The Voice on the Wire | Page 4

shows that the house burned down about two weeks ago. No one else

has been given the number. There's no instrument there!"

CHAPTER II
THE FLEETING PROMPTER
Monty's puzzled smile was in no wise reciprocated by the Captain,
whose red face evidenced a growing resentment.
He began a tirade, but a wink from the club man warned him. Shirley
replaced the receiver, and the regular attendant resumed his place at the
switchboard. The lad was curious at the unusual ability of the wealthy
Mr. Shirley to handle the bewildering maze of telephone attachments.
Monty explained, as he turned to go upstairs.
"Son, that was one of my smart friends trying to play a practical joke
on my guest. I fooled him. Don't let it happen again, until you send in
the party's name first."
"Yes, sir," meekly promised the boy.
"Well, Captain Cronin, as the old paperback novels used to say at the
end of the first instalment, 'The Plot thickens!' At first I thought this
case of stupid badger game--"
"You aren't going to back out, Monty? Here's a whole gang of crooks
which would give you some sport rounding up, and as for money--"
"Money is easy, from both sides of a criminal matter. What interests me
is that ghostly telephone call from a house that burned down, and the
caller's knowledge of Number Three. I'm in this case, have no fear of
that."
Shirley led his guest to the coat room.
"I'll get a taxicab, Monty. We'd better see that girl first and then have a
look at the body."

The Captain turned to the door, as the attendant helped Monty with his
overcoat. The waiter from the grill-room approached. "Excuse me, sir,
but the gentleman dropped his handkerchief in his chair opposite you."
"Thank you, Gordon," he said, as he faced the servant for an instant.
When he turned again, toward the front hall, the Captain had passed out
of view through the front door.
Shirley received a surprise when he reached the pavement on
Forty-fourth Street, for Captain Cronin was not in sight. Two club men
descended the steps of the neighboring house. Others strolled along
toward the Avenue, but not a sign of a vehicle of any description could
be seen, nor was there anything suspicious in view. Cronin had
disappeared as effectually as though he had taken a passing Zeppelin!
"I'm glad this affair will not bore me," murmured the criminologist, as
he evolved and promptly discarded a dozen vain theories to explain the
disappearance of his companion.
Twenty minutes were wasted along the block, as he waited for some
sight or sign. Then he decided to go on up to Van Cleft's residence. But,
realizing the probability of "shadow" work upon all who came from the
door of the club, after the curious message on the wire, Shirley did not
propose to expose his hand. Walking leisurely to the Avenue, he hailed
a passing hansom. He directed the driver to carry him to an address on
Central Park West. His shrewdness was not wasted, for as he stepped
into the vehicle, he espied a slinking figure crossing the street
diagonally before him, to disappear into the shadow of an adjacent
doorway. This was the house of Reginald Van Der Voor, as Shirley
knew. It was closed because its master, a social acquaintance of the
club man's, was at this time touring the Orient in his steam yacht. No
man should have entered that doorway. So, as the horse started under
the flick of the long whip, Shirley peered unobserved through the glass
window at his side.
A big machine swung up behind the hansom, at some unseen hail, and
the figure came from the doorway, leaping into the car, as it followed
Shirley up the Avenue, a block or so behind.

"It is not always so easy to follow, when the leader knows his chase,"
thought Shirley. "I'm glad I'm only a simple club man."
The automobile was unmistakably trailing him, as the hansom crossed
the Plaza, then sped through the Park drive, to the address he had given
his driver.
As Shirley had remembered, this was a large apartment house, in which
one of his bachelor friends lived. He knew the lay of the building well:
next door, with an entrance facing on the side street was another just
like it, and of equal height.
"Wait for me, here," said Shirley. "I'll pay you now, but want to go to
an address down town in five minutes."
He gave the driver a bill, then entered and told the elevator man to take
him to the ninth floor.
"There's nobody in, boss," began the boy. But Shirley shook his head.
"My friend is expecting me for a little card game, that's why you think