Richard Harding Davis

“ Nolan was the spoiled child of ‘the office.’ He was the district attorney’s pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective and as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton’s chauffeur he now doubled the parts.
“What Nolan testified wouldn’t be any help,” said Wharton. “They would say it was just a story he invented to save me.”
“Then square yourself this way,” urged Rumson. “Send a note now by hand to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell them you’re going to Ida Earle’s—and why—tell them you’re afraid it’s a frame-up, and for them to keep your notes as evidence. ”

“ They stand on the edge of a wood. It’s about as big as a city block. If we come in through the woods from the rear, the garages will hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won’t be a hundred yards away. You’ve only to blow a police whistle and we’ll be with you.”
“You mean I ought to go?” said Wharton.
Rumson exclaimed incredulously: “You got to go!”
“It looks to me,” objected Bissell, “like a plot to get you there alone and rap you on the head.” “Not with that note inviting him there,” protested Hewitt, “and signed by Earle herself.” ”

“ If the district attorney will come at once, and alone, to Kessler’s Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, near the city line, he will be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don’t come in an hour, it will be too late. If he brings anybody with him, he won’t be told anything. Leave your car in the road and walk up the drive. ”

“ I’ll send it by district messenger. You’re wasting time trying to reach me. It’s the LETTER you want. It tells——” the voice broke with an oath and instantly began again: “I can’t talk over a phone. I tell you, it’s life or death. If you lose out, it’s your own fault. Where can I find Wharton?”
“At Delmonico’s,” answered Rumson. “He’ll be there until two o’clock.” “Delmonico’s! That’s Forty-fort Street?” “Right,” said Rumson. “Tell the messenger——” He heard the receiver slam upon the hook. With the light of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl. ”

“ When, in hoarse whispers, the last one had been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protested indignantly.
“Stop bringing me clews!” he exclaimed. “I want the man. I can’t electrocute a clew!”
So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was skeptical. He motioned the girl to switch to the desk telephone.
“Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking,” he said. ”

“ In evidence nothing flaunted, nothing threatened From a dozen other inns along the Pelham Parkway and the Boston Post Road it was no way to be distinguished.
As directed in the note, Wharton left the car in the road. “For five minutes stay where you are,” he ordered Nolan; “then go to the bar and get a drink. Don’t talk to any one or they’ll think you’re trying to get information. Work around to the back of the house. Stand where I can see you from the window. I may want you to carry a message to Mr. Rumson.” ”

“ No one better than himself knew that his rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the fact that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his hands clean, and had worn no man’s collar. ”

“ Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the detective planned how, without those inside the road-house being aware of their presence, they might be near it.
Kessler’s Cafe lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In taxi-cabs they arranged to start at once and proceed down White Plains Avenue, which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on a line with Kessler’s, but from it hidden by the woods and the garages. A walk of a quarter of a mile across lots and under cover of the trees would bring them to within a hundred yards of the house. ”

“ Do you want a gun?”
“No,” said the D. A.
“Better have mine,”’ urged Hewitt.
“I have my own,” explained the D. A.
Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Wharton followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car he felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the traffic police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed his errand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory. In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf ”

“ This is the district attorney.”
In the pause that followed, as though to torment her, the pain, in her side apparently turned, for the girl screamed sharply.
“Be still!” commanded the older woman. Breathless, across the top of the arm-chair, she was leaning forward. Upon the man at the telephone her eyes were fixed in fascination.
“Commissioner,” said the district attorney, “this is Wharton speaking. A woman has made a charge of attempted murder to me against my brother-in-law, Hamilton Cutler. On account of our relationship, I want you to make the arrest. ”