CHAPTER VI. BLUE FIRES
"Cabs for comfort; cars for company," was an apothegm which AverageJones had evolved from experience. A professed student of life, hemaintained, must keep in touch with life at every feasible angle. Noexperience should come amiss to a detective; he should be a pundit ofall knowledge. A detective he now frankly considered himself; and thereal drudgery of his unique profession of Ad-Visor was supportable onlybecause of the compensating thrill of the occasional chase, the radianceof the Adventure of Life glinting from time to time across his path.
There were few places, Average Jones held, where human nature in therough can be studied to better advantage than in the stifling tunnels ofthe subway or the close-packed sardine boxes of the metropolitan surfacelines. It was in pursuance of this theory that he encountered theWesterner, on Third avenue car. By custom, Average Jones picked out themost interesting or unusual human being in any assembly where he foundhimself, for study and analysis. This man was peculiar in that he alonewas not perspiring in the sodden August humidity. The clear-browned skinand the rangy strength of the figure gave him a certain distinction. Heheld in his sinewy hands a doubly folded newspaper. Presently it slippedfrom his hold to the seat beside him. He stared at the window oppositewith harassed and unseeing eyes. Abruptly he rose and went out on theplatform. Average Jones picked up the paper. In the middle of the columnto which it was folded was a marked advertisement:
ARE you in an embarrassing position? Anything, anywhere, any time, regardless of nature or location. Everybody's friend. Consultation at all hours. Suite 152, Owl Building, Brooklyn.
The car was nearing Brooklyn Bridge. Average Jones saw his man droplightly off. He followed and at the bridge entrance caught him up.
"You've left your paper," he said.
The stranger whirled quickly. "Right," he said. "Thanks. Perhaps you cantell me where the Owl Building is."
"Are you going there?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't."
A slight wrinkle of surprise appeared on the man's tanned forehead.
"Perhaps you wouldn't," he returned coolly.
"In other words, 'mind your business,"' said Average Jones, with asmile.
"Something of that sort," admitted the stranger.
"Nevertheless, I wouldn't consult with Everbody's Friend over in the OwlBuilding."
"Er--because--er--if I may speak plainly," drawled Average Jones, "Iwouldn't risk a woman's name with a gang of blackmailers."
"You've got your nerve," retorted the stranger. The keen eyes,flattening almost to slits, fixed on the impassive face of the other.
"Well, I'll go you," he decided, after a moment. His glance swept therange of vision and settled upon a rathskeller sign. "Come over therewhere we can talk."
They crossed the grilling roadway, and, being wise in the heat, ordered"soft" drinks.
"Now," said the stranger, "you've declared in on my game. Make good.What's your interest?"
"None, personally. I like your looks, that's all," replied the otherfrankly. "And I don't like to see you run into that spider's web."
"You know them?"
"Twice in the last year I've made 'em change their place of business."
"But you don't know me. And you spoke of a woman."
"I've been studying you on the car," explained Average Jones. "You'rehard as nails; yet your nerves are on edge. It isn't illness, so it mustbe trouble. On your watch-chain you've got a solitaire diamond ring.Not for ornament; you aren't that sort of a dresser. It's there for,convenience until you can find a place to put it. When a deeply troubledman wears an engagement ring on his watch chain it's a fair inferencethat there's been an obstruction in the course of true love. Unless I'mmistaken, you, being a stranger newly come to town, were going to takeyour case to those man-eating sharks?"
"How do you know I've just come to town?"
"When you looked at your watch I noticed it was three hours slow. Thatmust mean the Pacific coast, or near it. Therefore you've just got infrom the Far West and haven't thought to rectify your time. At a ventureI'd say you were a mining man from down around the Ray-Kelvin copperdistrict in Arizona. That peculiar, translucent copper silicate in yourscarf-pin comes from those mines."
"The Blue Fire? I wish it had stayed there, all of it! Anything else?"
"Yes," returned Average Jones, warming to the game. "You're an Easterncollege man, I think. Anyway, your father or some older member of yourfamily graduated from one of the older colleges."
"What's the answer?"
"The gold of your Phi Beta Kappa key is a different color from yourwatch-chain. It's the old metal, antedating the California gold. Didyour father graduate some time in the latter forties or early fifties?"
"Hamilton, '51. I'm '89. Name, Kirby."
A gleam of pleasure appeared in Average Jones keen eyes. "That's rathera coincidence," he said. "Two of us from the Old Hill. I'm Jones of '04.Had a cousin in your class, Carl Van Reypen."
They plunged into the intimate community of interest which is thepeculiar heritage and asset of the small, close-knit old college.Presently, however, Kirby's forehead wrinkled again. He sat silent,communing with himself. At length he lifted his head like one who hastaken a resolution.
"You made a good guess at a woman in the case," he, said. "And you callthis a coincidence? She'd say it was a case of intuition. She's verystrong on intuition and superstition generally." There was a mixtureof tenderness and bitterness in his tone. "Chance brought thatadvertisement to her eyes. A hat-pin she'd dropped stuck through it,or something of the sort. Enough for her. Nothing would do but thatI should chase over to see the Owl Building bunch. At that, maybe herhunch was right. It's brought me up against you. Perhaps you can helpme. What are you? A sort of detective?"
"Only on the side." Average Jones drew a card from his pocket, andtendered it:
A. JONES, AD-VISOR
Advice upon all matters connected with Advertising Astor Court Temple 2 to 5 P.M.
"Ad-Visor, eh?" repeated the other. "Well, there's going to be anadvertisement in the Evening Truth to-day, by me. Here's a proof of it."
Average Jones took the slip and read it.
LOST--Necklace of curious blue stones from Hotel Denton, night of August 6. Reward greater than value of stones for return to hotel. No questions asked.
"Reward greater than value of stones," commented Average Jones. "There'sa sentimental interest, then?"
"Will you take the case?" returned Kirby abruptly.
"At least I'll look into it," replied Average Jones.
"Come to the hotel, then, and lunch with me, and I'll open up the wholething."
Across a luncheon-table, at the quiet, old-fashioned Hotel Denton, Kirbyunburdened himself.
"You know all that's necessary about me. The--the other party in thematter is Mrs. Hale. She's a young widow. We've been engaged forsix months; were to be married in a fortnight. Now she insists on apostponement. That's where I want your help."
Average Jones moved uneasily in his chair. "Really, Mr. Kirby, lovers'quarrels aren't in my line."
"There's been no quarrel. We're as much engaged now as ever, in spiteof the return of the ring. It's only her infern--her deep-rootedsuperstition that's caused this trouble. One can't blame her; her fatherand mother were both killed in an accident after some sort of 'ghostlywarning.' The first thing I gave her, after our engagement, was anecklace of these stones"--he tapped his scarf pin--"that I'd selected,one by one, myself. They're beautiful, as you see, but they're notparticularly valuable; only semiprecious. The devil of it is thatthey're the subject of an Indian legend. The Indians and Mexicans callthem "blue fires," and say they have the power to bind and loose inlove. Edna has been out in that country; she's naturally high strung andresponsive to that sort of thing, as I told you, and she fairly soakedin all that nonsense. To make it worse, when I sent them to her I wrotethat--that--" a dul
l red surged up under the tan skin--"that as long asthe fire in the stones burned blue for her my heart would be all hers.Now the necklace is gone. You can imagine the effect on a woman of thattemperament. And you can see the result." He pointed with a face ofmisery to the solitaire on his watch-chain. "She insisted on givingthis back. Says that a woman as careless as she proved herself can't betrusted with jewelry. And she's hysterically sure that misfortunewill follow us for ever if we're married without recovering the foolnecklace. So she's begged a postponement."
"Details," said Average Jones crisply.
"She's here at this hotel. Has a small suite on the third floor. Camedown from her home in central New York to meet my mother, whom she hadnever seen. Mother's here, too, on the same floor. Night before lastMrs. Hale thought she heard a noise in her outer room. She made alook-see, but found nothing. In the morning when she got up, about ten(she's a late riser) the necklace was gone."
"Where had it been left?"
"On a stand in her sitting-room."
"Anything else taken?"
"That's the strange part of it. Her purse, with over a hundred dollarsin it, which lay under the necklace, wasn't touched."
"Does she usually leave valuables around in that casual way?"
"Well, you see, she's always stayed at the Denton and she felt perfectlysecure here."
"Any other thefts in the hotel?"
"Not that I can discover. But one of the guests on the same floor withMrs. Hale saw a fellow acting queerly that same night. There he sits,yonder, at that table. I'll ask him to come over."
The guest, an elderly man, already interested in the case, was willingenough to tell all he knew.
"I was awakened by some one fumbling at my door and making a clinkingnoise," he explained. "I called out. Nobody answered. Almost immediatelyI heard a noise across the hall. I opened my door. A man was fussing atthe keyhole of the room opposite. He was very clumsy. I said, 'is thatyour room?' He didn't even look at me. In a moment he started down thehallway. He walked very fast, and I could hear him muttering to himself.He seemed to be carrying something in front of him with both hands. Itwas his keys, I suppose. Anyway I could hear it clink. At the end ofthe hall he stopped, turned to the door at the left and fumbled at thekeyhole for quite a while. I could bear his keys clink again. This time,I suppose, he had the right room, for be unlocked it and went in. Ilistened for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was nothing further."
Average Jones looked at Kirby with lifted brows of inquiry. Kirbynodded, indicating that the end room was Mrs. Hales'.
"How was the man dressed?" asked Average Jones.
"Grayish dressing-gown and bed-slippers. He was tall and had gray hair."
"Many thanks. Now, Mr. Kirby, will you take me to see Mrs. Hale?"
The young widow received them in her sitting-room. She was of theslender, big-eyed, sensitive type of womanhood; her piquant face marredby the evidences of sleeplessness and tears. To Average Jones she gaveher confidence at once. People usually did.
"I felt sure the advertisement would bring us help," she said wistfully."Now, I feel surer than ever."
"Faith helps the worst case," said the young man, smiling. "Mr. Kirbytells me that the intruder awakened you."
"Yes; and I'm a very heavy sleeper. Still I can't say positively thatanything definite roused me; it was rather an impression of some one'sbeing about. I came out of my bedroom and looked around the outer room,but there was nobody there."
"You didn't think to look for the necklace?"
"No," she said with a little gasp; "if I only had!"
"And--er--you didn't happen to hear a clinking noise, did you?"
"No."
"After he'd got into the room he'd put the key up, wouldn't he?"suggested Kirby.
"You're assuming that he had a key."
"Of course he had a key. The guest across the ball saw him trying it onthe other doors and heard it clink against the lock."
"If he had a key to this room why did he try it on several other doorsfirst?" propounded Average Jones. "As for the clinking noise, in whichI'm a good deal interested--may I look at your key, Mrs. Hale?"
She handed it to him. He tried it on the lock, outside, jabbing at themetal setting. The resultant sound was dull and wooden. "Not much of theclink which our friend describes as having heard, is it?" he remarked.
"Then how could he get into my room?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Are you sure your door was locked?"
"Certain. As soon as I missed the necklace I looked at the catch."
"That was in the morning. But the night before?"
"I always slip the spring. And I know I did this time because it hadbeen left unsprung so that Mr. Kirby's mother could come in and out ofmy sitting-room, and I remember springing it when she left for bed."
"Sometimes these locks don't work." Slipping the catch back, AverageJones pressed the lever down. There was a click, but the ward failed toslip. At the second attempt the lock worked. But repeated trials provedthat more than half the time the door did not lock.
"So," observed Average Jones, "I think we may dismiss the key theory."
"But the locked door this morning?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"The intruder may have done that as he left."
"I don't see why," protested Kirby, in a tone which indicated a waningfaith in Jones.
"By way of confusing the trail. Possibly he hoped to suggest that he'descaped by the fire-escape. Presumably he was on the balcony when Mrs.Hale came out into this room."
As he spoke Average Jones laid a hand on the heavy net curtains whichhung before the balcony window. Instead of parting them, however, hestood with upturned eyes.
"Was that curtain torn before yesterday?" he asked Mrs. Hale.
"I hardly think so. The hotel people are very, careful in the up-keep ofthe rooms."
Jones mounted a chair with scant respect for the upholstery, andexamined the damaged drapery. Descending, he tugged tentatively at theother curtain, first with his right hand, then with his left; thenwith both. The fabric gave a little at the last test. Jones disappearedthrough the window.
When he returned, after five minutes, he held in his hand some scrapingsof the rusted iron which formed the balcony railing.
"You're a mining man, Mr. Kirby," he said. "Would you say that assayedanything?"
Kirby examined the glinting particles. "Gold," he said decisively.
"Ah, then the necklace rubbed with some violence against the railing.Now, Mrs. Hale, how long were you awake?"
"Ten or fifteen minutes. I remember that a continuous rattling of wagonsbelow kept up for a little while. And I heard one of the drivers callout something about taking the air."
"Er--really!" Average Jones became suddenly absorbed in his seal ring.He turned it around five accurate times and turned it back an equalnumber of revolutions. "Did he--er--get any answer?"
"Not that I heard."
The young man pondered, then drew a chair up to, Mrs. Hale's escritoire,and, with an abrupt "excuse me," helped himself to pen, ink and paper.
"There!" he said, after five minutes' work. "That'll do for a starter.You see," he added, handing the product of his toil to Mrs. Hale, "thisstreet happens to be the regular cross-town route for the milk thatcomes over by one of the minor ferries. If you heard a number of wagonspassing in the early morning they were the milk-vans. Hence this."
Mrs. Hale read:
"MILK-DRIVERS, ATTENTION--Delaware Central mid-town route. Who talked to man outside hotel early morning of August 7? Twenty dollars to right man. Apply personally to Jones, Ad-Visor, Astor Court Temple, New York."
"For the coming issue of the Milk-Dealers' Journal," explained itsauthor. "Now, Mr. Kirby, I want you to find out for me--Mrs. Hale canhelp you, since she has known the hotel people for years--the names ofall those who gave up rooms on this floor, or the floors above or below,yesterday morning, and ask whether they are known to the hotel people."
; "You think the thief is still in the hotel?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Hardly. But I think I see smoke from your blue fires. To make out thefigure through the smoke is not--" Average Jones broke off, shaking hishead. He was still shaking his head when he left the hotel.
It took three days for the milk-journal advertisement to work. On theafternoon of August tenth, a lank, husky-voiced teamster called at theoffice of the Ad-Visor and was passed in ahead of the waiting line.
"I'm after that twenty," he declared.
"Earn it," said Average Jones with equal brevity.
"Hotel Denton. Guy on the third floor balcony--"
"Right so far."
"Leanin' on the rail as if he was sick. I give him a hello. 'Takin' anip of night air, Bill?' I says. He didn't say nothin'."
"Did he do anything?"
"Kinder fanned himself an' jerked his head back over his shoulder.Meanin' it was too hot to sleep inside, I reckon. It sure was hot!"
"Fanned himself? How?"
"Like this." The visitor raised his hands awkwardly, cupped them, anddrew them toward his face.
"Er--with both hands?"
"Did you see him go in?"
"Nope."
"Here's your twenty," said Average Jones. "You're long on sense andshort on words. I wish there were more like you."
"Thanks. Thanks again," said the teamster, and went out.
Meantime Kirby had sent his list of the guests who had given up theirrooms on August seventh:
George M. Weaver, Jr., Utica, N. Y., well known to hotel people andvouched for by them.
Walker Parker, New Orleans, ditto.
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hull; quiet elderly people; first visit to hotel.
Henry M. Gillespie, Locke, N. Y. Middle-aged man; new guest.
C. F. Willard, Chicago; been going to hotel for ten years; vouched forby hotel people.
Armed with the list, Average Jones went to the Hotel Denton and spent abusy morning.
"I've had a little talk with the hotel servants," said he to Kirby, whenthe latter called to make inquiries. "Mr. Henry M. Gillespie, of Locke,New York, had room 168. It's on the same floor with Mrs. Hale's suite,at the farther end of the hall. He had only one piece of luggage, asuitcase marked H. M. G. That information I got from the porter. He lefthis room in perfect order except for one thing: one of the knobs onthe headboard of the old fashioned bed was broken off short. He didn'tmention the matter to the hotel people."
"What do you make of that?"
"It was a stout knob. Only a considerable effort of strength exertedin a peculiar way would have broken it as it was broken. There wassomething unusual going on in room 168, all right."
"Then you think Henry M. Gillespie, of Locke, New York, is our man."
"No," said Average Jones.
The Westerner's square jaw fell. "Why not?"
"Because there's no such person as Henry M. Gillespie, of Locke, NewYork. I've just sent there and found out."
Three stones of the fire-blue necklace returned on the current ofadvertised appeal. One was brought in by the night bartender of a"sporting" club. He had bought it from a man who had picked it up in agutter; just where, the finder couldn't remember. For the second a SouthBrooklyn pawnbroker demanded (and received) an exorbitant reward. Aflorist in Greenwich, Connecticut, contributed the last. With thatpatient attention to detail which is the A. B. C. of detective work,Average Jones traced down these apparently incongruous wanderings of thestones and then followed them all, back to Mrs. Hale's fire-escape.
The bartender's stone offered no difficulties. The setting which thepawnbroker brought in had been found on the city refuse heap by ascavenger. It had fallen through a grating into the hotel cellar, andhad been swept out with the rubbish to go to the municipal "dump." Theapparent mystery of the florist was lucid when Jones found that thehotel exchanged its shop-worn plants with the Greenwich Floral Company.His roaming eye, keen for every detail, had noticed a row of tubbedazaleas within the ground enclosure of the Denton. Recalling this tomind, it was easy for the Ad-Visor to surmise that the gem had droppedfrom the fire-escape into a tub, which was, shortly after, shippedto the florist. Thus it was apparent that the three jewels had beenstripped from the necklace by forcible contact with the iron rail of thefire-escape at the point where Average Jones had found the "color" ofprecious metal. The stones were identified by Kirby, from a peculiarityin the setting, as the end three, nearest the clasp at the back; apoint which Jones carefully noted. But there the trail ended. No morefire-blue stones came in.
For three weeks Average Jones issued advertisements like commands. Theadvertisements would, perhaps, have struck the formal-minded Kirby asevidences of a wavering intellect. Indeed, they present a curious andincongruous appearance upon the page of Average Jones' scrapbook, wherethey now mark a successful conclusion. The first reads as follows:
OH, YOU HOTEL MEN! Come through with the dope on H. M. G. What's he done to your place? Put a stamp on it and we'll swap dates on his past performances. A. Jones, Astor Court Temple, New York City.
This was spread abroad through the medium of Mine Host's Weekly andother organs of the hotel trade.
It was followed by this, of a somewhat later date:
WANTED-Slippery Sams, Human Eels, Fetter Kings etc Liberal reward to artist who sold Second-hand amateur, with instructions for use. Send full details, time and place to A. Jones, Court Temple, New York City.
Variety, the Clipper and the Billboard scattered the appeal broadcastthroughout "the profession." Thousands read it, and one answered it. Andwithin a few days after receiving that answer Jones wired to Kirby:
"Probably found. Bring Mrs. Hale to-morrow at 11. Answer. A. JONES."
Kirby answered. He also telegraphed voluminously to his ex-fiancee, whohad returned to her home, and who replied that she would leave by thenight train. Some minutes before the hour the pair were at AverageJones' office. Kirby fairly pranced with impatience while they were keptwaiting in a side room. The only other occupant was a man with a largeblack dress-suit case, who sat at the window in a slump of dejection. Heraised his head for a moment when they were summoned and let it sag downagain as they left.
Average Jones greeted his guests cordially. Their first questions to himwere significant of the masculine and feminine differences in point ofview.
"Have you got the necklace?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Have you got the thief?" queried Kirby.
"I haven't got the necklace and I haven't got the thief," announcedAverage Jones; "but I think I've got the man who's got the necklace."
"Did the thief hand it over to him?" demanded Kirby.
"Are you conversant with the Baconian system of thought, which Old Chipsused to preach to us at Hamilton?" countered Average Jones.
"Forgotten it if I ever knew it," returned Kirby.
"So I infer from your repeated use of the word 'thief.' Bacon'sprinciple--an admirable principle in detective work--is that we shouldlearn from things and not from the names of things. You are deludingyourself with a name. Because the law, which is always rigid andsometimes stupid, says that a man who takes that which does not belongto him is a thief, you've got your mind fixed on the name 'thief,' andthe idea of theft. If I had gone off on that tack I shouldn't have theinteresting privilege of introducing to you Mr. Harvey M. Greene, whonow sits in the outer room."
"H. M. G.," said Kirby quickly. "Is it possible that that decent-lookingold boy out there is the man who stole--"
"It is not," interrupted Average Jones with emphasis, "and I shall askyou, whatever may occur, to guard your speech from offensive expressionsof that sort while he is here."
"All right, if you say so," acquiesced the other. "But do you mindtelling me how you figure out a man traveling under an alias and helpinghimself to other people's property on any other basis than that he's athief?"
"A, B, C," replied Average Jones; "as thus: A--Thieves don't wanderabout in dressing-
gowns. B--Nor take necklaces and leave purses.C--Nor strip gems violently apart and scatter them like largess fromfire-escapes. The rest of the alphabet I postpone. Now for Mr. Greene."
The man from the outer room entered and nervously acknowledged hisintroduction to the others.
"Mr. Greene," explained Jones, "has kindly consented to help clear upthe events of the night of August sixth at the Hotel Denton and"--hepaused for a moment and shifted his gaze to the newcomer's narrowshoes--"and--er--the loss of--er--Mrs. Hale's jeweled necklace."
The boots retracted sharply, as under the impulse of some suddenemotion; startled surprise, for example. "What?" cried Greene, inobvious amazement. "I don't know anything about a necklace."
A twinkle of satisfaction appeared at the corners of Average Jones'eyes.
"That also is possible," he admitted. "If you'll permit the form of anexamination; when you came to the Hotel Denton on August sixth, did youcarry the same suitcase you now have with you, and similarly packed?"
"Ye-es. As nearly as possible."
"Thank you. You were registered under the name of Henry M. Gillespie?"
The other's voice was low and strained as he replied in the affirmative.
"For good reasons of your own?"
"Yes."
"For which same reasons you left the hotel quite early on the followingmorning?"
"Yes."
"Your business compels you to travel a great deal?"
"Yes."
"Do you often register under an alias?"
"Yes," returned the other, his face twitching.
"But not always?"
"No."
"In a large city and a strange hotel, for example, you'd take any namewhich would correspond to the initials, H. M. G., on your dress-suitcase. But in a small town where you were known, you'd be obliged toregister under your real name of Harvey M. Greene. It was that necessitywhich enabled me to find you."
"I'd like to know how you did it," said the other gloomily.
From the left-hand drawer of his desk Jones produced a piece of netting,with hooks along one end.
"Do you recognize the material, Mrs. Hale," he asked.
"Why, it's the same stuff as the Hotel Denton curtains, isn't it?" sheasked.
"Yes," said Average Jones, attaching it to the curtain rod at the sidedoor. "Now, will you jerk that violently with one hand?"
"It will tear loose, won't it?" she asked.
"That's just what it will do. Try it."
The fabric ripped from the hooks as she jerked.
"You remember," said Jones, "that your curtain was torn partly across,and not ripped from the hook at all. Now see."
He caught the netting in both hands and tautened it sharply. It began topart.
"Awkward," he said, "yet it's the only way it could have been done.Now, here's a bedpost, exactly like the one in room 168, occupied by Mr.Greene at the Denton. Kirby, you're a powerful man. Can you break thatknob off with one hand?"
He wedged the post firmly in a chair for the trial. The bedpostresisted.
"Could you do it with both hands?" he asked.
"Probably, if I could get a hold. But there isn't surface enough for agood hold."
"No, there isn't. But now." Jones coiled a rope around the post andhanded the end to Kirby. He pulled sharply. The knob snapped and rolledon the floor.
"Q. E. D.," said Kirby. "But it doesn't mean anything to me."
"Doesn't it? Let me recall some other evidence. The guest who saw Mr.Greene in the hallway thought he was carrying something in both hands.The milk driver who hailed him on the balcony noticed that he gesturedawkwardly with both hands. In what circumstances would a man use bothhands for action normally performed with one?"
"Too much drink," hazarded Kirby, looking dubiously at Greene, who hadbeen following Jones' discourse with absorbed attention.
"Possibly. But it wouldn't fit this case."
"Physical weakness," suggested Mrs. Hale.
"Rather a shrewd suggestion. But no weakling broke off that bedpost inHenry M. Gillespie's room. I assumed the theory that the phenomena ofthat night were symptomatic rather than accidental. Therefore, I set outto find in what other places the mysterious H. M. G. had performed."
"How did you know my initials really were H. M. G.?" asked Mr. Greene.
"The porter at the Denton had seen them 'Henry M. Gillespie's' suitcase.So I sent out loudly printed call to all hotel clerks for informationabout a troublesome H. M. G."
He handed the "OH, YOU HOTEL MEN" advertisement to the little group.
"Plenty of replies came. You have, if I may say it without offense, Mr.Greene, an unfortunate reputation among hotel proprietors. Small wonderthat you use an alias. From the Hotel Carpathia in Boston I got aresponse more valuable than I had dared to hope. An H. M. G. guest--H.Morton Garson, of Pillston, Pennsylvania (Mr. Greene nodded)--hadwrecked his room and left behind him this souvenir."
Leaning over, Jones pulled, clinking from the scrap-basket, a fine steelchain. It was endless and some twelve feet in total length, and had twosmall loops, about a foot apart. Mrs. Hale and Kirby stared at it inspeechless surprise.
"Yes, that is mine," said Mr. Greene with composure. "I left it becauseit had ceased to be serviceable to me."
"Ah! That's very interesting," said Average Jones with a keen glance."Of course when I examined it and found no locks, I guessed that itwas a trick chain, and that there were invisible springs in the wristloops."
"But why should any one chain Mr. Greene to his bed with a trick chain?"questioned Mrs. Hale, whose mind had been working swiftly.
"He chained himself," explained Jones, "for excellent reasons. As thereis no regular trade in these things, I figured that he probably boughtit from some juggler whose performance had given him the idea. So,"continued Jones, producing a specimen of his advertisements in thetheatrical publications, "I set out to find what professional had solda 'prop', to an amateur. I found the sale had been made at Marsfield,Ohio, late in November of last year, by a 'Slippery Sam,' termed 'TheElusive Edwardes.' On November twenty-eighth of last year Mr. Harvey M.Greene, of Richmond, Virginia, was registered at the principal, in factthe only decent hotel, at Barsfield. I wrote to him and here he is."
"Yes; but where is my necklace?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"On my word of honor, madam, I know nothing of your necklace," assertedGreene, with a painful contraction of his features. "If this gentlemancan throw any more light--"
"I think I can," said Average Jones. "Do you remember anything of thatnight's events after you broke off the bedpost and left your room--themeeting with a guest who questioned you in the hall, for example?"
"Nothing. Not a thing until I awoke and found myself on thefire-escape."
"Awoke?" cried Kirby. "Were you asleep all the time?"
"Certainly. I'm a confirmed sleep-walker worst type. That's why I gounder an alias. That's why I got the trick handcuff chain and chainedmyself up with it, until I found it drove me fighting', crazy in mysleep when I couldn't break away. That's why I slept in my dressing-gownthat night at the Denton. There was a red light in the hall outsideand any light, particularly a colored one, is likely to set me going.I probably dreamed I was escaping from a locomotive--that's a commondelusion of mine--and sought refuge in the first door that was open."
"Wait a minute," said Average Jones. "You--er--say that youare--er--peculiarly susceptible to--er--colored light."
"Yes."
"Mrs. Hale, was the table on which the necklace lay in line with anylight outside?"
"I think probably with the direct ray of an electric globe shiningthrough the farther window."
"Then, Mr. Greene," said, Average Jones, "the glint of the fire-bluestones undoubtedly caught your eye. You seized on the necklace andcarried it out on the fire-escape balcony, where the cool air or themilk-driver's hail awakened you. Have you no recollection of seeing sucha thing?"
"Not the faintest, unhappily."
"Then he
must have dropped it to the ground below," said Kirby.
"I don't think so," controverted Jones slowly. "Mr. Greene must havebeen clinging to it tenaciously when it swung and caught against therailing, stripping off the three end stones. If the whole necklace haddropped it would have broken up fine, and more than three stones wouldhave returned to us in reply to the advertisements. And in that case,too, the chances against the end stones alone returning, out of allthe thirty-six, are too unlikely to be considered. No, the fire-bluenecklace never fell to the ground."
"It certainly didn't remain on the balcony," said Kirby. "It would havebeen discovered there."
"Quite so," assented Average Jones. "We're getting at it by the processof exclusion. The necklace didn't fall. It didn't stay. Therefore?"--helooked inquiringly at Mrs. Hale.
"It returned," she said quickly.
"With Mr. Greene," added Average Jones.
"I tell you," cried that gentleman vehemently, "I haven't set eyes onthe wretched thing."
"Agreed," returned Average Jones; "which doesn't at all affect the pointI wish to make. You may recall, Mr. Greene, that in my message I askedyou to pack your suitcase exactly as it was when you left the hotel withit on the morning of August seventh."
"I've done so with the exception of the conjurer's chain, of course."
"Including the dressing-gown you had on, that night, I assume. Have youworn it since?"
"No. It hung in my closet until yesterday, when I folded it to pack. Yousee, I--I've had to give up the road on account of my unhappy failing."
"Then permit me." Average Jones stooped to, the dress-suit case, drewout the garment and thrust his hand into its one pocket. He turned toMrs. Hale.
"Would you--er--mind--er--leaning over a bit?" he said.
She bent her dainty head, then gave a startled cry of delight as theyoung man, with a swift motion, looped over her shoulders a chain ofliving blue fires which gleamed and glinted in the sunlight.
"They were there all the time," she exclaimed; "and you knew it."
"Guessed it," he corrected, "by figuring out that they couldn't wellbe elsewhere--unless on the untenable hypothesis that our friend, Mr.Greene here, was a thief."
"Which only goes to prove," said Kirby soberly, "that evidence may be amighty deceptive accuser."
"Which only goes to prove," amended Average Jones, "that there's nofire, even the bluest, without traceable smoke."'