XV
THE PHANTOM CIRCUIT
"I want to go to Margot's again to-day," volunteered Miss Kendall thefollowing morning, adding with a smile, "You see, I've got the habit.Really, though, there is a mystery about that place that fascinates me.I want to find out more about this Marie, or Margot, or whoever it wasthat I thought I heard there. And then those doped cigarettes interestme. You see, I haven't forgotten what you said about dope the firsttime we talked about Dr. Harris. They will be more free with me, too,now that I am no longer a stranger."
"That is a good idea," agreed Kennedy, who was now chafing under theenforced inaction of the case. "I hope that this time they will let youinto some of the secrets. There is one thing, though, I wish you'd lookout for especially."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I should like to know what ways there are of communicating with theoutside. You realize, of course, that it is very easy for them, if theycome to suspect you, to frame up something in a place like that. Thereare strong-arm women as well as men, and I'm not at all sure that theremay not be some men besides Dr. Harris who are acquainted with thatplace. At any rate Dr. Harris is unscrupulous enough himself."
"I shall make it a point to observe that," she said as she left us. "Ihope I'll have something to tell you when I come back."
"Walter," remarked Craig as the door closed, "that is one of the gamestgirls I ever knew."
I looked across at him inquiringly.
"Don't worry, my boy," he added, reading my expression. "She's not ofthe marrying kind, any more than I am."
The morning passed and half of the afternoon without any word from MissKendall. Kennedy was plainly becoming uneasy, when a hurried footstepin the hall was followed by a more hurried opening of the door.
"Let me sit down, just a minute, to collect myself," panted MissKendall, pressing her hands to her temples where the blue veins stoodout and literally throbbed. "I'm all in."
"Why, what is the matter?" asked Kennedy, placing a chair and switchingon an electric fan, while he quickly found a bottle of restorativesalts which was always handy for emergencies in the laboratory.
"Oh--such a time as I've had! Wait--let me see whether I can recollectit in order."
A few minutes later she resumed. "I went in, as before. There seemed tobe quite a change in the way they treated me. I must have made a goodimpression the first time. A second visit seemed to have opened the wayfor everything. Evidently they think I am all right.
"Well, I went through much the same thing as I did before, only I triedto make it not quite so elaborate, down to the point where several ofus were sitting in loose robes in the lounging-room. That was the part,you know, that interested me before.
"The maid came in with the cigarettes and I smoked one of the dopedones. They watch everything that you do so closely there, and themoment I smoked one they offered me another. I don't know what was inthem, but I fancy there must be just a trace of opium. They made mefeel exhilarated, then just a bit drowsy. I managed to make away withthe second without inhaling much of the smoke, for my head was in awhirl by this time. It wasn't so much that I was afraid I couldn't takecare of myself as it was that I was afraid that it would blunt thekeenness of my observation and I might miss something."
"Besides the cigarettes, was there anything else?" asked Craig.
"Yes, indeed. I didn't see anyone there I recognized, but I heard someof them talk. One was taking a little veronal; another said somethingabout heroin. It was high-toned hitting the pipe, if you call itthat--a Turkish bath, followed by massage, and then a safe complementof anything you wanted, taken leisurely by these aristocratic dopefiends.
"There was one woman there who I am sure was snuffing cocaine. She hada little gold and enamelled box like a snuff box beside her from whichshe would take from time to time a pinch of some white crystals andinhale it vigorously, now and then taking a little sip of a liqueurthat was brought in to her."
"That's the way," observed Kennedy. "There are always a considerablenumber of inhuman beings who are willing to make capital out of theweaknesses of others. This illicit sale of cocaine is one example. Suchconditions have existed with the opium products a long time. Now itseems to be the 'coke fiend.'"
"I was glad I did just as I did," resumed Clare, "because it wasn'tlong before I saw that the thing to do was to feign drowsiness. A maidcame over to me and in a most plausible and insinuating way hinted thatperhaps I might feel like resting and that if the noise in the beautyparlour annoyed me, they had the entire next house--the one next to theMontmartre, you know--which had been fitted up as a dormitory."
"You didn't go?" cut in Craig immediately.
"I did not. I pleaded an engagement. Why, the place is a regular dopejoint."
"Exactly. I suspected as much as you went along. Everything seems tohave moved uptown lately, to have been veneered over to meet thefastidious second decade of the twentieth century. But underneath itall are the same old vices. I'm glad you didn't attempt to go into thenext house. Anyhow, now we are certain about the character of theplace. Did you notice anything about the means of communicating withthe outside--the telephones, for instance?"
Miss Kendall was evidently feeling much better now.
"Oh, yes," she answered. "I took particular care to observe that. Theyhave a telephone, but there is a girl who attends to it, although theydon't really need one. She listens to everything. Then, too, in theother house--You remember I spoke about the girl whom we saw paying Ikethe Dropper? It seems that she has a similar position at the telephoneover there."
"So they have two telephones," repeated Craig.
"Yes."
"Good. There are always likely to be some desperate characters inplaces like that. If we ever have anyone go into that dope joint wemust have some way of keeping in touch and protecting the person."
Miss Kendall had gone home for a few hours of rest after her excitingexperience. Craig was idly tapping with his fingers on the broad arm ofhis chair.
Suddenly he jumped up. "I'm going up there to look that joint over fromthe outside," he announced.
We walked past the front of it without seeing anything in particular,then turned the corner and were on the Avenue. Kennedy paused andlooked at a cheap apartment house on which was a sign, "Flats to Let."
"I think I'll get the janitor to show me one of them," he said.
One was on the first floor in the rear. Kennedy did not seem to be verymuch interested in the rent. A glance out of the window sufficed toshow him that he could see the back of the Montmartre and some of thehouses. It took only a minute to hire it, at least conditionally, and abill to the janitor gave us a key.
"What are you going to do?"
"We can't do anything just yet, but it will be dark by the time I getover to the laboratory and back and then we can do something."
That night we started prowling over the back fences down the street.Fortunately it was a very black night and Craig was careful not to useeven the electric bull's-eye which he had brought over from thelaboratory together with some wire and telephone instruments.
As we crouched in the shadow of one of the fences, he remarked: "Justas I expected; the telephone wires run along the tops of the fences.Here's where they run into 72--that's the beauty parlour. These runinto 70--that's the dope joint. Then next comes the Montmartre itself,reaching all the way back as far as the lot extends."
We had come up close to the backs of the houses by this time. Theshades were all drawn and the blinds were closed in both of them, sothat we had really nothing to fear provided we kept quiet. Besides theback yards looked unkempt, as if no one cared much about them.
Kennedy flashed the electric bull's-eye momentarily on the wires. Theybranched off from the back fence down the party fence to the houses,both sets on one fence.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "It is better than I hoped. The two sets go on upto the first floor together, then separate. One set goes into thebeauty parlour; the other into the dope
joint."
Craig had quietly climbed up on a shed over the basements of both thehouses. He was working quickly with all the dexterity of a lineman. Totwo of the four wires he had attached one other. Then to two others heattached another, all the connections being made at exactlycorresponding points.
The next step was to lead these two newly connected wires to a windowon the first floor of the house next to the Montmartre. He fastenedthem lightly to the closed shutter, let himself down to the yard againand we beat a slow and careful retreat to our flat.
In one of the yards down near the corner, however, he paused. Here wasan iron box fastened to one of the fences, a switch box or something ofthe sort belonging to the telephone company. To it were led all thewires from the various houses on the block and to each wire wasfastened a little ticket on which was scrawled in indelible pencil thenumber of the house to which the wire ran.
Kennedy found the two pairs that ran to 70 and 72, cut in on them inthe same way that he had done before and fastened two other wires, oneto each pair. This pair he led along and into the flat.
"I've fixed it," he explained, "so that anyone who can get into thatroom on the back of the first floor of the dope joint can communicatewith the outside very easily over the telephone, without beingoverheard, either."
"How?" I asked completely mystified by the apparent simplicity of theproceeding.
"I have left two wires sticking on the outside shutter of that room,"he replied. "All that anyone who gets into that room has to do is toopen the window softly, reach out and secure them. With them fastenedto a transmitter which I have, he can talk to me in the flat around thecorner and no one will ever know it."
There was nothing more that we could do that night and we waitedimpatiently until Clare Kendall came to make her daily report in themorning.
"The question is, whom are we going to get whom we can trust to go tothat dope joint and explore it?" remarked Kennedy, after we hadfinished telling Miss Kendall about our experiences of the night before.
"Carton must have someone who can take a course in beauty and dope," Ireplied. "Or perhaps Miss Kendall has one of her investigators whom shecan trust."
"If the thing gets too rough," added Craig, "whoever is in there cantelephone to us, if she will only be careful first to get that backroom in the 'dormitory,' as they call it. Then all we'll have to dowill be to jump in there and---"
"I'll do it," interrupted Clare.
"No, Miss Kendall," denied Kennedy firmly.
"Let me do it. There is no one whom I can trust more than myself.Besides, I know the places now."
She said it with an air of quiet determination, as if she had beenthinking it over ever since she returned from her visit of the daybefore.
Kennedy and Miss Kendall faced each other for a moment. It was evidentthat it was against just this that he had been trying to provide. Onher part it was equally evident that she had made up her mind.
"Miss Kendall," said Kennedy, meeting her calm eye, "you are the mostnervy detective, barring none, that it has ever been my pleasure tomeet. I yield under protest."
I must say that it was with a great deal of misgiving that I saw Clareenter Margot's. We had gone as far as the corner with her, had watchedher go in, and then hurried into the unfurnished apartment which Craighad rented on the Avenue.
As we sat on the rickety chairs which we had borrowed from the janitorunder pretence of wanting to reach something, the minutes that passedseemed like hours.
I wondered what had happened to the plucky girl in her devotion to thecause in which she had enlisted, and several times I could see from theexpression of Craig's face that he more and more regretted that he hadgiven in to her and had allowed her to go, instead of adhering to hisoriginal plan. From what she had told us about the two places, I triedto imagine what she was doing, but each time I ended by having anincreased feeling of apprehension.
Kennedy sat grimly silent with the receiver of the telephone glued tohis ear, straining his hearing to catch even the faintest sound.
At last his face brightened.
"She's there all right," he exclaimed to me. "Managed to make themthink in the beauty parlour that she was a dope fiend and pretty fargone. Insisted that she must have the back room on the first floorbecause she was afraid of fire. She kept the door open so that shewould not miss anything, but it was a long time before she got a chanceto reach out of the window and get the wires and connect them with theinstruments I gave her. But it's all right now.
"Yes, Miss Kendall, right here, listening to everything you get achance to say. Only be careful. There is no use spoiling the game bytrying to talk to me until you have all that you think you can obtainin the way of evidence. Don't let them think you have any means ofcommunication with the outside or they'll go to any length to silenceyou. We'll be here all the time and the moment you think there is anydanger, call us."
Kennedy seemed visibly relieved by the message.
"She says that she has found out a great deal already, but didn't daretake the time to tell it just yet," he explained. "By the way, Walter,while we are waiting, I wish you would go out and see whether there isa policeman on fixed post anywhere around here."
Five minutes later when I returned, having located the nearest peg posta long block away on Broadway, Kennedy raised a warning hand. She wastelephoning again.
"She says that attendants come and go in her room so often that it'shard to get a chance to say anything, but she is sure that there issomeone hidden there, perhaps Marie or Madame Margot, whoever she is,or it may even be Betty Blackwell. They watch very closely."
"But," I asked, almost in a whisper, as if someone over there mighthear me, "isn't this a very dangerous proceeding, Craig? It seems to meyou are taking long chances. Suppose one of the telephone girls ineither house, whom she told us keep such sharp watch over the wires,should happen to be calling up or answering a call. She would hearsomeone else talking over the wire and it wouldn't be difficult for herto decide who it was. Then there'd be a row."
"Not a chance," smiled Kennedy. "No one except ourselves, not evenCentral, can hear a word of what is said over these connections I havemade. This is what is called a phantom circuit."
"A phantom circuit?" I repeated. "What kind of a weird thing is that?"
"It is possible to superimpose another circuit over the four telephonewires of two existing circuits, making a so-called phantom line," heexplained, as we waited for the next message. "It seems fantastic atfirst, but it is really in accordance with the laws of electricity. Youuse each pair of wires as if it were one wire and do not interfere inthe least with them, but are perfectly independent of both. The currentfor the third circuit enters the two wires of one of the firstcircuits, divides, reunites, so to speak, at the other end, thenreturns through the wires of the second circuit, dividing and reunitingagain, thus just balancing the two divisions of the current and notcausing any effect on either of the two original circuits. Ratherwonderful, isn't it?"
"I should say that it was," I marvelled. "I am glad I see it actuallyworking rather than have to believe it second hand."
"It's all due to a special repeating coil of high efficiency absolutelybalanced as to resistances, number of turns of wire, and so on which Ihave used--Yes--Miss Kendall--we are here. Now please don't let thingsgo on too far. At the first sign of danger, call. We can get in allright. You have the evidence now that will hold in any court as far asclosing up that joint goes, and I'll take a chance of breakinginto--well, Hades, to get to you. Good-bye.
"I guess it is Hades there," he resumed to me. "She has just telephonedthat one of the dope fiends upstairs--a man, so that you see they admitboth men and women there, after all--had become violent and Harris hadto be called to quiet him before he ran amuck. She said she wasabsolutely sure, this time at least, that it was Harris. As I wassaying about this phantom circuit, it is used a good deal now.Sometimes they superimpose a telephone conversation over the properarrangement of telegraph messa
ges and vice versa.
"What's that?" cried Craig, suddenly breaking off. "They heard youtalking that last time, and you have locked the door against them? Theyare battering it down? Move something heavy, if you can, up againstit--the bureau, anything to brace it. We'll be there directly. Come on,Walter. There isn't time to get around Broadway for that fixed postcop. We must do it ourselves. Hurry."
Craig dashed breathlessly out on the street. I followed closely.
"Hurry," he panted. "Those people haven't any use for anyone that theythink will snitch on them."
As we turned the corner, we ran squarely into a sergeant slowly goinghis rounds with eyes conveniently closed to what he was paid not to see.
Kennedy stopped and grabbed his arm.
"There's a girl up here in 72 who is being mistreated," he cried."Come. You must help us get her out."
"Aw, g'wan. Whatyer givin' us? 72? That's a residence."
"Say--look here. I've got your number. You'll be up on the most seriouscharges of your whole career if you don't act on the information Ihave. All of Ike the Dropper's money'll go for attorney's fees andsomeone will land in Sing Sing. Now, come!"
We had gained the steps of the house. Outside all was dark, blank, andbare. There was every evidence of the most excessive outward order anddecency--not a sign of the conflict that was raging within.
Before the policeman could pull the bell, which would have been a firstwarning of trouble to the inmates, Kennedy had jumped from the highstoop to a narrow balcony running along the front windows of the firststory, had smashed the glass into splinters with a heavy object whichhe had carried concealed under his coat, and was engaged in a herculeaneffort to wrench apart some iron bars which had been carefullyconcealed behind the discreetly drawn shades.
As one yielded, he panted, "No use to try the door. The grill workinside guards that too well. There goes another."
Inside now we could hear cries that told us that the whole house wasroused, that even the worst of the drug fiends had come at least partlyto his senses and begun to realize his peril. From Margot's beautyparlour a couple of girls and a man staggered forth in a vain effort toseem to leave quietly.
"Close that place, too, officer," cried Kennedy to the now astoundedpoliceman. "We'll attend to this house."
The sergeant slowly lumbered across in time to let two more couplesescape. It was evident that he hated the job; indeed, would havearrested Kennedy in the old days before Carton had thrown such a scareinto the grafters. But Kennedy's assurance had flabbergasted him and heobeyed.
Another bar yielded, and another. Together we squeezed in and foundourselves in a dark front parlour. There was nothing to distinguish itfrom any ordinary reception room in the blackness.
Hurried footsteps were heard as if several people were retreating intothe next house. Down the hall we hastened to the back room.
A second we listened. All was silent. Was Clare safe? It lookedominous. Still the door, partly battered in, was closed.
"Miss Kendall!" called Craig, bending down close to the door.
"Is it you, Professor Kennedy?" came back a faint voice from the otherside.
"Yes. Are you all right?"
There was no answer, but she was evidently tugging at something whichappeared to be a heavy piece of furniture braced against the door. Atlast the bolt was slipped back, and there in the doorway she swayed,half exhausted but safe.
"Yes, all right," murmured Clare, bracing herself against thechiffonier which she had moved away from the door, "just a little shakyfrom the drugs--but all right. Don't bother about me, now. I can takecare of myself. I'll feel better in a minute. Upstairs--that is where Ithink that woman is. Please, please don't--I'm all right--truly.Upstairs."
Kennedy had taken her gently by the arm and she sank down in an easychair.
"Please hurry," she implored. "You may be too late."
She had risen again in spite of us and was out in the lower hall. Wecould hear a footstep on the stairs.
"There she goes, the woman who has been hiding up there, Madame--"
Clare cut the words short.
A woman had hastily descended the steps, evidently seeing heropportunity to escape while we were in the back of the house. She hadreached the street door, which now was open, and the flaming arc lightin front of the house shone brightly on her.
I looked, expecting to see our dark-haired, olive-skinned Marie. Istared in amazement. Instead, this woman was fair, her hair was flaxen,her figure more slim, even her features were different. She was astranger. I could not recollect ever having seen her.
Again I strained my eyes, thinking it might be Betty Blackwell at last,but this woman bore no resemblance apparently to her. She looked older,more mature.
In my haste I noted that she had a bandage about her face, as if shehad been injured recently, for there seemed to be blood on it where ithad worked itself loose in her flight. She gave one glance at us, andquickened her pace at seeing us so close. The bandage, already loose,slipped off her face and fell to the floor. Still she did not seemother than a stranger to me, though I had a half-formed notion that Ihad seen that face somewhere before. She did not stop to pick thebandage up. She had gained the door and was down the front step on thesidewalk before we could stop her.
Taxicabs in droves seemed to have collected, like buzzards over a deadbody. They were doing a thriving business carrying away those whosought to escape. Into one by which a man was waiting in the shadow thewoman hurried. The man looked for all the world like Dr. Harris. Aninstant later the chauffeur was gone.
The policeman had the front door of Madame Margot's covered all right,so efficiently that he was neglecting everything else. From thebasement now and then a scurrying figure catapulted itself out and waslost in the curious crowd that always collects at any time of day ornight on a New York street when there is any excitement.
"It is of no use to expect to capture anyone now," exclaimed Craig, aswe hurried back into the dope joint. "I hardly expected to do it. All Ipanted was to protect Miss Kendall. But we have the evidence againstthis joint that will close it for good."
He stooped and picked up the bandage.
"I think I'll keep that," he remarked thoughtfully. "I wonder what thatblonde woman wore that for?"
"She MUST be up there," reiterated Clare, who had followed us. "I heardthem talking, it seemed to me only the moment before I heard you in thehall."
The excitement seemed now to have the effect of quieting her unstrungnerves and carrying her through.
"Let us go upstairs," said Kennedy.
From room to room we hurried in the darkness, lighting the lights. Theywere all empty, yet each one gave its mute testimony to the characterof its use and its former occupants. There were opium lay-outs withpipes, lamps, yen haucks, and other paraphernalia in some. In othershad been cocaine snuffers. There seemed to be everything for drug usersof every kind.
At last in a small room in front on the top floor we came upon a girl,half insensible from a drug. She was vainly trying to make herselfpresentable for the street, ramblingly talking to herself in themeantime.
Again my hopes rose that we had found either the mysterious MarieMargot or Betty Blackwell. A second glance caused us all to pause insurprise and disappointment.
It was the Titian-haired girl from the Montmartre office.
Miss Kendall, recovering from the effects of the drugs which she hadbeen compelled to take in her heroic attempt to get at the dope joint,was endeavouring to quiet the girl from the Montmartre, who, nowvaguely recollecting us, seemed to realize that something had gonewrong and was trembling and crying pitifully.
"What's the matter with her?" I asked.
"Chloral," replied Miss Kendall in a low voice aside. "I suppose shehas had a wild night which she has followed by chloral to quiet hernerves, with little effect. Didn't you ever see them? They will go intoa drug store in this part of the city where such things are sold, weak,shaky, nervous wrecks. The clerk will s
ell them the stuff and they willretire for a moment into the telephone booth. Sometimes they will comeout looking as though they had never felt a moment's effect from theirwild debauches. But there are other times when they are too weakened toget over it so quickly. That is her case, poor girl."
The soothing hand which she laid on the girl's throbbing head was quitein contrast with the manner in which I recalled her to have spoken ofthe girl when first we saw her at the Montmartre. She must have seenthe look of surprise on my face.
"I can't condemn these girls too strongly when I see them themselves,"she remarked. "It would be so easy for them to stop and lead a decentlife, if they only would forget the white lights and the gay life thatallures them. It is when they are so down and out that I long to givethem a hand to help them up again and show them how foolish it is tomake slaves of themselves."
"Call a cab, Walter," said Kennedy, who had been observing the girlclosely. "There is nothing more that we can expect to accomplish here.Everybody has escaped by this time. But we must get this poor girl in aprivate hospital or sanitarium where she can recover."
Clare had disappeared. A moment later she returned from the room shehad had downstairs with her hat on.
"I'm going with her," she announced simply.
"What--you, Miss Kendall?"
"Yes. If a girl ever needed a friend, it is this girl now. There isnothing I can do for the moment. I will take care of her in myapartment until she is herself again."
The girl seemed to half understand, and to be grateful to Clare.Kennedy watched her hovering over the drug victim without attempting toexpress the admiration which he felt.
Just as the cab was announced, he drew Miss Kendall aside. "You're atrump," he said frankly. "Most people would pass by on the other sidefrom such as she is."
They talked for a moment as to the best place to go, then decided on aquiet little place uptown where convalescents were taken in.
"I think you can still be working on the case, if you care to do so,"suggested Craig as Miss Kendall and her charge were leaving.
"How?" she asked.
"When you get her to this sanitarium, try to be with her as much as youcan. I think if anyone can get anything out of her, you can. Rememberit is more than this girl's rescue that is at stake. If she can be gotto talk she may prove an important link toward piecing together thesolution of the mystery of Betty Blackwell. She must know many of theinside secrets of the Montmartre," he added significantly.
They had gone, and Craig and I had started to go also when we cameacross a negro caretaker who seemed to have stuck by the place duringall the excitement.
"Do you know that girl who just went out?" asked Craig.
"No, sah," she replied glibly.
"Look here," demanded Craig, facing her. "You know better than that.She has been here before, and you know it. I've a good mind to have youheld for being in charge of this place. If I do, all the Marie Margotsand Ike the Droppers can't get you out again."
The negress seemed to understand that this was no ordinary raid.
"Who is she?" demanded Craig.
"I dunno, sah. She come from next door."
"I know she did. She's the girl in the office of the Montmartre. Now,you know her. What is her name?"
The negress seemed to consider a moment, then quickly answered, "Deyalways calls her Miss Sybil here, sah, Sybil Seymour, sah."
"Thank you. I knew you had some name for her. Come, Walter. This isover for the present. A raid without arrests, too! It will be all overtown in half an hour. If we are going to do anything it must be donequickly."
We called on Carton and lost no time in having the men he could spareplaced in watching the railroads and steamship lines to prevent if wecould any of the gang from getting out of the city that way. It was anight of hard work with no results. I began to wonder whether theymight not have escaped finally after all. There seemed to be no trace.Harris had disappeared, there was no clue to Marie Margot, no trace ofthe new blonde woman, not a syllable yet about Betty Blackwell.