"Cabs for comfort; cars for company," was an apothegm which AverageJones had evolved from experience. A professed student of life, hemaintained, must keep in touch with life at every feasible angle.No experience should come amiss to a detective; he should be apundit of all knowledge. A detective he now frankly considered him-self; and the real drudgery of his unique profession of Ad-Visor wassupportable only because of the compensating thrill of theoccasional chase, the radiance of the Adventure of Life glintingfrom time to time across his path.
There were few places, Average Jones held, where human nature in therough can be studied to better advantage than in the stiflingtunnels of the subway or the close-packed sardine boxes of themetropolitan surface lines. It was in pursuance of this theory thathe encountered the Westerner, on Third avenue car. By custom,Average Jones picked out the most interesting or unusual human beingin any assembly where he found himself, for study and analysis.This man was peculiar in that he alone was not perspiring in thesodden August humidity. The clear-browned skin and the rangystrength of the figure gave him a certain distinction. He held inhis sinewy hands a doubly folded newspaper. Presently it slippedfrom his hold to the seat beside him. He stared at the windowopposite with harassed and unseeing eyes. Abruptly he rose and wentout on the platform. Average Jones picked up the paper. In themiddle of the column to which it was folded was a markedadvertisement:
ARE you in an embarrassing position? Anything, anywhere, any time, regardless of nature or location. Everybody's friend. Consultation at all hours. Suite 152, Owl Building, Brooklyn.
The car was nearing Brooklyn Bridge. Average Jones saw his man droplightly off. He followed and at the bridge entrance caught him up.
"You've left your paper," he said.
The stranger whirled quickly. "Right," he said. "Thanks. Perhapsyou can tell me where the Owl Building is."
"Are you going there?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't."
A slight wrinkle of surprise appeared on the man's tanned forehead.
"Perhaps you wouldn't," he returned coolly.
"In other words, 'mind your business,"' said Average Jones, with asmile.
"Something of that sort," admitted the stranger.
"Nevertheless, I wouldn't consult with Everbody's Friend over in theOwl Building."
"Er--because--er--if I may speak plainly," drawled Average Jones, "Iwouldn't risk a woman's name with a gang of blackmailers."
"You've got your nerve," retorted the stranger. The keen eyes,flattening almost to slits, fixed on the impassive face of theother.
"Well, I'll go you," he decided, after a moment. His glance sweptthe range of vision and settled upon a rathskeller sign. "Come overthere where we can talk."
They crossed the grilling roadway, and, being wise in the heat,ordered "soft" drinks.
"Now," said the stranger, "you've declared in on my game. Makegood. What's your interest?"
"None, personally. I like your looks, that's all," replied theother frankly. "And I don't like to see you run into that spider'sweb."
"You know them?"
"Twice in the last year I've made 'em change their place ofbusiness."
"But you don't know me. And you spoke of a woman."
"I've been studying you on the car," explained Average Jones."You're hard as nails; yet your nerves are on edge. It isn'tillness, so it must be trouble. On your watch-chain you've got asolitaire diamond ring. Not for ornament; you aren't thatsort of a dresser. It's there for, convenience until you can find aplace to put it. When a deeply troubled man wears an engagementring on his watch chain it's a fair inference that there's been anobstruction in the course of true love. Unless I'm mistaken, you,being a stranger newly come to town, were going to take your case tothose man-eating sharks?"
"How do you know I've just come to town?"
"When you looked at your watch I noticed it was three hours slow.That must mean the Pacific coast, or near it. Therefore you've justgot in from the Far West and haven't thought to rectify your time.At a venture I'd say you were a mining man from down around theRay-Kelvin copper district in Arizona. That peculiar, translucentcopper silicate in your scarf-pin comes from those mines."
"The Blue Fire? I wish it had stayed there, all of it! Anythingelse?"
"Yes," returned Average Jones, warming to the game. "You're anEastern college man, I think. Anyway, your father or some oldermember of your family graduated from one of the older colleges."
"What's the answer?"
"The gold of your Phi Beta Kappa key is a different color from yourwatch-chain. It's the old metal, antedating the California gold.Did your father graduate some time in the latter forties or earlyfifties?"
"Hamilton, '51. I'm '89. Name, Kirby."
A gleam of pleasure appeared in Average Jones keen eyes. "That'srather a coincidence," he said. "Two of us from the Old Hill. I'mJones of '04. Had a cousin in your class, Carl Van Reypen."
They plunged into the intimate community of interest which is thepeculiar heritage and asset of the small, close-knit old college.Presently, however, Kirby's forehead wrinkled again. He sat silent,communing with himself. At length he lifted his head like one whohas taken a resolution.
"You made a good guess at a woman in the case," he, said. "And youcall this a coincidence? She'd say it was a case of intuition.She's very strong on intuition and superstition generally." Therewas a mixture of tenderness and bitterness in his tone. "Chancebrought that advertisement to her eyes. A hat-pin she'd droppedstuck through it, or something of the sort. Enough for her.Nothing would do but that I should chase over to see the OwlBuilding bunch. At that, maybe her hunch was right. It's broughtme up against you. Perhaps you can help me. What are you? A sort ofdetective?"
"Only on the side." Average Jones drew a card from his pocket, andtendered it:
A. JONES, AD-VISOR Advice upon all matters connected with Advertising Astor Court Temple 2 to 5 P.M.
"Ad-Visor, eh?" repeated the other. "Well, there's going to be anadvertisement in the Evening Truth to-day, by me. Here's a proof ofit."
Average Jones took the slip and read it.
LOST--Necklace of curious blue stones from Hotel Denton, night of August 6. Reward greater than value of stones for return to hotel. No questions asked.
"Reward greater than value of stones," commented Average Jones."There's a sentimental interest, then?"
"Will you take the case?" returned Kirby abruptly.
"At least I'll look into it," replied Average Jones.
"Come to the hotel, then, and lunch with me, and I'll open up thewhole thing."
Across a luncheon-table, at the quiet, old-fashioned Hotel Denton,Kirby unburdened himself.
"You know all that's necessary about me. The--the other party inthe matter is Mrs. Hale. She's a young widow. We've been engagedfor six months; were to be married in a fortnight. Now she insistson a postponement. That's where I want your help."
Average Jones moved uneasily in his chair. "Really, Mr. Kirby,lovers' quarrels aren't in my line."
"There's been no quarrel. We're as much engaged now as ever, inspite of the return of the ring. It's only her infern--herdeep-rooted superstition that's caused this trouble. One can'tblame her; her father and mother were both killed in an accidentafter some sort of 'ghostly warning.' The first thing I gave her,after our engagement, was a necklace of these stones"--he tapped hisscarf pin--"that I'd selected, one by one, myself. They'rebeautiful, as you see, but they're not particularly valuable; onlysemiprecious. The devil of it is that they're the subject of anIndian legend. The Indians and Mexicans call them "blue fires," andsay they have the power to bind and loose in love. Edna has beenout in that country; she's naturally high strung and responsive tothat sort of thing, as I told you, and she fairly soaked in all thatnonsense. To make it worse, when I sent them to her I wrote that--that--" a dull red surged up under the tan skin--"that as long asthe fire in the stones burned blue for her my heart would be allhers. Now the necklace is gone. You can imagine the effect on awoman of that temperament. And you can see the result." He pointedwith a face of misery to the solitaire on his watch-chain. "Sheinsisted on giving this back. Says that a woman as careless as sheproved herself can't be trusted with jewelry. And she'shysterically sure that misfortune will follow us for ever if we'remarried without recovering the fool necklace. So she's begged apostponement."
"Details," said Average Jones crisply.
"She's here at this hotel. Has a small suite on the third floor.Came down from her home in central New York to meet my mother, whomshe had never seen. Mother's here, too, on the same floor. Nightbefore last Mrs. Hale thought she heard a noise in her outer room.She made a look-see, but found nothing. In the morning when she gotup, about ten (she's a late riser) the necklace was gone."
"Where had it been left?"
"On a stand in her sitting-room."
"Anything else taken?"
"That's the strange part of it. Her purse, with over a hundreddollars in it, which lay under the necklace, wasn't touched."
"Does she usually leave valuables around in that casual way?"
"Well, you see, she's always stayed at the Denton and she feltperfectly secure here."
"Any other thefts in the hotel?"
"Not that I can discover. But one of the guests on the same floorwith Mrs. Hale saw a fellow acting queerly that same night. Therehe sits, yonder, at that table. I'll ask him to come over."
The guest, an elderly man, already interested in the case, waswilling enough to tell all he knew.
"I was awakened by some one fumbling at my door and making aclinking noise," he explained. "I called out. Nobody answered.Almost immediately I heard a noise across the hall. I opened mydoor. A man was fussing at the keyhole of the room opposite. Hewas very clumsy. I said, 'is that your room?' He didn't even lookat me. In a moment he started down the hallway. He walked veryfast, and I could hear him muttering to himself. He seemed to becarrying something in front of him with both hands. It was hiskeys, I suppose. Anyway I could hear it clink. At the end of thehall he stopped, turned to the door at the left and fumbled at thekeyhole for quite a while. I could bear his keys clink again. Thistime, I suppose, he had the right room, for be unlocked it and wentin. I listened for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was nothingfurther."
Average Jones looked at Kirby with lifted brows of inquiry. Kirbynodded, indicating that the end room was Mrs. Hales'.
"How was the man dressed?" asked Average Jones.
"Grayish dressing-gown and bed-slippers. He was tall and had grayhair."
"Many thanks. Now, Mr. Kirby, will you take me to see Mrs. Hale?"
The young widow received them in her sitting-room. She was of theslender, big-eyed, sensitive type of womanhood; her piquant facemarred by the evidences of sleeplessness and tears. To AverageJones she gave her confidence at once. People usually did.
"I felt sure the advertisement would bring us help," she saidwistfully. "Now, I feel surer than ever."
"Faith helps the worst case," said the young man, smiling. "Mr.Kirby tells me that the intruder awakened you."
"Yes; and I'm a very heavy sleeper. Still I can't say positivelythat anything definite roused me; it was rather an impression ofsome one's being about. I came out of my bedroom and looked aroundthe outer room, but there was nobody there."
"You didn't think to look for the necklace?"
"No," she said with a little gasp; "if I only had!"
"And--er--you didn't happen to hear a clinking noise, did you?"
"No."
"After he'd got into the room he'd put the key up, wouldn't he?"suggested Kirby.
"You're assuming that he had a key."
"Of course he had a key. The guest across the ball saw him tryingit on the other doors and heard it clink against the lock."
"If he had a key to this room why did he try it on several otherdoors first?" propounded Average Jones. "As for the clinking noise,in which I'm a good deal interested--may I look at your key, Mrs.Hale?"
She handed it to him. He tried it on the lock, outside, jabbing atthe metal setting. The resultant sound was dull and wooden. "Notmuch of the clink which our friend describes as having heard, isit?" he remarked.
"Then how could he get into my room?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Are you sure your door was locked?"
"Certain. As soon as I missed the necklace I looked at the catch."
"That was in the morning. But the night before?"
"I always slip the spring. And I know I did this time because ithad been left unsprung so that Mr. Kirby's mother could come in andout of my sitting-room, and I remember springing it when she leftfor bed."
"Sometimes these locks don't work." Slipping the catch back,Average Jones pressed the lever down. There was a click, but theward failed to slip. At the second attempt the lock worked. Butrepeated trials proved that more than half the time the door did notlock.
"So," observed Average Jones, "I think we may dismiss the keytheory."
"But the locked door this morning?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"The intruder may have done that as he left."
"I don't see why," protested Kirby, in a tone which indicated awaning faith in Jones.
"By way of confusing the trail. Possibly he hoped to suggest thathe'd escaped by the fire-escape. Presumably he was on the balconywhen Mrs. Hale came out into this room."
As he spoke Average Jones laid a hand on the heavy net curtainswhich hung before the balcony window. Instead of parting them,however, he stood with upturned eyes.
"Was that curtain torn before yesterday?" he asked Mrs. Hale.
"I hardly think so. The hotel people are very, careful in theup-keep of the rooms."
Jones mounted a chair with scant respect for the upholstery, andexamined the damaged drapery. Descending, he tugged tentatively atthe other curtain, first with his right hand, then with his left;then with both. The fabric gave a little at the last test. Jonesdisappeared through the window.
When he returned, after five minutes, he held in his hand somescrapings of the rusted iron which formed the balcony railing.
"You're a mining man, Mr. Kirby," he said. "Would you say thatassayed anything?"
Kirby examined the glinting particles. "Gold," he said decisively.
"Ah, then the necklace rubbed with some violence against therailing. Now, Mrs. Hale, how long were you awake?"
"Ten or fifteen minutes. I remember that a continuous rattling ofwagons below kept up for a little while. And I heard one of thedrivers call out something about taking the air."
"Er--really!" Average Jones became suddenly absorbed in his sealring. He turned it around five accurate times and turned it back anequal number of revolutions. "Did he--er--get any answer?"
"Not that I heard."
The young man pondered, then drew a chair up to, Mrs. Hale'sescritoire, and, with an abrupt "excuse me," helped himself to pen,ink and paper.
"There!" he said, after five minutes' work. "That'll do for astarter. You see," he added, handing the product of his toil toMrs. Hale, "this street happens to be the regular cross-town routefor the milk that comes over by one of the minor ferries. If youheard a number of wagons passing in the early morning they were themilk-vans. Hence this."
Mrs. Hale read:
"MILK-DRIVERS, ATTENTION--Delaware Central mid-town route. Who talked to man outside hotel early morning of August 7? Twenty dollars to right man. Apply personally to Jones, Ad-Visor, Astor Court Temple, New York."
"For the coming issue of the Milk-Dealers' Journal," explained itsauthor. "Now, Mr. Kirby, I want you to find out for me--Mrs. Halecan help you, since she has known the hotel people for years--thenames of all those who gave up rooms on this floor, or the floorsabove or below, yesterday morning, and ask whether they are known tothe hotel people."
"You think the thief is still in the hotel?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Hardly. But I think I see smoke from your blue fires. To make outthe figure through the smoke is not--" Average Jones broke off,shaking his head. He was still shaking his head when he left thehotel.
It took three days for the milk-journal advertisement to work. Onthe afternoon of August tenth, a lank, husky-voiced teamster calledat the office of the Ad-Visor and was passed in ahead of the waitingline.
"I'm after that twenty," he declared.
"Earn it," said Average Jones with equal brevity.
"Hotel Denton. Guy on the third floor balcony--"
"Right so far."
"Leanin' on the rail as if he was sick. I give him a hello.'Takin' a nip of night air, Bill?' I says. He didn't say nothin'."
"Did he do anything?"
"Kinder fanned himself an' jerked his head back over his shoulder.Meanin' it was too hot to sleep inside, I reckon. It sure was hot!"
"Fanned himself? How?"
"Like this." The visitor raised his hands awkwardly, cupped them,and drew them toward his face.
"Er--with both hands?"
"Did you see him go in?"
"Nope."
"Here's your twenty," said Average Jones. "You're long on sense andshort on words. I wish there were more like you."
"Thanks. Thanks again," said the teamster, and went out.
Meantime Kirby had sent his list of the guests who had given uptheir rooms on August seventh:
George M. Weaver, Jr., Utica, N. Y., well known to hotel people andvouched for by them.
Walker Parker, New Orleans, ditto.
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hull; quiet elderly people; first visit tohotel.
Henry M. Gillespie, Locke, N. Y. Middle-aged man; new guest.
C. F. Willard, Chicago; been going to hotel for ten years; vouchedfor by hotel people.
Armed with the list, Average Jones went to the Hotel Denton andspent a busy morning.
"I've had a little talk with the hotel servants," said he to Kirby,when the latter called to make inquiries. "Mr. Henry M. Gillespie,of Locke, New York, had room 168. It's on the same floor with Mrs.Hale's suite, at the farther end of the hall. He had only one pieceof luggage, a suitcase marked H. M. G. That information I got fromthe porter. He left his room in perfect order except for one thing:one of the knobs on the headboard of the old fashioned bed wasbroken off short. He didn't mention the matter to the hotelpeople."
"What do you make of that?"
"It was a stout knob. Only a considerable effort of strengthexerted in a peculiar way would have broken it as it was broken.There was something unusual going on in room 168, all right."
"Then you think Henry M. Gillespie, of Locke, New York, is our man."
"No," said Average Jones.
The Westerner's square jaw fell. "Why not?"
"Because there's no such person as Henry M. Gillespie, of Locke, NewYork. I've just sent there and found out."
Three stones of the fire-blue necklace returned on the current ofadvertised appeal. One was brought in by the night bartender of a"sporting" club. He had bought it from a man who had picked it upin a gutter; just where, the finder couldn't remember. For thesecond a South Brooklyn pawnbroker demanded (and received) anexorbitant reward. A florist in Greenwich, Connecticut, contributedthe last. With that patient attention to detail which is the A. B.C. of detective work, Average Jones traced down these apparentlyincongruous wanderings of the stones and then followed them all,back to Mrs. Hale's fire-escape.
The bartender's stone offered no difficulties. The setting whichthe pawnbroker brought in had been found on the city refuse heap bya scavenger. It had fallen through a grating into the hotel cellar,and had been swept out with the rubbish to go to the municipal"dump." The apparent mystery of the florist was lucid when Jonesfound that the hotel exchanged its shop-worn plants with theGreenwich Floral Company. His roaming eye, keen for every detail,had noticed a row of tubbed azaleas within the ground enclosure ofthe Denton. Recalling this to mind, it was easy for the Ad-Visor tosurmise that the gem had dropped from the fire-escape into a tub,which was, shortly after, shipped to the florist. Thus it wasapparent that the three jewels had been stripped from the necklaceby forcible contact with the iron rail of the fire-escape at thepoint where Average Jones had found the "color" of precious metal.The stones were identified by Kirby, from a peculiarity in thesetting, as the end three, nearest the clasp at the back; a pointwhich Jones carefully noted. But there the trail ended. No morefire-blue stones came in.
For three weeks Average Jones issued advertisements like commands.The advertisements would, perhaps, have struck the formal-mindedKirby as evidences of a wavering intellect. Indeed, they present acurious and incongruous appearance upon the page of Average Jones'scrapbook, where they now mark a successful conclusion. The firstreads as follows:
OH, YOU HOTEL MEN! Come through with the dope on H. M. G. What's he done to your place? Put a stamp on it and we'll swap dates on his past performances. A. Jones, Astor Court Temple, New York City.
This was spread abroad through the medium of Mine Host's Weekly andother organs of the hotel trade.
It was followed by this, of a somewhat later date:
WANTED-Slippery Sams, Human Eels, Fetter Kings etc Liberal reward to artist who sold Second-hand amateur, with instructions for use. Send full details, time and place to A. Jones, Court Temple, New York City.
Variety, the Clipper and the Billboard scattered the appealbroadcast throughout "the profession." Thousands read it, and oneanswered it. And within a few days after receiving that answerJones wired to Kirby:
"Probably found. Bring Mrs. Hale to-morrow at 11.Answer. A. JONES."
Kirby answered. He also telegraphed voluminously to his ex-fiancee,who had returned to her home, and who replied that she would leaveby the night train. Some minutes before the hour the pair were atAverage Jones' office. Kirby fairly pranced with impatience whilethey were kept waiting in a side room. The only other occupant wasa man with a large black dress-suit case, who sat at the window in aslump of dejection. He raised his head for a moment when they weresummoned and let it sag down again as they left.
Average Jones greeted his guests cordially. Their first questionsto him were significant of the masculine and feminine differences inpoint of view.
"Have you got the necklace?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"Have you got the thief?" queried Kirby.
"I haven't got the necklace and I haven't got the thief," announcedAverage Jones; "but I think I've got the man who's got thenecklace."
"Did the thief hand it over to him?" demanded Kirby.
"Are you conversant with the Baconian system of thought, which OldChips used to preach to us at Hamilton?" countered Average Jones.
"Forgotten it if I ever knew it," returned Kirby.
"So I infer from your repeated use of the word 'thief.' Bacon'sprinciple--an admirable principle in detective work--is that weshould learn from things and not from the names of things. You aredeluding yourself with a name. Because the law, which is alwaysrigid and sometimes stupid, says that a man who takes that whichdoes not belong to him is a thief, you've got your mind fixed on thename 'thief,' and the idea of theft. If I had gone off on that tackI shouldn't have the interesting privilege of introducing to you Mr.Harvey M. Greene, who now sits in the outer room."
"H. M. G.," said Kirby quickly. "Is it possible that thatdecent-looking old boy out there is the man who stole--"
"It is not," interrupted Average Jones with emphasis, "and I shallask you, whatever may occur, to guard your speech from offensiveexpressions of that sort while he is here."
"All right, if you say so," acquiesced the other. "But do you mindtelling me how you figure out a man traveling under an alias andhelping himself to other people's property on any other basis thanthat he's a thief?"
"A, B, C," replied Average Jones; "as thus: A--Thieves don't wanderabout in dressing-gowns. B--Nor take necklaces and leave purses.C--Nor strip gems violently apart and scatter them like largess fromfire-escapes. The rest of the alphabet I postpone. Now for Mr.Greene."
The man from the outer room entered and nervously acknowledged hisintroduction to the others.
"Mr. Greene," explained Jones, "has kindly consented to help clearup the events of the night of August sixth at the Hotel Denton and"--he paused for a moment and shifted his gaze to the newcomer'snarrow shoes--"and--er--the loss of--er--Mrs. Hale's jewelednecklace."
The boots retracted sharply, as under the impulse of some suddenemotion; startled surprise, for example. "What?" cried Greene, inobvious amazement. "I don't know anything about a necklace."
A twinkle of satisfaction appeared at the corners of Average Jones'eyes.
"That also is possible," he admitted. "If you'll permit the form ofan examination; when you came to the Hotel Denton on August sixth,did you carry the same suitcase you now have with you, and similarlypacked?"
"Ye-es. As nearly as possible."
"Thank you. You were registered under the name of Henry M.Gillespie?"
The other's voice was low and strained as he replied in theaffirmative.
"For good reasons of your own?"
"Yes."
"For which same reasons you left the hotel quite early on thefollowing morning?"
"Yes."
"Your business compels you to travel a great deal?"
"Yes."
"Do you often register under an alias?"
"Yes," returned the other, his face twitching.
"But not always?"
"No."
"In a large city and a strange hotel, for example, you'd take anyname which would correspond to the initials, H. M. G., on yourdress-suit case. But in a small town where you were known, you'd beobliged to register under your real name of Harvey M. Greene. Itwas that necessity which enabled me to find you."
"I'd like to know how you did it," said the other gloomily.
From the left-hand drawer of his desk Jones produced a piece ofnetting, with hooks along one end.
"Do you recognize the material, Mrs. Hale," he asked.
"Why, it's the same stuff as the Hotel Denton curtains, isn't it?"she asked.
"Yes," said Average Jones, attaching it to the curtain rod at theside door. "Now, will you jerk that violently with one hand?"
"It will tear loose, won't it?" she asked.
"That's just what it will do. Try it."
The fabric ripped from the hooks as she jerked.
"You remember," said Jones, "that your curtain was torn partlyacross, and not ripped from the hook at all. Now see."
He caught the netting in both hands and tautened it sharply. Itbegan to part.
"Awkward," he said, "yet it's the only way it could have been done.Now, here's a bedpost, exactly like the one in room 168, occupied byMr. Greene at the Denton. Kirby, you're a powerful man. Can youbreak that knob off with one hand?"
He wedged the post firmly in a chair for the trial. The bedpostresisted.
"Could you do it with both hands?" he asked.
"Probably, if I could get a hold. But there isn't surface enoughfor a good hold."
"No, there isn't. But now." Jones coiled a rope around the post andhanded the end to Kirby. He pulled sharply. The knob snapped androlled on the floor.
"Q. E. D.," said Kirby. "But it doesn't mean anything to me."
"Doesn't it? Let me recall some other evidence. The guest who sawMr. Greene in the hallway thought he was carrying something in bothhands. The milk driver who hailed him on the balcony noticed thathe gestured awkwardly with both hands. In what circumstances woulda man use both hands for action normally performed with one?"
"Too much drink," hazarded Kirby, looking dubiously at Greene, whohad been following Jones' discourse with absorbed attention.
"Possibly. But it wouldn't fit this case."
"Physical weakness," suggested Mrs. Hale.
"Rather a shrewd suggestion. But no weakling broke off that bedpostin Henry M. Gillespie's room. I assumed the theory that thephenomena of that night were symptomatic rather than accidental.Therefore, I set out to find in what other places the mysterious H.M. G. had performed."
"How did you know my initials really were H. M. G.?" asked Mr.Greene.
"The porter at the Denton had seen them 'Henry M. Gillespie's'suitcase. So I sent out loudly printed call to all hotel clerks forinformation about a troublesome H. M. G."
He handed the "OH, YOU HOTEL MEN" advertisement to the little group.
"Plenty of replies came. You have, if I may say it without offense,Mr. Greene, an unfortunate reputation among hotel proprietors.Small wonder that you use an alias. From the Hotel Carpathia inBoston I got a response more valuable than I had dared to hope. AnH. M. G. guest--H. Morton Garson, of Pillston, Pennsylvania (Mr.Greene nodded)--had wrecked his room and left behind him thissouvenir."
Leaning over, Jones pulled, clinking from the, scrap-basket, a finesteel chain. It was endless and some twelve feet in total length,and had two small loops, about a foot apart. Mrs. Hale and Kirbystared at it in speechless surprise.
"Yes, that is mine," said Mr. Greene with composure. "I left itbecause it had ceased to be serviceable to me."
"Ah! That's very interesting," said Average Jones with a keenglance. "Of course when I examined it and found no locks, I guessedthat it was a trick chain, and that there were invisible springs inthe wrist loops."
"But why should any one chain Mr. Greene to his bed with a trickchain?" questioned Mrs. Hale, whose mind had been working swiftly.
"He chained himself," explained Jones, "for excellent reasons. Asthere is no regular trade in these things, I figured that heprobably bought it from some juggler whose performance had given himthe idea. So," continued Jones, producing a specimen of hisadvertisements in the theatrical publications, "I set out to findwhat professional had sold a 'prop', to an amateur. I found thesale had been made at Marsfield, Ohio, late in November of lastyear, by a 'Slippery Sam,' termed 'The Elusive Edwardes.' OnNovember twenty-eighth of last year Mr. Harvey M. Greene, ofRichmond, Virginia, was registered at the principal, in fact theonly decent hotel, at Barsfield. I wrote to him and here he is."
"Yes; but where is my necklace?" cried Mrs. Hale.
"On my word of honor, madam, I know nothing of your necklace,"asserted Greene, with a painful contraction of his features. "Ifthis gentleman can throw any more light--"
"I think I can," said Average Jones. "Do you remember anything ofthat night's events after you broke off the bedpost and left yourroom--the meeting with a guest who questioned you in the hall, forexample?"
"Nothing. Not a thing until I awoke and found myself on thefire-escape."
"Awoke?" cried Kirby. "Were you asleep all the time?"
"Certainly. I'm a confirmed sleep-walker worst type. That's why Igo under an alias. That's why I got the trick handcuff chain andchained myself up with it, until I found it drove me fighting',crazy in my sleep when I couldn't break away. That's why I slept inmy dressing-gown that night at the Denton. There was a red light inthe hall outside and any light, particularly a colored one, islikely to set me going. I probably dreamed I was escaping from alocomotive--that's a common delusion of mine--and sought refuge inthe first door that was open."
"Wait a minute," said Average Jones. "You--er--say that youare--er--peculiarly susceptible to--er--colored light."
"Yes."
"Mrs. Hale, was the table on which the necklace lay in line with anylight outside?"
"I think probably with the direct ray of an electric globe shiningthrough the farther window."
"Then, Mr. Greene," said, Average Jones, "the glint of the fire-bluestones undoubtedly caught your eye. You seized on the necklace andcarried it out on the fire-escape balcony, where the cool air or themilk-driver's hail awakened you. Have you no recollection of seeingsuch a thing?"
"Not the faintest, unhappily."
"Then he must have dropped it to the ground below," said Kirby.
"I don't think so," controverted Jones slowly. "Mr. Greene musthave been clinging to it tenaciously when it swung and caughtagainst the railing, stripping off the three end stones. If thewhole necklace had dropped it would have broken up fine, and morethan three stones would have returned to us in reply to theadvertisements. And in that case, too, the chances against the endstones alone returning, out of all the thirty-six, are too unlikelyto be considered. No, the fire-blue necklace never fell to theground."
"It certainly didn't remain on the balcony," said Kirby. "It wouldhave been discovered there."
"Quite so," assented Average Jones. "We're getting at it by theprocess of exclusion. The necklace didn't fall. It didn't stay.Therefore?"--he looked inquiringly at Mrs. Hale.
"It returned," she said quickly.
"With Mr. Greene," added Average Jones.
"I tell you," cried that gentleman vehemently, "I haven't set eyeson the wretched thing."
"Agreed," returned Average Jones; "which doesn't at all affect thepoint I wish to make. You may recall, Mr. Greene, that in mymessage I asked you to pack your suitcase exactly as it was when youleft the hotel with it on the morning of August seventh."
"I've done so with the exception of the conjurer's chain, ofcourse."
"Including the dressing-gown you had on, that night, I assume. Haveyou worn it since?"
"No. It hung in my closet until yesterday, when I folded it topack. You see, I--I've had to give up the road on account of myunhappy failing."
"Then permit me." Average Jones stooped to, the dress-suit case,drew out the garment and thrust his hand into its one pocket. Heturned to Mrs. Hale.
"Would you--er--mind--er--leaning over a bit?" he said.
She bent her dainty head, then gave a startled cry of delight as theyoung man, with a swift motion, looped over her shoulders a chain ofliving blue fires which gleamed and glinted in the sunlight.
"They were there all the time," she exclaimed; "and you knew it."
"Guessed it," he corrected, "by figuring out that they couldn't wellbe elsewhere--unless on the untenable hypothesis that our friend,Mr. Greene here, was a thief."
"Which only goes to prove," said Kirby soberly, "that evidence maybe a mighty deceptive accuser."
"Which only goes to prove," amended Average Jones, "that there's nofire, even the bluest, without traceable smoke."'