“I want,” said Sidney Zoom, “to see you at once.”

  “What about?”

  “About a murder,” said Sidney Zoom, his cold, hawk-like eyes piercing the darkness. “Can you be more explicit?” asked Stapleton. There was a slight catch in his voice.

  “Certainly,” Sidney Zoom told him, “but not here, and not now.” Fingers fumbled with the chain on the door, and then the door opened. “Come in,” said the man in pajamas.

  Sidney Zoom stepped into the corridor, conscious of the startled, perplexed eyes of a servant. He followed the slippered feet of the man in white pajamas, crossed the corridor, entered a room and went through the room into an adjoining room. Light switches clicked, and Sidney Zoom found himself in a library, with the walls panelled with books, huge chairs grouped invitingly near reading lamps that cast mellow rays in a glowing circle. He looked into the face of a man of about fifty years of age; a man whose eyes were wide and brown, whose shoulders were held squarely back, whose chin was thrust forward, and whose lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

  “You wanted to see me,” he asked, “about a murder?” Sidney Zoom stared steadily at him.

  “Do you,” he asked, “know a gentleman by the name of Frank Venard?”

  “No,” said Stapleton.

  “You mean to say you don’t know him?” Stapleton’s scowl was cold and mocking.

  “I know him,” he said. “He’s not a gentleman; he’s a private detective who has been guilty of subornation of perjury and of planting evidence.”

  “Very well,” said Sidney Zoom. “He’s dead.”

  “Do you expect me to express regrets?” asked Stapleton. “I was simply making the statement to you.”

  “How did he die?” asked Stapleton. “He was murdered.”

  “Indeed,” said Stapleton. “I had rather expected that one of these days his activities would bring him to an untimely end. However, that is neither here nor there. The man is dead, and we will let it go at that. What was it you wanted to see me about?”

  “The thing that I wanted to discuss with you,” said Sidney Zoom, “was the identity

  of the murderer.”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t help you,” said Stapleton. “I think perhaps you could.”

  “In what way, Mr. Zoom?”

  “You have a young woman working for you named Ruby Allison?”

  “Yes, a very gifted secretary.”

  “She has an apartment in the Richmore Apartments?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t tell you where she lives, without looking up the card index that I have in my office. I have an index which gives the addresses of my employees.”

  “Well,” said Sidney Zoom, “she lives in the Richmore Apartments. Frank Venard was killed in her apartment some time this evening. He was killed by a .38 caliber Colt revolver.”

  Stapleton raised his eyebrows.

  “In her apartment?” he said. “Impossible!”

  “Nevertheless, that is a fact.”

  “And does she know who killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  Sidney Zoom pointed a long, level forefinger.

  “You!” he said, and the word cracked like a whiplash.

  Stapleton stood for a moment staring at Sidney Zoom, then he smiled, and the smile became a chuckle.

  “Zoom,” he said, “I like your dramatic and forceful manner. Doubtless you’re a detective of some sort. I don’t know what your game is. If I am to believe what you tell me, Frank Venard is dead. I will not profess any friendship for the man. He was a man that I detested. He was a private detective who attempted to discredit me by using perjured evidence. However, that is neither here nor there. It is this accusation of murder which causes me some amusement, and perhaps a little concern. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you’re going to walk out of this house and if you so much as intimate that I have been guilty of murder or have been concerned in any way with the death of Frank Venard, I will see that you are arrested and charged with criminal slander. Do you understand that?”

  Sidney Zoom pulled his hat down low on his forehead, turned toward the door. “I understand,” he said.

  Stapleton watched him curiously as Zoom walked across the room to the front door. The servant held the front door open, and Sidney Zoom strode out into the night.

  “Just a moment,” called Stapleton, unable to restrain himself longer, as Zoom made his wordless exit. “I don’t want you to misunderstand me, Mr. Zoom …”

  Sidney Zoom whirled to face him.

  “I don’t misunderstand you,” he said. “Either you are guilty of murder, or I have been misled. I just want to tell you that if you are guilty of murder, all that suave cunning which has heretofore served you will not stand between you and your punishment. Do you understand that?”

  Stapleton’s face did not change expression. There was still the same mocking glint in his eyes; the same sardonic smile twisting his lips.

  “Yes,” he said, “I understand what you say, but your words mean nothing to me.”

  “You have,” said Sidney Zoom, “always outwitted the persons with whom you came in contact. That has been your strong point; the thing that has hitherto enabled you to laugh at justice. Now I am telling you that there is something higher than the ordinary technical man-made justice that you have been mocking; something that is more infallible than the laws of man filled with technicalities that you have taken

  advantage of, and I have the honor, sir, to wish you a very good evening.”

  Zoom waited for no further words, but strode across the porch, down the steps, then along the walk to his automobile. He slammed the door and drove off into the night.

  Behind him, Paul Stapleton stood in the doorway, staring along the road after the gleaming ruby which marked the tail light of Zoom’s automobile.

  The expression of mocking, sardonic humor was no longer on Stapleton’s face.

  His eyes were slitted in thought, and his face had set into grim lines. “James,” he said, without turning his head.

  “Yes, sir,” said the servant.

  “If that man ever comes near this house again, see that he doesn’t get in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you catch him prowling around, act on the theory that he is a burglar, and shoot him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And shoot to kill.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Paul Stapleton stepped back into the house and slammed the door. The servant slipped the safety chain into position.

  CHAPTER IV

  Mad Dog

  ONCE MORE, Sidney Zoom entered the chamber of death. He entered for a particular purpose, and moved with swift efficiency. The lights clicked on. Zoom walked across the room, stooped to the murder gun, picked it up and started polishing its greasy surface with a handkerchief. He polished the gun until the steel fairly shone; polished it until all of the oil and grease had been removed from the blued steel surface. Then he breathed upon it and polished again, taking care all of the time not to touch it with the tips of his fingers, holding it only with the cloth touching the steel. When he had carefully and completely obliterated all fingerprints from the gun, he looked around the apartment until he found a small bottle of oil. He placed a thin coat of oil over the steel of the gun, rubbing it with the corner of his handkerchief so that it was evenly distributed. Then, holding the gun in the folds of the handkerchief, he once more left the apartment.

  Sidney Zoom moved with a swift purpose, as though his actions had been carefully rehearsed. He went down the corridor, turned the corner, stepped to the door of the vacant apartment.

  He knew now exactly which skeleton key delivered results, and it was but a moment until he had clicked back the bolt and opened the door.

  Once in the apartment, he walked directly to the window, then paused for a moment, thinking. Finally he nodded to himself and slipped his hand to his coat pocket. He took out several .38 blank cartridges which he had carried up from his automobile, which was a veritable storehouse of various weapons and munitions.

  Taking care not to leave any fingerprints on the weapon, he swung open the cylinder and dropped blank cartridges into the chambers, slipping the one empty cartridge and the five loaded ones into his pocket.

  It was but a matter of seconds until he had fixed the gun to his liking, leaving it on the floor by the chair, and had once more stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him.

  He went at once to his automobile, drove five blocks to an all-night drugstore, looked up the telephone number of Paul Stapleton, and dialed the number on the telephone.

  He knew at once from Stapleton’s voice that the man had not been asleep. He had, instead, been near the telephone, perhaps waiting for a call. His voice when he answered was calm and cautious.

  “Hello,” he said, “who is it?”

  Sidney Zoom lowered his voice to a deep, rumbling bass.

  “Do you know a guy by the name of Sidney Zoom?” he asked. “What about it?” asked Stapleton.

  “Never mind what about it,” said Zoom, still using his deep bass voice. “I happen to be trailing Zoom around because I’m trying to get something on him. He came out to your house an hour or so ago, and busted on in. I want to know if he gave you his right name and what he talked to you about.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Stapleton, “that I can’t help you.”

  “Well, get a load of this,” said Zoom in the same rumbling monotone. “I don’t know whether it makes any difference to you or not. But after Zoom left your place, he went to the Richmore Apartments and went into apartment 35B. He’s got a key that fits it. He came out of that apartment carrying a gun, and tiptoed around the corner of the corridor to apartment 38E, and when he came out, he didn’t have the gun with him.

  “Now, I don’t know what happened, but that fellow’s a smooth worker, and I have an idea that perhaps when he was out at your place he might have picked up something that belonged to you. See? And maybe he planted that stuff in that apartment— 38E—together with the gun. Now, I don’t know what’s up or what he’s doing, but anything he’s trying to do, I want to block.

  “Personally I think he’s a crook. He’s always messing around and pulling some fast stuff and gets by because nobody has called him on it. But I’m calling him on it, and I just thought perhaps you’d like to know what he was doing. I thought perhaps the information might interest you.”

  Zoom ceased speaking.

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the buzzing of the telephone connection, then Paul Stapleton’s voice, calmly, suave and courteous.

  “I’m sure,” he said, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. It is true that a man named Zoom called upon me, but I wasn’t interested in the proposition he had to offer, and he left at once. I’m certainly not interested in any of Mr. Zoom’s subsequent activities.”

  And the receiver at the other end of the line clicked onto the hook.

  SIDNEY ZOOM strode to his automobile, drove to a point half a block from the apartment house, where he could leave the automobile in the shadows of the driveway, then sat on the running board and watched the entrance to the Richmore Apartments.

  He sat smoking calmly and contentedly, apparently without the slightest trace of nervous tension. Everything about the man seemed relaxed, save his eyes, which were keen and hawk-like. Those eyes stared in a concentration of scrutiny that was cold and unwinking.

  Sidney Zoom was half way through his third cigarette when there was the sound of a roaring motor. Tires skidded on the pavement as a machine lurched around the corner. The machine came to a stop, and a tall, well-knit individual stepped from the machine and looked about him.

  Apparently the entire street was deserted, and the man, having assured himself of that fact, moved toward the entrance of the apartment house with calm assurance.

  Zoom gave the man a head start of approximately five seconds, and then beckoned to the police dog.

  Master and dog moved with swift, silent strides, gliding along the pavement like shadows of the night.

  Zoom didn’t wait for the elevator, but took the stairs, two at a time, running up with light, springy steps, the police dog padding along at his side.

  Zoom went at once down the corridor to the door of apartment 38E.

  He could hear the sounds of surreptitious motion behind the closed door. Sidney Zoom indicated the door to the police dog.

  “Watch, Rip,” he said. “Let no one out.”

  The dog dropped to his stomach, pointing his sensitive nostrils toward the door, his eyes staring in fixed concentration.

  Zoom turned back down the corridor, raced down the steps, and was half way to the lobby when he heard the sound of a pistol shot booming from the upper corridor. A moment later there was another shot.

  Zoom sprinted down the street, jumped in his car, stepped on the starter and threw in the clutch. He pressed his hand on the horn button and roared through the quiet apartment district.

  Three blocks from the apartment house he found a uniformed officer. Zoom pulled into the curb.

  “Passing along the street here,” he said, “and I heard shots.”

  “Where?” asked the officer.

  “Back at an apartment house. The Richmore, I think, was the name.”

  The officer loosened his service revolver in its holster, climbed to the running board of the car.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Zoom whipped the car into an abrupt turn and stepped on the throttle. As he approached the apartment house, he drew into the curb and slowed.

  “This is the place,” he said.

  The officer jumped to the sidewalk.

  “Better wait here,” he said.

  Lights were on in the apartments. As the officer pushed his way into the lobby, a woman screamed.

  Sidney Zoom waited.

  Three minutes later a police radio car swung around the corner at high speed and pulled into the curb.

  An officer pushed his way into the apartment house.

  Another officer debouched from the car and strode over to Sidney Zoom. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Zoom. “I heard shots when I was going past here, and I picked up an officer three or four blocks up the street. He came back with me and told me to wait here.”

  The officer nodded and then pushed his way into the apartment house.

  Sidney Zoom placed his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill, penetrating whistle.

  Ten seconds later there was a tawny streak which flashed through the lobby of the apartment house. Rip jumped to the sidewalk, gathered himself, and hit the back of the roadster in a long arc of graceful motion. Sidney Zoom stepped to the back of the car, pushed the back of the rumble seat forward.

  “Down, Rip,” he said, “and stay there.”

  The back of the car latched into place. Sidney Zoom got back into the car.

  An officer came puffing down the stairs and stood in the doorway of the apartment looking up and down the street. Then he crossed to Sidney Zoom.

  “See anything of a police dog that came out here?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Zoom, “a big one. He busted out of the place and swung around the corner. What’s the matter, officer?”

  “You’re the man that brought Mike here?” asked the policeman.

  “I guess so. I’m the man who picked up the uniformed officer on the beat and brought him here.”

  The officer nodded, then looked back at the apartment house. “Funny thing,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “A man who gave his name as Richard Horton was trapped in an apartment by a mad dog. The man fired six shots at the dog, but none of them took effect. The dog dodged every time he pointed the revolver.”

  “Did he bite the man?” asked Zoom.

  “Bit him on the wrists a couple of times, but seemed to be trying to make him stay in the room. The door was open into the corridor, and the shots were heard in some of the other apartments. The tenants put in a call for the police. We picked it up in the radio car and came out here.”

  “The man live in the apartment?” asked Zoom.

  “No,” said the officer, “nobody lives there. We’re holding the man for questioning. Documents in his pockets indicate that his name is Paul Stapleton. He can’t give a satisfactory account of what he’s doing there.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sidney Zoom, smiling, “he has a secretary who lives in the building, or something.”

  “Well, he’s been visiting somewhere,” said the officer, “and he’s going to tell the truth before he gets out.”

  “Going to put a charge against him?”

  “We’ll want to find out a little more about how he happened to have the gun and what he’s doing in the apartment,” answered the officer.

  “And the dog ran away?” asked Zoom.

  “Yes,” the officer said. “We didn’t think he was mad. He seemed to be all right, but he just wouldn’t let the man out of the apartment. We figured that he was a trained police dog, and had detected an apartment house thief. Naturally, we supposed he belonged to the manager of the apartment. It wasn’t until just a minute ago we thought he was mad. The dog seemed all right in every way, until all of a sudden he jumped to his feet and went down the corridor like a streak of greased lightning. We heard him banging down the stairs, and that’s the last we’ve seen of him.”

  “He went around the corner like a streak of lightning,” said Zoom. “I guess there’s no need for me to wait for that officer.”

  “No, there’s nothing he’ll need you for, and thanks for going out of your way to report the shooting and bring him here.”

  Sidney Zoom bowed his head.

  “Not at all,” he said. “It was a pleasure.”

  The roadster purred into motion and slipped out into the middle of the street. The officer from the radio car looked up and down the street once more, then shrugged his shoulders and turned to the apartment house.

  CHAPTER V

  Zoom Goes Fishing

  SIDNEY ZOOM’S powerful sea-going yacht, the Alberta F., creaked against the mooring float with wind and tide.