“And then the damned broad didn’t have the stones on her at all. It was a pickle. I chucked her body against the corner of the elevator and beat it. No one knew I had been waiting in the corridor for her, and there wasn’t any one moving at that hour of the night. I’d run the elevator way up to the loft before I started in working on her, and there wasn’t any one who had heard a thing.

  “So I just pressed the button which took the elevator to the third floor, got out, closed the door. When the door closed that made the contact, and the elevator went down. I ducked out by the stairs and came out the front.”

  The man was rattling out the words with no regard for the effect they might have.

  He gave the impression of telling the truth.

  Sidney Zoom stared at him.

  “When was your twenty-four hours to be up?” he asked. “At nine o’clock tonight.”

  “Who was the fence you dealt with?”

  “Sol Asher. He’s got a pawnshop on Harrison Avenue.”

  “Ever seen anybody besides Asher—any of the gang?”

  “No. Not a one.”

  “You contacted them through Asher, made all the arrangements through him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you happen to meet Asher?”

  “I used him to pawn my stuff through. Remember I’d been taking a stone or two on my own hook when I needed the money. I figured it was safe for a while. Then, when they were going to take inventory, I had to do something. I asked Asher for advice. Maybe Asher knew I had been dabbling, but he didn’t pass on the information to the gang.”

  Sidney Zoom let his eyes narrow.

  “Then at nine o’clock tonight, or before, you were to be at Asher’s place with the missing stones?”

  “Yes.”

  Zoom nodded.

  “Okay. Where do you live?”

  “At a little apartment in the Monadnock Apartments. That’s off Central Avenue.”

  “Asher know where you live?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “What’s the number of your apartment?”

  “Three hundred and ten.”

  CHAPTER VII

  In Apartment 310

  SIDNEY ZOOM nodded his head, went to the chair, released the straps. He had to give Edgar Carver a hand to assist him from the chair. The erstwhile dapper clerk was as weak as a half-drowned kitten. He could hardly stand when he had got to his feet. “I will have to take steps to see that you are quiet,” said Sidney Zoom, “while I

  make an investigation.”

  And he led Carver into a small cabin, stretched him out on a couch, mixed a glass of whiskey and ginger ale, shook in a white powder.

  “Drink this,” he said. “It will soothe your nerves.” The man drained the glass.

  He was nervous, weak. From time to time, he shivered, as with cold, moaned. “What a mess! There’s no way out. I’d better kill myself. And I thought I was so

  smart. I’m in the power of the gang, in your power, in the power of a crooked fence. They can all kill—kill me, and they’re going to kill me, too. There’s no escape! I don’t mind dying so much as that cursed electric chair. Good God! I nearly died when you opened that door and sent me into that room. I’d thought of the chair before, but I never dreamt it was so hideous, so sinister!”

  Sidney Zoom stared at him sternly.

  “You knew that crime doesn’t pay. You knew that sooner or later all criminals come to grief. It’s just a question of time. Yet you went blindly rushing into the crime web, floundering deeper and deeper. And, even now, you’re not sorry for what you’ve done. You’re only sorry you got caught. And you’ve got sympathy for yourself—none for that unfortunate girl you strangled with your greedy fingers.”

  Carver tried to sneer, but the sneer was a failure.

  “You talk like one of those damned reformers,” he said. “Lots of crooks make a good living, and they don’t get caught. I just didn’t get the breaks, that’s all. I had bad luck. I … shouldn’t be … shouldn’t be … blamed …”

  And his head dropped on the pillow and he slept.

  Sidney Zoom knew exactly the strength of the sleeping powder he had given the man. He knew almost to the hour when the man would awaken.

  He walked to the front part of the yacht, rapped on the door of a cabin. “Yes?” called the deep, rich voice of his secretary, Vera Thurmond.

  “I have a man asleep in the guest cabin,” said Sidney Zoom. “He will probably not waken before midnight. But he is not to be allowed to escape. See to that. I will be back some time tonight.”

  The young woman opened the door, giving the finishing touches to her complexion. She looked at Sidney Zoom with tender eyes in which there was a hint of the maternal.

  “You’re going into danger?” she asked.

  “I hope so,” rasped Sidney Zoom. “Going into danger adds zest to life.” She made a little grimace.

  “I do wish you’d get over that everlasting love of conflict, of danger, of struggle.” Zoom’s voice was solemn.

  “That is the way that nature brings about evolution. We grow from conflict. Our periods of pleasure are but the mental bromides which enable us to recuperate. We get our growth from adversity.”

  Vera Thurmond shook her head.

  “You’re hopeless … Tell me, what’s behind that green door? You’ve had a new lock put on it, and carpenters and electricians working …”

  He smiled at her and shook his head.

  “No. That is one of my secrets. Perhaps I am a bluebeard, and keep the bodies of my victims hidden behind the door of that room. Never open it. Don’t worry about me, and don’t waste sympathy on the man who occupies the guest cabin. Have the captain make everything ready for sea. I may want to get away as soon as I come aboard.”

  And Sidney Zoom turned on his heel, strode down the narrow passageway to the stairs which led to the dock. The police dog padded at his side.

  There was, in the manner of Sidney Zoom, that subtle something which characterizes a man who is going into a welcome danger. And the dog sensed this attitude, whether it came from some extra force with which the heels of the master pounded the planks of the boat, or from something more subtle, some auric emanation of tension.

  Sidney Zoom walked to his car, drove to the Monadnock Apartments, went boldly to the door of apartment 310, paused over the lock long enough to insert the key he had taken from Edgar Carver when that individual had dropped into his drugged sleep.

  Zoom entered the apartment, looked around him.

  It was a typical small apartment, furnished with conventional, uncomfortable overstuffed furniture. The apartment was used as a single, but there was a door which led to another single apartment, enabling the suite to be let as a double furnished apartment if desired.

  Sidney Zoom knocked upon that connecting door.

  There was no answer. He went out to the hall, approached the hall door of the adjoining apartment. He knocked, received no answer, and picked the lock of the door. The apartment was vacant.

  Zoom opened the connecting door between the two apartments, saw to it that his gun worked easily in his shoulder holster, pulled a sheet from the bed, tore it into strips, placed his police dog just within the door of the apartment which adjoined that rented by Edgar Carver. He ascertained that any one entering apartment 310 could not see the dog, crouched in the adjoining apartment.

  Then Sidney Zoom opened the collar of his shirt, loosed his necktie, sprawled in a chair, and gave the impression of being very much at home. He found a book which interested him, alternately read and dozed, while the dog slept.

  It was rather late in the afternoon when there sounded a knock at his door. “Come in,” called Sidney Zoom.

  The handle of the knob turned. A well-tailored man walked into the apartment, stood near the door.

  “I’m looking for Edgar Carver,” he said. Zoom got to his feet.

  “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”

  “You’re Carver?”

  “Of course.”

  The well-tailored man took a step inside the door. “I’m from Sol Asher,” he said.

  Zoom let his manner become cold. “Yeah?” he asked.

  The man nodded.

  “You been actin’ funny, and we read about what happened to the broad. You ducked out of the store today, and didn’t leave word where you was goin’, or when you was comin’ back, and that’s not so hot. There’s talk going around.”

  “Yeah?” said Zoom.

  “Yeah!” snarled his visitor. “Now did you get those stones or not?”

  Zoom’s right hand dropped to the side pocket of his coat. The hand of his well-tailored visitor darted to the lapel of his own coat.

  “Bring that hand out clean!” he said.

  Zoom brought out his hand. In the cupped palm were stones of a quality and fire to arouse the greed of either a crook or a collector.

  “These,” he said.

  A gun snapped out of his visitor’s shoulder holster. He advanced menacingly. “Okay. I’ll take those.”

  “You will like hell,” snarled Zoom, adopting the manner which his visitor would evidently have anticipated had Zoom actually been Carver. “Those are mine. I’ll make a division—with the proper parties. That’s all.”

  “Bah!” sneered the other. “You, with a murder rap hanging over you, start to tell us what you will and what you won’t do!”

  He pushed the gun toward Sidney Zoom. “Fork ’em over!”

  Zoom smiled.

  “All right, Rip,” he said.

  The gangster whirled to face the tawny streak which charged out from the adjoining apartment. He had expected some man, either an accomplice of the tenant of the apartment, or, perhaps, an officer. His eyes were raised about the height of a man’s chest, and he was swinging the gun, holding it at about that level.

  Not until too late was he able to get his eyes down sufficiently to see the charging dog. He tried to lower the gun and fire, but he was far too late.

  The dog’s jaws clamped about the wrist. The gangster gave a low cry of pain, tried to brace himself, and was swept to his knees.

  “That’s all, Rip,” said Zoom, speaking in a low, conversational voice.

  The dog let go his hold, backed away, eyes watchful and hard, lips curled back from fangs.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Sleeping Powder

  ZOOM WAS apologetic.

  “Trust you haven’t been inconvenienced,” he said. “The dog is really dangerous, you know. He’s been trained for exactly that sort of thing. If you do exactly as I say, you won’t have any more trouble.”

  “Go in to that adjoining room, lie down on the bed, stretching out flat on your stomach.” The gangster took a deep breath, let his eyes sweep the room appraisingly. Zoom motioned to Rip. The dog took a swift step forward, eyes glaring, lips curled back, hot breath coming on the gangster’s nostrils. The gangster moved at once, obediently, toward the door of the adjoining apartment, stretched himself on the bed, and let his

  wrists be bound with the strips of cloth. His ankles were also fastened.

  Zoom gloated over him.

  “Hang a murder rap on me, will you? I’ll show you a trick worth two of that. You can’t pull that stuff on me and get away with it!”

  Then he strode from the room, leaving the dog on guard behind him.

  He walked to the telephone and took down the receiver, holding his right forefinger, however, over the catch so that the hook did not rise up and complete the connection. He called a number, and that number was the number of Charles Stanhope, the well-known criminal attorney.

  After an interval, Sidney Zoom carried on a one-sided conversation, speaking into the transmitter of the dead telephone.

  “Hello. Let me speak with Mr. Stanhope at once. He’s expecting me to call … Yes, the name’s Carver …

  “Hello, Mr. Stanhope. This is Carver talking. Say, listen, that idea of yours worked like a charm. The dog was a wonder. I tied the man up just like you told me to. Yes, I’ve got the gems … Now what do I do next?”

  And Sidney Zoom waited a minute as though receiving telephoned instructions. “Not until tomorrow, eh?” he said, at length, injecting a note of disappointment

  into his voice. “Gee, that’s sort of long to wait, ain’t it? I know the district attorney don’t come into his office until ten o’clock. But we should be able to get a deputy … I see … Can’t grant immunity, eh? Only the D. A. himself. Okay.

  “Now, listen. I can tie this bird up so he’ll stay, and I’ll gag him. I can keep him here. What the hell do I care if he does choke on the gag? Yeah!

  “Well, I’m going down to a guy’s yacht tonight. A man named Zoom. He’s got a yacht, the Alberta F., moored down near the commercial docks. Yeah, it’s easy to find. Just remember the name, Alberta F. I’ll be there a little after midnight. Then I’ll duck out some place and hide until nine o’clock. Then I’ll come direct to your office.

  “I won’t come back to this place. It’s too hot. And if you want me you can send a messenger to that yacht. Yeah, the Alberta F. But if you send a messenger see to it that he’s got that secret password I gave you. Otherwise I won’t pay no attention to the message.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Okay. I’ll be there until midnight. Yeah, sure I got the stones. That’s right, you get half of them as your fee. Yeah, sure. First thing tomorrow morning. Okay. G’bye.”

  He slammed the receiver back on the hook, making considerable racket with the instrument in doing so. Then he walked into the adjoining apartment, stared down at the bound gangster.

  “I don’t think you’re the kind to let out a bellow,” he said, “but my lawyer says I gotta slip a rag in your mouth. You got a long wait, buddy. You’ll have to stick around until tomorrow morning. So take it easy. You’re getting the bum breaks. When you leave here it’ll be to take a nice ride in a black wagon. After that you’ll have some more bad luck. I don’t even dare to tell you what it is. G’bye.”

  “I won’t talk,” mumbled the gangster, speaking through the gag Zoom was thrusting into his mouth.

  “You’re right about that,” grinned Zoom, and pushed the gag deeper into the mouth, tied it in place.

  Then Sidney Zoom called to his dog, left the apartment occupied by the tied and gagged gangster, paused long enough in the Carver apartment to adjust his collar and tie, and then left the house.

  He had seen to it that there was a loose knot in the strip of cloth which tied the gangster’s wrists. He estimated that less than fifteen minutes would suffice to bring about the man’s release.

  SIDNEY ZOOM went to a pay station, called police headquarters.

  “Detective Sergeant Staples, please,” he said when the connection had been completed.

  Sergeant Staples was a man who had one code. “Never compromise with crooks,” was his slogan. He had waged a bitter war against gangsters, and the gangs hated and respected him. Sergeant Staples was about due either to find a bomb fastened to the starter of his car some morning, or to learn that he had been demoted and transferred to some quiet spot where he could do no harm.

  In the meantime, he had become friendly with Zoom, was interested in the savage philosophy of the yacht owner, and came to dinner once in a while.

  “Hello,” said Detective Sergeant Staples, speaking with that gruff accent which creeps into the voices of those who have the courage of their own convictions, yet know that the world is against them.

  “Sidney Zoom talking, Sergeant. Can you come down to the yacht for a midnight supper tonight? Yeah, come around eleven o’clock. I’ve got something to show you, and I’ve got some rye bread and cheese, some mighty fine claret, and …”

  There was no need to say more.

  “At eleven on the dot,” growled the sergeant’s voice.

  “And better come in plain clothes with a coat that has a collar turned well up,” went on Zoom. “I may have a couple of chaps watching the boat, and I’d rather they didn’t think that I was getting too chummy with the police … That’s right. Okay, Sergeant, eleven o’clock. G’bye.”

  And Zoom hung up the receiver, got in his car, went to his yacht with the expression of a man who has done a good day’s work.

  He summoned his Chinese cook, explained just what he wanted for a midnight supper, reassured his secretary, looked in on the sleeping form of Carver.

  Then Sidney Zoom stretched out in his own cabin and slept peacefully. There was about him nothing to suggest that gaunt savagery, that uncanny ingenuity, and that grim skill as a fighter which puzzled the police and had caused so many criminals to come to a luckless end.

  Sidney Zoom was awakened promptly at ten thirty as he had ordered; shaved, showered, dressed, and received Detective Sergeant Staples as that individual thudded to the deck of the yacht.

  Sergeant Staples was a quiet, unassuming man who felt that society was at war with organized crime, and wasn’t so certain that the outcome would be favorable to society.

  He had twinkling, rather kindly eyes, broad shoulders that showed no inclination to stoop, and a jaw that was like a jutting chunk of granite.

  He enjoyed the food which was served, enjoyed the companionship of Sidney Zoom and his secretary.

  The table was spread in the dining salon. The food was excellent, and the conversation dear to the heart of a sergeant of detectives who goes about his work with a religious zeal. In the guest cabin the Chinese cabin boy squatted on his heels against the wall, stared with beady, glittering eyes at the form of Edgar Carver, the man who had been

  directly guilty of one murder, indirectly guilty of another.

  Through the door which opened to the dining salon, came the hum of voices, the occasional sound of feminine laughter. The conversation was dealing, among other things, with the very crime which the unconscious sleeper had committed.

  The figure on the bed stirred, moaned. The mouth made little tasting noises.

  The Chinese cabin boy arose, slipped as noiselessly as a shadow through the side door of the guest cabin, entered the dining salon, caught the eye of Sidney Zoom.