mr Oliver, please, that I will only take a moment,’ he explained.

The servant bowed and left them. A short wait and Mr Oliver entered.

‘I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, Mr Oliver,’ said the scientist, ‘but if you can give me just a little information I think perhaps we may get a full light on this unfortunate affair.’

Mr Oliver bowed.

‘First, let me ask you to confirm what I may say is my knowledge that your daughter, Eleanor, knew this man. I will ask, too, that you do not mention his name now.’

He scribbled hastily on a piece of paper and handed it to Mr Oliver. An expression of deep surprise came into the latter’s face and he shook his head.

‘I can answer that question positively,’ he said. ‘She does not know him. She had never been abroad and he has never been in this country until now.’

The Thinking Machine arose with something nearly akin to agitation in his face, and his slender fingers worked nervously.

‘What?’ he demanded abruptly. ‘What?’ Then, after a pause: ‘I beg your pardon, sir. It startled me a little. But are you sure?’

‘Perfectly sure,’ replied Mr Oliver firmly. ‘They could not have met in any way.’

For a long time The Thinking Machine stood squinting aggressively at his host with bewilderment plainly apparent in his manner. Hatch looked on with absorbed interest. Something had gone wrong; a cog had slipped; the wheels of logic had been thrown out of gear.

‘I have made a mistake, Mr Oliver,’ said The Thinking Machine at last. ‘I am sorry to have disturbed you.’

Mr Oliver bowed courteously and they were ushered out.

‘What is it?’ asked Hatch anxiously as they once more took their seats in the cab.

The Thinking Machine shook his head in frank annoyance.

‘What happened?’ Hatch insisted.

‘I’ve made a mistake,’ was the petulant response. ‘I’m going home and start all over again. It may be that I shall send for you later.’

Hatch accepted that as a dismissal and went his way wonderingly. That evening The Thinking Machine called him to the ’phone.

‘Mr Hatch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Miss Oliver have any sisters?’

‘Yes, one. Her name is Florence. There’s something about her in the afternoon papers in connection with the murder story.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I don’t know – twenty-two or -three.’

‘Ah!’ came a long, aspirated sigh of relief over the wire. ‘Run by and bring Detective Mallory up to my place.’

‘All right. But what was the matter?’

‘I was a fool, that’s all. Goodbye.’

Detective