Evening Star Newspaper, June 29, 1930, Page 84

D ———— THE SUNDAY STAR, WASH ESTORS —Mr. Reciter, E Another Sparkling Story F rom the Pen of a Master of Mystery Fiction—The Talels Complete in This Issue of The Star’s Sunday Magazine and Mr. Recder, the Quaint Detective Who Has Figureg Largely in Mr. Wallace’s Recent Stories, Has a Strange Adventure. HERE are several million people in New York and each one of these millions is in theory and practice equal under the law and commonly precious to the community. So that, if one is willfully wronged, another must be punished; and if one dies of premeditated vio- lence, his slayer must hang by the neck until he be dead. Sometimes uneasy inquiries come through to headquarters. Mainly they are most timid and deferential. Mr. X. has not seen his neighbor, Mr. Y., for a week. No, he doesn’t know Mr. Y. Nobody does. A little old man who had no friends and spent his fine days pottering in a garden overlooked by his more gregarious neighbor. And now Mr. Y. potters no more. His milk has not been taken in; his blinds are drawn. Comes a sergeant of police who breaks a window and climbs through, and Mr, Y. is dead somewhere—dead of starvation or a fit or suicide. Should this be the case, all is plain sailing. But suppose the house empty and Mr. Y. disappeared. Here the situation becomes difficult and delicate. Miss Elver went away to Switzerland. Ske was a middle-aged spinster who had the ap- pearance of being comfortably circumstanced. She went away, locked up her house, and never came back. ND then Mr. Charles Boyson Middlekirk, an eccentric and overpowering old man who quarreled with his neighbors about their noisy children, he too went away. He told nobody where he was going. He lived alone with his three cats and was not on speaking terms with anybody else. He did not return to his grimy house. “Queer sort of thing,” said the district attor- ney, who had before him the memoranda of four people (three women and & man) who had so vanished in three months. He frowned, pressed a bell, and Mr. Reeder came in, “What do you make of these disappear- ances?” asked his chief. “You cannot make any positive of a nega- tive,” said Mr. Reeder carefully. “Have you seen these particulars?” Mr. Reeder nodded. “I have copies of them,” he said. “Mr. Sal- ter very kindly——" The district attorney rubbed his head in per- plexity. “I see nothing in these cases—nothing in common, I mean. Four is a fairly low average for a big city—" “Twenty-seven in 12 months,” interrupted his detective apologetically. “Twenty-seven—are you sure?” The great official was astounded. Mr. Reeder nodded again. “They were all people with a little money; @ll were drawing a fairly large income, which was paid to them in bills on the first of every month and they were all most reticent as to Where their revenues came from. None of them had any personal friends or relatives who were on terms of friendship, except Mrs. Marting. “There is another point which I omitted to mention,” he went on. “After their disappear- ance no further money came for them. It ceme for Mrs. Marting when she was away on her jaunts, but it ceased when she went away ipn her final journey.” . “What do you think has happened to them?” ' Mr. Reeder considered for a moment, staring Rlumly at the carpet. “I should imagine that they were murdered,” he said, almost cheerfully, and the district at- torney half rose from his chair., “You are in your gayest mood this morning, Mr. Reeder, he said sardonically. “Why on porth should they be murdered?” Mr. Reeder did not explain. The interview took place in the late afternoon and he was anxious to be gone to meet a young lady of exceeding charm who at 5 minutes after 5 would be waiting at the corner for him. He so rarely discussed his own business or introduced the subject that was exercising his mind that it was remarkable he should make even an oblique reference to his work. Possibly he would not have done so if Miss Margaret Belman had not introduced (unwillingly) a Jeader of conversation which traced indirectly to the disappearances. 'HEY had been talking of holidays; Margaret ' was going to the shore for a fortnight. “I shall leave on the 2d. My monthly divi- dends (doesn’t that sound grand?) are due om the 1st——" “D.vidends, Miss Margaret?” She flushed a little at his surprise and then laughed. “You didn't realize that I was a woman of property?” she bantered him. “I receive $50 a month; my father left me a little house prop- erty when he died. I sold the cottages two years ago for $5,000 and found a wonderful invest- ment.” Mr. Reeder made a rapid calculation. “You are drawing something like 1214 per cent,” he said. “That is indeed a wonderful investment. What is the name of the com= pany?” She hesitated. “I'm afraid I can't tell you that. You see— well, it's rather secret. It is to do with a South American syndicate that supplies arms to—what do you call them—insurgents! “We are pledged—the shareholders, I mean— not to divulge our connection with the com- pany,” she said. “That is one of the agree- ments I had to sign. And the money comes regularly. I have had nearly fifteen hundred of my five thousand back in dividends already.” “Humph!” said Mr. Reeder, wise enough not to press his question. There was another day tomorrow. But the opportunity to which he looked for- ward on the following morning was denied to him. Somebody played a grim “joke” on him— the kind of joke to which he was accustomed, for there were men who had good reason to hate him, and never a year passed but one or the other sought to repay him for his unkindly attentions. “Your name is Reeder, ain’t it?” Mr. Reeder, tightly grasping his umbrella with both hands, looked over his spectacles at the shabby man who stood at the bottom of the steps. He was on the point of leaving his house for his office. “You're the fellow who got Ike Walker, ain’t you?” Mr. Reeder knew Ike Walker very well indeed. He was a clever, a too clever, forger of bills of exchange, and was at that precise moment al- most permanently employed as an orderly at Sing Sing. “Yes, I was Instrumental in arresting Ike Walker,” said Mr. Reeder, almost gently. The man put his hand in his pocket and brought out a crumpled packet inclosed in green oiled silk. Mr. Reeder unfolded the cov= ering and found a soiled and crumpled en- velope. “That’s from Ike,” said the man. “He sent it out of stir by a gent who was discharged yes- terday.” Mr. Reeder opened the envelope, keeping his eyes on the man's face, took out the crumpled sheet and read the five or six lines of writing. Dear Reeder: Here is a bit of a riddle for you. What other people have got, you can have. I haven't got it, but it is coming to you. It's red-hot when you get it, but you're cold when it goes away. Your loving friend, IKE WALKER. (doing a twelve stretch because you went on the witness stand and told a lot of lies). Mr. Reeder looked up and their eyes met. “Your friend is a little mad, one thinks?” he asked politely. “He ain’t a friend of mine. A gent asked me to bring it,” said the messenger. “On the contrary,” said Mr. Reeder pleasante ly “he gave it to you in Sing Sing yesterday. Your name is Mills; you have eight convictions for burglary, and will have your ninth before the year is out. You were released two days ago.” ' Tn!mmmlorthemmentshrmedmd in two minds to bolt. Mr. Reeder glanced along the street, saw a slim figure, that was standing at the corner, cross to a waiting street car, and seeing his opportunity vanish, read- justed his time table. “Come inside, Mr. Mills.” The messenger followed meekly, wiped his boots with great vigor on the mat and tiptoed up the carpeted stairs to the big study where Mr. Reeder did most of his thinking. “sit down, Mills.” With his own hands Mr. Reeder placed a chair for his uncomfortable visitor and then, pulling up another to his big writing table, he spread the letter before him, adjusted his glasses, read, his lips moving, and then leaned back in his chair. “I give it up,” he said. “Read me this riddle.” As he handed the letter across the table, the man betrayed himself, for he rose and pushed back his chair with a startled, horrified expres- sion that told Mr. Reeder quite a lot. He laid the letter down on his desk, took a large tum- bler from the sideboard, inverted it and covered the scrawled paper. Then: ¥ y, hung them the edge of the bath. He went back to his comfortable guest in his shirt sleeves. “Qur friend Walker is employed in the hos- pital,” he stated rather than asked. “What have you had there—scarlet fever or something worse?” He glanced down at the letter under the glass. “Scarlet fever, of course,” he said, “and the letter has been systematically infected, Walker is almost clever.” The wood of a fire was laid in the grate. He carried the letter and. the blotting paper to the hearth, )it the kindling and trust paper and letter into the flames. He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked down benevolently at the wretched emissary of the vengeful Walker. “You may go now, Mills,” he said . “I rather think that you are infected. .e'?h“zt ridiculous piece of oiled silk is quite inadequate —which means ‘quite useless’—as a protection against wandering germs. He opened the door, pointed to the stairway and the man slunk out. That day news of another disappearance had come through from police headquarters, and Mr. Reeder was waiting at 10 minutes before 5 at the rendezvous for the girl who, he instince tively knew, could give him a thread of the clue. He was determined that this time his inquiries should bear fruit; but it was not until they were walking slowly up toward the gicls boarding nouse, that she gave him a hint. “Why are you so persistent, Mr. Reeder?” she asked, a little impatiently. “Do you wish to invest money? Because, if you do, I'm sorry I can't help you. That is another agreement we made, that we would not introduce new shareholders.” “I am going to tell you something, Miss Be!l- man, and I hope—er—that I shall not alarm you.” And very briefly he told the story of the disappearances and the queer coincidence which marked every case—the receipt of a dividend on the first of every month. As he proceeded the color left the girl's face. “You are serious, of course?” “You wouldn’t tell me that unless—— The company is the Mexico City Investment Syndicate. They have offices in Pine street.” “How did you come to hear of th - Mr. Reeder. S “I had a letter from their manager, Mr. De Silvo. He told me that a friend had mentioned my name, and gave full particulars of the in- vestment.” “Have you that letter?” She shok her head. “No, I was particularly asked to bring it with me when I went to see them. Although, in point of fact, I never did see them,” smiled the girl. “I wrote to their lawyers—will you ? I have their letter.” e o R REEDER waited at the steps while the girl went into the house and returned pres- ently with a small portfolio, from which she took & quarto sheet. It was headed with the name of a legal firm, Bracher & Bracher, and was the usual formal type of letter one ex- pects from a lawyer. Dear Madam: Re Mexican City Investment Syndicate: We act as lawyers to this syndicate, and so far as we know is a reputable concern. We feel that it is only due to us that we should say that we do not advise investments in any concern which offers such large profits, for usually there is » corresponding risk. We know, however, that this syndicate has paid 121 per cent and some- times as much as 20 per cent, and we have had no complaints sbout them. We cannot, of course, as lawyers guarantee the financial soundness of any of our clients, and can only repeat that, in so far as we have been able to ascertain, the syndicate conducts a genuine business and enjoys a very sound financial “Yours faithfully, “BRACHER & BRACHER." ‘“You say you never saw De Silvo?” She shook her head. “No; I saw Mr. Bracher, but when I went to the office of the syndicate, which is in the same building, I found only a clerk in attendance. Mr. De Silvo had been called out of town.” Mr. Reeder did not reply. That afternoon he made it his business to call at the office in Pine street. It was a two-sory building of an old- fashioned type. A wide flagged hall led into the building; a set of old-fashioned stairs ran up to the “top floor,” which was occupied by & China merchant, and from the hall led three doors. - "That on the left bore the legend, “Bracher & Bracher, Solicitors,” and immedi- ately facing was the office of the Mexican syn- dicate. At the far end of the passage was a door which exhibited the name of “John Baston,” but as to Mr. Baston’s business there was no indication. Mr. Reeder knocked gently at the door of the syndicate and & voice bade him come in, A, young man, wearing glasses, was sitting at a . typewriting table, a pair of dictaphone receivers in his ears, and he was typing rapidly. “No, sir, Mr. De Silvo is not in, He only comes in about twice a week,” said the clerk. “Will you give me your name?” “It is not important,” said Mr. Reeder gently and went out, closing the door behind him. He was. more fortunate in his call upom Bracher & Bracher, for Mr. Joseph Bracher was in his office, a tall, florid gentleman who wore & large rose in his buttonhole. “sSit down, Mr. Reeder,” said the lawyer, glancing at the card. In a few words Mr. Reeder stated his busi- ness, and Mr. Bracher smiled. ol “It is fortunate you came today,” he said. “If it were tomorrow we should mot be able to give you any information. The truth is, we have had to ask Mr. De Silvo to find other law- yers. No, no, there is nothing wrong, except that they constantly refer their clients to us, and we feel that we are becoming in the nature of sponsors for their clients, and that, of course, is very undesirable.” Mr. Reeder sought inspiration in the ceiling. “Who is John Baston?” he asked, and the lawyer laughed. “There again I am ignorant. I believe he is & very wealthy financier, but, so far as I know, he only comes to his office for three months in the year, and I have never seen him.” THAT night Reeder waited for the girl, but she did not appear, and aithough he re- mained at the rendezvous until half past 5 he did not see her. This was not very unusual, for sometimes she had to work late, and he went home without any feeling of apprehension. . He finished his own frugal dinner and then walked across to the boarding house. Miss Belman had not arrived, and he returned to his study and telephoned first to the office where she was em- ployed, and then to the private address of her employer. “She left at half past 4,” was the surprising news. Somebody telephoned to her and she asked me if she might go early.” - %