She walked from the post-office building, down the granite steps to the sidewalk, where a second young woman was waiting in an automobile.

  Paul Pry, following behind, yet careful lest he should seem too eager, was unable to get a clear view of the woman who drove the automobile. But he saw the young woman who had taken the letters from the post office jump into the car. The car immediately drove off at high speed.

  Paul Pry ran down the post-office steps to the lot where he had left his own automobile parked. He started the motor, then divested himself of the overcoat, the dark glasses, and shifted the slouch hat for one with a stiffer brim, letting the engine of his car warm up as he was making the changes. Then he stepped into the machine, drove at once to the bank where he had cashed the twenty-five thousand dollar check earlier in the day.

  He made no effort to find a legitimate parking place for his car, but left it in front of a fire plug, certain that he would receive a tag, certain, also, that the car would be located in an advantageous position when he wished to use it once more.

  He walked through the revolving door, stood in the ornate marble foyer looking at the long corridors with their grilled windows, the desks of executives, the customers crowding about the stand on which counter checks and deposit slips were kept.

  Paul Pry went at once to the end of the longest line he could see, stood there fumbling a deposit slip in his fingers.

  He had been there less than five seconds when he saw the young woman who had taken the letter from the post office walk with quick, nervous steps to the window of the paying teller. She presented a check and was promptly referred to the cashier. Paul Pry watched her as she thrust the check through the window to the cashier, saw the hand of the cashier as it took the check and turned it over and over while he studied it intently.

  A moment later, there was the faint sound of an electric buzzer. A uniformed officer who had been loitering about, watching the patrons idly, suddenly stiffened to attention, looked about him, caught a signal from the cashier. He moved unostentatiously forward.

  During all of this time the young woman had stood at the window, apparently entirely oblivious of what was taking place about her.

  Paul Pry walked to the telephone booths, dropped a nickel and called the number of Perry C. Hammond.

  A moment later, a feminine voice announced that Mr. Hammond’s secretary was speaking, and Paul Pry stated that he desired to speak with Mr. Hammond concerning the matter of a twenty-five thousand dollar check which had been issued to Fremont Burke.

  Almost at once he heard the sound of whispers, and then Hammond’s voice came over the wire, a voice which was dry with nervousness, despite the millionaire’s attempt to make it sound casual.

  “How are you this afternoon, Mr. Hammond?” said Paul Pry cordially.

  “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” asked the millionaire.

  “Oh,” said Paul Pry casually, “I just wanted to advise you that I had stolen twenty-five thousand dollars from you and that I trusted the loss wouldn’t inconvenience you in any way.”

  “That you had what?” screamed the millionaire.

  “Stolen twenty-five thousand dollars from you,” Paul Pry remarked. “I don’t think that there’s any occasion to get excited over it. From all I hear, you can well afford to spare it. But I didn’t want you to be embarrassed on account of the theft.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hammond demanded.

  “Merely,” said Paul Pry, “that my name happens to be Fremont Burke. I was flat broke and had tried to get five dollars from my brother in Denver. I called at the post office to see if there was any mail for me, and a letter was delivered to me. I opened it and saw there was a check enclosed for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable to bearer.

  “Naturally, I thought the thing was some sort of a joke, but thought perhaps I might be able to get the price of a meal out of it, so I took it to the bank. To my surprise, they cashed it at once and without question. I realized then, of course, that I had, fortunately, stumbled on a remittance which was intended for someone else. Not wishing to disappoint the someone else, I forged your name to a check, put it in an envelope and mailed it to Fremont Burke, in care of General Delivery.”

  The millionaire’s voice was almost a scream of terror.

  “You did what?” he shrieked.

  “Come, come,” said Paul Pry. “There’s no need of so much excitement. I forged your check for twenty-five thousand dollars and put it in the mail. It occurred to me that the person who received that check might have been expecting a legitimate business remittance from you, and would probably put the check through his bank for collection, or might possibly present the check at the cashier’s window.

  “Under the circumstances, the check would probably be branded as a forgery. I did my best to make the forgery a good one, but, you understand, even a large bank will look carefully at a second check for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable to bearer, which is presented in the course of one business day.

  “It occurs to me, therefore, that if the bank should advise you someone has forged a check and is presenting it for collection, it might be advisable for you to refuse to prosecute that person on the ground of forgery. You see, he might be acting in perfect good faith, and …”

  There was an inarticulate exclamation at the other end of the line, followed by the slamming of a receiver on the hook. Paul Pry figured that Perry Hammond had cut off the connection in order to rush through a call to the bank.

  He strolled from the telephone booth, walked across to a desk, filled out a deposit slip and strolled to the window which was nearest to the cashier’s window.

  The uniformed officer had moved up and taken the young woman by the arm. She was white-faced and trembling.

  “I tell you,” Paul Pry heard her say, “I know nothing whatever about it, except that I was hired to get this check out of the mail and cash it. After I had the money I was supposed to call a certain telephone number, and I would then be given instructions as to how I should proceed. That’s all I know about it.”

  The telephone at the cashier’s elbow rang sharply and insistently. The cashier picked up the telephone, said, “hello,” and then let surprise register on his countenance. After a moment he said: “Yes, Mr. Hammond, late this morning. I remembered particularly that you had left instructions about the matter, and …”

  The receiver made squawking, metallic noises which were inaudible to Paul Pry’s ears, but the face of the cashier flushed with color.

  “Just a minute,” he said. “I think you’re nervous and excited, Mr. Hammond. If you’ll just …”

  He was interrupted by more squawking noises from the receiver.

  The line at which Paul Pry had been standing moved up, so that Paul Pry found himself at the window.

  “I wish to make a deposit,” he said, thrusting the deposit slip through the window, together with ten of the one-hundred-dollar bills he had received from the bank earlier in the day.

  The man at the window was smiling and affable. “You should go down to the fourth window,” he said, “the one marked ‘Deposits—M to R’.”

  Paul Pry looked apologetic and embarrassed.

  “Just right down there where you see the lettering over the window,” said the man, smiling unctuously.

  Paul Pry walked slowly past the cashier’s window. He was in time to hear the cashier say to the officer: “It’s quite all right, Mad-son. We can’t cash this check because the signature is irregular; but Mr. Hammond promises that he will rectify the matter, so far as Mr. Burke is concerned. It seems there’s been a very serious mistake, for which the bank is in no way responsible. It’s due to the carelessness of a customer in mailing checks payable to bearer …”

  There was more, which Paul Pry could not hear because it was delivered in a lower voice, a voice which was almost surreptitiously confidential, and because appearances required that Paul Pry should move over toward the window which had been pointed out to him.

  He did, however, see the young lady move away from the window, in the direction of the telephone booths. She dropped a coin and called a number. She talked rapidly and excitedly, then paused to listen for several seconds, at the end of which time she nodded her head and hung up the telephone.

  Paul Pry followed her from the bank, down to the curb, where he saw the same car which he had seen parked in front of the post office. The young woman got into the car, which at once drove off.

  This time, Paul Pry’s car was parked where he had no difficulty in getting into an advantageous position directly behind the coupe which he was trailing. He ripped the red police tag from the steering wheel, thrust it in his pocket, and concentrated his attention upon following the car ahead.

  It was not a particularly easy task. The young woman in the car ahead was a good driver, and she was evidently going some place in very much of a hurry.

  The car stopped, at length, in front of a building which apparently housed a speakeasy. The young woman left the car, walked across the curb with rapid, nervous steps, rang a bell and stood perfectly still while a panel slid back in the door and a face regarded her.

  A moment later, the door opened, and the young woman vanished.

  The coupe left the curb, and, as it sped away, the driver turned for one last look at the door where the young woman had been admitted.

  Paul Pry started nervously as he saw the face pressed against the glass in the rear window of the coupe. It was the face of the young woman he had met previously in the apartment which Charles B. Darwin had maintained so secretly, the young woman who had been trying on clothes in front of the mirror. However, it was too late then to do anything about it. The coupe continued on its way, and Paul Pry began to put into operation a certain very definite plan he had in mind.

  5

  Cross-Stitch Killer

  There was a drug store across the street, and Paul Pry stepped across to it, purchased a woman’s purse, a lip stick, compact, handkerchief, a package of chewing gum. He paid for the purchases with one of the hundred-dollar bills he had received, and thrust the change into the purse. He also folded two more of the hundred-dollar bills and pushed them into the purse. The drug clerk watched him curiously, but said nothing.

  Paul Pry walked back across the street to the speakeasy. He rang the bell and a panel slid back.

  “About four or five minutes ago,” said Paul Pry, “there was a young woman, a brunette, wearing a blue skirt and a small, tight-fitting, blue hat. She got out of a coupe and came in here.”

  “What about it?” said the frosty voice of the man who regarded Paul Pry with hostile eyes through the wicket in the doorway.

  “I’ve got to see her,” said Paul Pry.

  “You got a card?”

  “No. But I’ve got to see that young woman.”

  “You can’t see her.”

  Paul Pry fidgeted. “You see,” he said, “she dropped her purse. I picked it up and intended to return it to her. Then I looked inside of it and saw what was in it, and the temptation was too much for me. I started to run away with it. You see, I’ve got a wife and a couple of kiddies who haven’t had anything much to eat for two or three days now. I’ve been out of work and my savings are completely used up. I had to do anything I could to get by. When I saw the money in this purse, I decided I wouldn’t return the purse. Then, after I’d walked half a block, I realized I couldn’t steal, so I had to bring it to her.”

  “All right,” said the man, “give me the purse and I’ll take it to her.”

  Paul Pry opened the purse. “Look,” he said, “there’s almost three hundred dollars in it.”

  “I’ll take it to her,” said the man in the doorway.

  “Like hell you will,” said Paul Pry. “She’ll probably give me a five spot, or perhaps a ten, or she might even get generous and give me a twenty. That would mean a lot to me. I couldn’t take the purse, but I sure as hell could take a reward.”

  “If she wants to give you a reward, I’ll bring it to you,” said the man.

  Paul Pry’s laugh was mocking and scornful.

  The man on the other side of the door seemed undecided.

  “You either let me in and I take it to her personally,” said Paul Pry, “or she doesn’t get it. If you want to keep a customer from getting her purse back, it’s all right by me; I’ve done my duty in trying to return it. If you won’t let her have it, I’ll put an ad in the paper telling the whole circumstances.”

  “Look here,” said the man who glowered through the opening in the doorway, “this is a high-class restaurant. We put on a floor show, and the young woman who just came in is one of the girls who works in the floor show. Now you’ve got that purse and it belongs to her. If you try to take it away, I’ll call a cop and have you arrested.”

  Paul Pry sneered. “A fat chance you’ve got of calling a cop,” he said. “I’d raise a commotion and tell the whole cockeyed world that this place was a speakeasy; that I was trying to get in to return the purse and you wouldn’t let me in, but started calling a cop. If you’re a respectable restaurant why the hell don’t you open your door so the public can patronize you?”

  The bolts slipped back in the door.

  “Oh hell,” said the man, “come on in and get it over with. You’re just one of those damn pests that show up every so often.” “Where do I find her?” asked Paul Pry. “The name is Ellen Tracy. She’s in one of the dressing rooms up on the second floor. I’ll have one of the waiters take you up.

  “And want to chisel in on the reward,” said Paul Pry. “Not much you don’t. I’m on my way right now.”

  He pushed past the man and ran up the stairs.

  There was a telephone at the man’s elbow. As Paul Pry was halfway up the stairs he heard the telephone ring, heard the man answer it and then lower his voice to a mere confidential mumble.

  Paul Pry would have given much to have heard that conversation, but he had no time to wait. With his sword cane grasped firmly in his hand, he took the stairs two at a time. He walked rapidly across a dance floor, pushed his way through a curtained doorway, walked up a flight of steps. He saw a row of doors, one with the name “Ellen Tracy” painted on it. He tapped with his knuckles.

  “Who is it?” called a woman’s voice.

  “A package for you,” said Paul Pry.

  The door opened a few inches. A woman’s hand and bare arm protruded. “Give it to me,” she said.

  Paul Pry pushed the door open.

  She fell back with a little scream.

  She had slipped out of her dress and was attired in underwear, shoes and stockings. There was a costume on a stool beside a dressing table and a kimono draped carelessly over a chair. The young woman made no attempt to pick up the kimono, but stood staring at Paul Pry, apparently entirely unconscious of her apparel.

  “Well,” she said, “what’s the big idea?” “Listen,” said Paul Pry, “I came from him—the man who got you to get that check from the post office. You know what I mean.”

  Her face was suddenly drained of color, her eyes dark with alarm. “Yes,” she said in a low, half-choked voice.

  “What did they tell you at the bank?” said Paul Pry. “It’s important as hell.” “Mr. Hammond,” she said, “said that he would make the check right. He wanted the bank to cash it, but they wouldn’t cash a forged check. He said that he’d make the check good. I telephoned a few minutes ago and explained the whole thing. You should have known.”

  “There’s some question about that,” Paul Pry said. “You telephoned to the wrong number. Somebody else seems to have got the information. Are you sure you telephoned to the right number?”

  There was a puzzled frown on her forehead. She nodded slowly.

  “What was the number?” asked Paul Pry.

  She fell back from him suddenly, as though he had struck her. Her face was deathly white. She seemed to shrink within herself. “Who … who … who are you?” she asked in a voice which was shrill with panic.

  “I told you who I am,” Paul Pry said.

  She shook her head slowly. Her eyes were wide and dark. “Get out of here!” she said in a half whisper. “For God’s sake get out of here while there’s still time!”

  Paul Pry took a step toward her. “Listen,” he said, “you either know what you’re mixed up in or you don’t. In any event…”

  A woman’s scream, shrill and high-pitched, interrupted his sentence. The scream seemed to come from one of the adjoining dressing rooms.

  Paul Pry stood still, listening, his eyes slitted, his mouth a thin, straight line. The scream rang out again, louder and more insistent.

  Paul Pry stared at the woman. “Who’s that screaming?” he asked.

  She could hardly answer, so great was her terror. Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. Her throat seemed paralyzed. At length, she stammered: “It’s Thelma … that’s her room next to mine.”

  “Thelma?” asked Paul Pry.

  She nodded.

  “Tell me,” said Paul Pry, “was that the girl who drove the coupe that took you to the post office and the bank?”

  She nodded once more.

  Paul Pry jabbed his finger at her as though he had been stabbing her with a weapon. “You,” he said, “stay right there. Don’t you make a move. Don’t try to go out. Don’t let anyone else in. When I come back you let me in. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  Paul jerked the door open.

  The scream from the adjoining dressing room sounded once more as Paul Pry jumped through the doorway into the corridor, and flung himself at the door of the next dressing room.

  The door was unlocked.

  Paul Pry pushed his way into the dressing room, then, at what he saw, kicked the door shut behind him.