Tragedy Trail | Page 7

he said. "The commissioner speaking. He
says he wouldn't bother you, except that it is urgent."
"Everything is always urgent with the commissioner," Terry Trimble
grumbled.
He left the comfortable chair and stepped across to the telephone.
"Hello!" he cried. "Commissioner? What seems to be the trouble now?
One of your patrolmen got lost in the rain, or something like that?
What's that? Don't know whether it's murder, suicide or accident? Why,
in Heaven's name, don't you find out before you bother me? Oh, I see.
You want me to find out, eh? Well, tell me about it."
Billings, standing a few feet away, watched Terry Trimble's face as he
listened at the telephone. He analyzed the expressions of it with
wisdom. Soon he turned and slipped from the room. When he returned
Trimble was still listening at the telephone. Billings had Trimble's
overshoes, coat, raincoat, hat and gloves.
"Very well. I suppose I'll have to look into it," Trimble said. "I'll be
over immediately, yes!"
Billings reached out and pressed the button that warned the chauffeur to

have Terry Trimble's big limousine in front immediately. Then, as
Trimble turned around, his secretary advanced with the coat.
"Um!" Terry Trimble said. "All ready for me, are you?" One of these
times, Billings, you'll guess wrong. Some day I'll turn around, see you
with my coat ready, and, just for spite, will refuse to answer the call."
Billings continued to grin as he helped Trimble on with his things and
handed him his gloves.
"I am to accompany you, sir?" Billings asked.
"No, Billings. I'll telephone if I need you. It is your good fortune,
Billings, to remain before the fire. Take a look at that book and see if
you find merit in it."
Terry Trimble hurried down in the elevator, gave his chauffeur the
address of Mrs. Burke's boarding house, sprang into the limousine, and
lighted a cigarette. The commissioner had told him a great deal about
the case, but Terry Trimble had forgotten it as soon as he had decided
to answer the call. Trimble always liked to gain his first impressions on
the scene of a crime. Other men might have an incorrect idea, pass it on
to him, and set him off on a wrong trail.
The big machine skidded along the streets. The rain pelted the windows.
Terry Trimble, glancing out, saw that there were few vehicles and
fewer pedestrians abroad.
"I trust this is an easy case, that can be solved indoors," he told himself.
"This is no night for chasing criminals, interesting or otherwise."
The limousine stopped at the curb before Mrs. Burke's, and Terry
Trimble got out, shielded his face against the raging storm, and darted
up the steps. He did not even speak to the chauffeur, who had been in
his employ for some time and knew what to do. The chauffeur would
get inside the limousine and remain there, smoking and watching the
storm, until Terry Trimble put in an appearance again and issued orders.
From experience the chauffeur knew that this might be in fifteen

minutes or twenty-four hours.
Trimble was met at the door by the city detective who first had been
sent out on the case.
"Well, Darter, we meet again!" Trimble said.
He removed his coat and hat and gloves, rearranged his cravat, rubbed
his hands, and scowled at the water on his shoes. Instead of reporting to
solve the mystery of a crime Terry Trimble might have been calling as
a guest at a reception, except that he was not in evening clothes. Then
Trimble adjusted his monocle, glared at Darter through it, and cleared
his throat.
"The commissioner told me something of this case, but I have forgotten
it," he said.
Detective Darter grinned. He knew Trimble's methods, because he had
worked with him before.
"Two girls are dead," Darter said. "The doctor--he is in the rear parlor
treating half a dozen cases of hysteria--says they both died of poison, a
peculiar poison that is hard to obtain and seems to kill a person as quick
as a shot through the heart."
"Well, well!" Trimble said. "And why call me?"
Darter scratched his head a moment before he replied. He never knew
quite how to speak to Terry Trimble.
"Well, we don't see how they could get the stuff," he admitted. "Neither
girl seems to have had an enemy and----"
"That'll do!" Trimble said. "I'm asking for facts, not conjectures, my
dear Darter. Let me attack this problem with an open mind. Where are
the dead girls?"
"Undertaking establishment. The coroner's assistant ordered the bodies
removed."

"Let us hope that he has not caused us a lot of unnecessary work,"
Trimble said.
"I'll take you up to the room where----"
"I fancy the front parlor at present,"