Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 136: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

126 those others on your desk, and there is a slight grove in the wood the same as in this pencil I have just sharpened. Your machine has a slight nick in one of the blades. I found this pencil in the tele- phone booth. You must have dropped it when you were telephoning. By the way, what time did you reach Brookmeadow?” “About three,” came the mechanical answer. Mr. Vrooman’s gaze was riveted upon the pencil in Craton’s hand. He seemed to be thinking deeply. ‘“And what time did you leave?” “Immediately. I wrote a note toe Mr. Sands and left at once.” ‘“ After you telephoned?” “Yes—lI telephoned.” ““To whom?” “Mr. Craton, this is too much. I re- fuse to be questioned by you or any one else.” “ Sorry, Mr. Vrooman, downright sorry.” Craten’s tone sounded as if he meant it. “ But it won’t do. No one called central from Brookmeadow between two and five yesterday afternoon. Why were you in the telephone booth?” ‘What right have you to ask me such questions?” cried Vrooman. | “No right. I only ask your indulgence and answers.” “T think we will end this interview.” Mr. Vrooman indicated the door. “ Very well,” agreed Cratton amiably. ‘“‘T suppose you would rather tell your story to the police.” He paused at the door. “T have no story too tell,” came the faltering voice. ‘“ Oh, but you have, Mr. Vrooman. Why did you wire Mr. Sands to come to the Biltmore, signing Mr. Gregg’s name too the message? Why did you go into the tele- phone booth when you did not telephone? Why did you call Mr. Sands’s office from Needham’s grocery store at nine thirty- five last night? “Why, Mr. Vrooman, did you happen to drop this pencil and ”—he held a small black tube in front of the wavering eyes— ‘this in the telephone booth? Why, Mr. Vrooman, did you cut the wires to the desk telephone? The print of your blunt fingers are in the dust on the picture molding. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Why, sir, did you stuff the ventilators in the top of that telephone booth full of paper? You have some story to tell, 1 think. Will you tell it to me or—” But the arraignment ended, Mr. Vroo- man had slipped out of his chair to the floor in a dead faint. CHAPTER XXI. IN WELCOX’S OFFICE, T exactly three fifty Craton swung in through the entrance of the office building on Broad Street. “How are you,. sheriff?” he smiled. “We'll go up at once.” Homes. followed to the elevator and the two men got off at the tenth floor. Craton unlocked a door at the end of the hall which bore no designation as to the occu- pant of the room. : ‘Have any luck, sheriff?” he asked, tossing his hat onto a table. ‘“ Found every last one of them, and say, I don’t know whether they tumbled for the story or not. Actresses, weren’t they? Well,” as Craton gave a nod, “ I’m sure some were curious enough to come down here, for I saw three girls come in and take the elevator while I was wait- ing. Suppose they went to Welcox’s office.” ‘“Let’s hope so. Now, sheriff, I want you to sit right here in this room close to the wall at this spot. If you put your ear to the wall you'll find you can hear everything that is said in the next room. I'll be in there, but don’t bother to come in unless I ring for you. Bell right in that corner.”’ Homes cast his eyes at the chair he was to occupy and then at the bell near the ceiling. “ All right,” he agreed, drawing a deep breath, “I’m ready for anything.”’ “Won't be any excitement,” smiled Cra- ton, “unless we have a case of hysterics or a fainting on our hands. Ever seen this before?” he demanded, drawing a small pear! handled revolver from his pocket. “Tt’s the pistol found in Sands’s li- brary.” “ Look again.” CORMICLOOOKSsECO —