The Case and the Girl Part 21

McAdams drew out a thick volume from a near-by cabinet, and ran his fingers swiftly down a long column of names, indexed under the letter "H." Suddenly he stopped, with an exclamation.

"The lad is here all right--Government offence, fifteen years ago, third arrest; mugged number 28113. Let's look him up, and see if he is the same man. Come over here, Captain."

"Is that the fellow?" he asked.

West studied the face seriously.

"Yes, I believe it is, Mac," he said at length. "He looks much older now, but those are his features all right. What was his game?"

"'Con' mostly, according to the record; only one conviction though, two years in Detroit for using the mails to defraud. Oh, yes, here is something different, 'a.s.sault with intent to kill'--indeterminate sentence to Joliet for that. Nothing heard of him since. So he is back, and at the old game again. Do you want him brought in, Captain?"

"No, not yet. I haven't anything against the man now but a suspicion. I wanted to learn his record, that's all. This inquiry was only incidental.

What I'm really interested in just at present is something I picked up in the alley back of Mike's Place three or four hours ago. It's a note in a woman's hand-writing, and when I found it, it was hidden in a small silver pen-knife, such as a lady might carry. I thought it might have some connection with the case I'm trying to catch this fellow Hobart in."

"There is a woman in it, then?"

"Yes; but I haven't got things. .h.i.tched up sufficiently to talk about it.

The note itself is blind."

"In what respect?"

"Well, here it is. Can you make it out? I'll read it for you--'_Please notify police to search Seminole quick_.'"

"No signature?"

"None."

"But that is plain enough, isn't it?"

"Yes, if you know what she means by Seminole; what is it? a street? an apartment house? a saloon? Do you know of anything under that name?"

McAdams stood motionless thinking.

"No, by thunder, I don't," he admitted reluctantly. "There is no street of that name in the city. There used to be a shady hotel over on Ontario Street called 'The Seminole,' but that was torn down ten years ago. I never heard of any other--did you, Dave?"

"No," answered the lieutenant slowly, sucking away at a cigar. "I just been looking over the directory, and I don't find nothing. Maybe it's the name of a boat--seems to me I've heard some such name before, but I don't just recollect where."

"A boat! Well, that's a straw anyway, and worth looking up." Mac picked up the telephone. "Who is on at the Harbour Master's office this time of night?"

"Winch.e.l.l, usually, and he'll have a record there."

The detective jiggled the receiver impatiently.

"Yes, this is police headquarters calling. Give me the Harbour Master's office, please--I said the Harbour office. Oh, is this you, Dan? Bob McAdams speaking. Do you know of any boat on the lakes called the _Seminole_? What's that? A lumber schooner at Escanaba? Never makes this port, you say? And you don't know of any other by that name? Sure, I'll hold the wire; look it up."

"Not a very promising lead," he said over his shoulder, "but Dan will have the dope for us in a minute."

He suddenly straightened up, the receiver at his ear.

"I didn't quite get that, Dan. A medium sized yacht, you say? Where is it? Oh, at the Jackson Park lagoon. I see; and who did you say owned it?

What's that? I didn't quite catch the name--Coolidge? What Coolidge?

Exactly; the fellow who killed himself out south. Hold the wire."

He swung about to face West, the receiver still at his ear.

"This mean anything to you?"

"It surely does," eagerly. "The girl I spoke of was Natalie Coolidge. By all the G.o.ds, we are on the right track."

"All right, Dan," resuming his conversation. "What's that? Coolidge had the boat up the river a few weeks ago trying to sell it. That's how you happened to remember the name--I see. Say, is there any one out at Jackson Park I could talk to at this hour? Who? Oh, yes, the Life Saving Station. Sure: somebody will be on duty there. Thanks, old man--good night."

He hung the receiver up on the hook, and reached for the telephone directory.

"Some luck, I say. Jackson Park--oh, yes, here it is. All right, Central; sure, that is the proper number. This is the City Hall Police Headquarters again; hustle it up, please. Hullo, Jackson Park Life Saving Station? Good; this is McAdams speaking from the City Detective Bureau.

Is there a yacht out there in the lagoon called the Seminole? belongs to a man named Coolidge; medium sized boat, with gas engine. Yes; what's that? Not there now; went out into the lake about two hours ago. The h.e.l.l it did! Who was aboard? do you know? Say that again; oh, you wasn't on watch when she sailed; your partner said what? Three men and a woman. All right, yes, I got it. Say now, listen; this is a police matter, so keep your eyes open. It will be daylight pretty soon, and if you get sight of that boat, call up the City Hall Station at once. Do you get me?"

He wheeled about, smiling whimsically.

"It's on again, off again, Flannigan. We had it, and we have it not.

Dave I am getting interested; I feel the lure of the chase. What say you? Can you spare me for a day or two? You can? good enough; we'll comb the lakes until we find out who is sailing aboard the _Seminole_. You're with me, old man?"

West extended his hand silently, and the fingers of the two clasped in a mutual pledge.

CHAPTER XXI

THE YACHT "SEMINOLE"

There was little to do but wait impatiently for some further message of guidance. McAdams dispatched a few telegrams to nearby lake ports, and briefly outlined certain plans of action for the morrow, provided nothing further was heard from the missing boat; these included a possible visit to Fairlawn, and a city-wide search for Hobart, who both men decided could not be included among the party on the yacht. West told his new a.s.sistant the entire story in detail, and Mac's interest in ferreting out the matter became intense. It was the kind of case which fascinated him with its mystery, but no theory he could spin born from long police experience, seemed to exactly fit all the revealed facts. The great puzzle revolved about the strange actions of the girl; her part in the affair presenting an unsolvable riddle. They must have talked for an hour, discussing the situation frankly from every angle, yet arriving at no definite conclusion. The sky in the east was red with dawn when both men fell fast asleep in their chairs, still waiting.

It was nine o'clock, and still no word. The two had eaten a hasty breakfast in a restaurant across the street, discussing the situation again thoroughly, but to no more satisfactory result. It seemed impossible to reconcile certain facts. If the silver knife, with its call for help, had indeed been dropped by Natalie Coolidge, and she was being held a prisoner in the hands of villains on board the _Seminole_, why had she acted toward West as she did in that house on Wray Street? To all appearances there she had been hand in glove with the conspirators, willing even to connive at the Captain's murder if necessary to the success of their crime. Only one theory was possible; that the girl was under constraint, driven to her strange act by personal fear. She dare do nothing else, terrorized by the threats of Hobart, and her own sense of utter helplessness in his power. This, and this only, must be the answer to the riddle.

McAdams, unable to remain quiet, departed to get his police search started in an attempt to discover Hobart in his new hiding place. The fellow could not be on the yacht, as that had sailed from Jackson Port at far too early an hour for him to have possibly made one of the party. He would still be in the city then, securely concealed in some dive of the underworld, perfecting his plans, whatever they might be, and, perhaps, arranging to join those on the boat later. The detective even thought this unlikely, his theory being that Hobart merely desired to get the girl safely out of the way for a length of time sufficient to enable him to complete his nefarious scheme. He argued that Natalie was in no real danger; she would be held no doubt, kept out of sight as long as was necessary, but otherwise left uninjured. This was no strong-arm crime, but a high cla.s.s confidence game, and the important thing was to quickly lay hands on Hobart. With him once in the toils, the whole conspiracy would instantly collapse. With this end in view, McAdams took up the man's trail, leaving West to stand guard over the telephone.

The latter called up s.e.xton, and hurried him out to Fairlawn, with instructions to find out all he could from the servants there relative to any late developments. He expected no important revelation from this point, as Natalie could not have returned home, yet there might have been a telephone communication, or some other occurrence of interest to furnish a clue. s.e.xton was instructed to report the result of his investigation at the earliest moment possible. This accomplished, nothing remained for West to do, but sit down and wait for something else to happen.

The delay was shorter than he antic.i.p.ated. There was a sharp ringing of the bell, the police operator responding quickly.

"Police Headquarters. What's wanted? McAdams; no he is not in just now. Who is calling him? Harbour Master's office; all right; hold the wire a minute."

He turned his head around.

"Must be your case, Captain; better hear what they have to say."

West grasped the receiver eagerly.