The Red Seal [55]
already done so," objected Ferguson. "And there wasn't the faintest clew to his hiding place."
"For all that I am not satisfied." Kent walked over and switched on another light. "When I came here on Wednesday night I had a tussle with some man, but he escaped in the dark without my seeing him. I believe he was Rochester."
"You are probably right." Ferguson crossed the room. "And if he came back once, he may return again. Come ahead," and he plunged into the first bedroom. The two men subjected each room to an exhaustive search, but their labors were their only reward; except for an accumulation of dust, the apartment was undisturbed. They had reached the kitchenette-pantry when the gong over their heads sounded loudly, and Kent, with a muttered exclamation hastened toward the front door of the apartment. Ferguson, intent on studying the "L" of the building as seen from the window, was hardly conscious of his departure, and some seconds elapsed before he turned toward the door. As he gained it, he saw a dark shape dart down the hall. With a bound Ferguson started in pursuit, and the next second grappled with the flying man just as the electric lights went out and they were plunged in darkness.
Suddenly Kent's voice echoed down the hall. "Come here quick, Ferguson!"
There was a note of urgency about his appeal, and Ferguson straining his muscles until the blood pounded in his temples, threw the struggling man into a tufted arm-chair which stood by the entrance to the small dining room, and drawing out his handcuffs, slipped them on securely. "Stay there," Ferguson admonished his prisoner. "Or there will be worse coming to you," and he thrust the muzzle of his revolver against the man's heaving chest to illustrate his meaning; then as Kent called again, he sped down the hall and brought up breathless at the front door. The light was still burning in the corridor, though not very brightly, and he saw Kent hand the grinning messenger boy a shiny quarter. Touching his battered cap the boy went whistling away. "Tell the elevator boy to report that a fuse has burned out in Mr. Rochester's apartment," Ferguson called after him, and the lad waved his hand as he dashed into the elevator.
Paying no attention to the detective's call, Kent showed him a white envelope which bore the simple address:
PHILIP ROCHESTER, ESQ. THE SARATOGA
"It's the identical envelope I found in your safe," declared Ferguson.
"And which disappeared last night at the Club de Vingt." Kent turned over the envelope. "See, the red seal."
For a minute the men contemplated the seal with the large distinctive letter "B" in the center.
"Open the letter, sir," Ferguson urged and Kent, his fingers fairly trembling, jerked and tore at the linen incased envelope; the flap ripped away and he opened the envelope - it was empty.
Instinctively the two men glanced down at the parquetry flooring; nothing but a thin coating of dust lay there, and Kent looked up and down the corridor; it was deserted.
"Do you recognize the handwriting?" asked Ferguson.
"No." Kent regarded the envelope in bewilderment. "What shall we do?"
"Do? Call up the Dime Messenger Service and see where the envelope came from; but first come and see my prisoner.
"Your prisoner?" in profound astonishment.
"Yes. I caught him chasing up the hall after you," explained Ferguson as they hurriedly retraced their steps. "I put handcuffs on him and then went to you. Ah, here's the light!"
"The light, yes; but where's your prisoner?" and Kent, who was a trifle in advance of his companion in reaching the dining room, stood aside to let Ferguson pass him.
The detective halted abruptly. The chair into which he had thrust his prisoner was vacant. The man had disappeared.
With one accord Ferguson and Kent advanced close to the chair, and an oath broke from. the detective. On the cushion of the chair, still bearing the impress of a human body, lay a pair of shining new handcuffs.
Dazedly Ferguson
"For all that I am not satisfied." Kent walked over and switched on another light. "When I came here on Wednesday night I had a tussle with some man, but he escaped in the dark without my seeing him. I believe he was Rochester."
"You are probably right." Ferguson crossed the room. "And if he came back once, he may return again. Come ahead," and he plunged into the first bedroom. The two men subjected each room to an exhaustive search, but their labors were their only reward; except for an accumulation of dust, the apartment was undisturbed. They had reached the kitchenette-pantry when the gong over their heads sounded loudly, and Kent, with a muttered exclamation hastened toward the front door of the apartment. Ferguson, intent on studying the "L" of the building as seen from the window, was hardly conscious of his departure, and some seconds elapsed before he turned toward the door. As he gained it, he saw a dark shape dart down the hall. With a bound Ferguson started in pursuit, and the next second grappled with the flying man just as the electric lights went out and they were plunged in darkness.
Suddenly Kent's voice echoed down the hall. "Come here quick, Ferguson!"
There was a note of urgency about his appeal, and Ferguson straining his muscles until the blood pounded in his temples, threw the struggling man into a tufted arm-chair which stood by the entrance to the small dining room, and drawing out his handcuffs, slipped them on securely. "Stay there," Ferguson admonished his prisoner. "Or there will be worse coming to you," and he thrust the muzzle of his revolver against the man's heaving chest to illustrate his meaning; then as Kent called again, he sped down the hall and brought up breathless at the front door. The light was still burning in the corridor, though not very brightly, and he saw Kent hand the grinning messenger boy a shiny quarter. Touching his battered cap the boy went whistling away. "Tell the elevator boy to report that a fuse has burned out in Mr. Rochester's apartment," Ferguson called after him, and the lad waved his hand as he dashed into the elevator.
Paying no attention to the detective's call, Kent showed him a white envelope which bore the simple address:
PHILIP ROCHESTER, ESQ. THE SARATOGA
"It's the identical envelope I found in your safe," declared Ferguson.
"And which disappeared last night at the Club de Vingt." Kent turned over the envelope. "See, the red seal."
For a minute the men contemplated the seal with the large distinctive letter "B" in the center.
"Open the letter, sir," Ferguson urged and Kent, his fingers fairly trembling, jerked and tore at the linen incased envelope; the flap ripped away and he opened the envelope - it was empty.
Instinctively the two men glanced down at the parquetry flooring; nothing but a thin coating of dust lay there, and Kent looked up and down the corridor; it was deserted.
"Do you recognize the handwriting?" asked Ferguson.
"No." Kent regarded the envelope in bewilderment. "What shall we do?"
"Do? Call up the Dime Messenger Service and see where the envelope came from; but first come and see my prisoner.
"Your prisoner?" in profound astonishment.
"Yes. I caught him chasing up the hall after you," explained Ferguson as they hurriedly retraced their steps. "I put handcuffs on him and then went to you. Ah, here's the light!"
"The light, yes; but where's your prisoner?" and Kent, who was a trifle in advance of his companion in reaching the dining room, stood aside to let Ferguson pass him.
The detective halted abruptly. The chair into which he had thrust his prisoner was vacant. The man had disappeared.
With one accord Ferguson and Kent advanced close to the chair, and an oath broke from. the detective. On the cushion of the chair, still bearing the impress of a human body, lay a pair of shining new handcuffs.
Dazedly Ferguson