Читать книгу The Midas Man: A Doc Savage Adventure - Lester Bernard Dent - Страница 6

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It was around noon when a tall and very huskily built young gentleman presented himself at the office of the Philadelphia police chief and requested the privilege of an interview with whoever was in charge of the Jethro Mandebran investigation.

“What name shall I say?” inquired the reception clerk.

“Alexander Cromwell Mandebran,” said the young man.

A few minutes later, the young man was confronting the police chief, district attorney, a Federal investigator, police officials and a number of newspaper reporters.

“We had expected you earlier,” he was told.

“I took the wrong road,” the young man explained.

The district attorney asked, “Do you object to the presence of newspapermen?”

“Not at all.”

“You are Alexander Cromwell Mandebran, Jethro Mandebran’s son?” he was asked.

“I think I can prove that,” the young man said, and smiled slightly. “I have a number of letters.” He now produced envelopes addressed to Alexander Cromwell Mandebran in assorted English and European cities. These were examined.

While the scrutiny was taking place, a newspaperman nudged his companion. Both of the journalists had been at the airport when Alex Mandebran landed, and had been with the party of scribes which had later lost the scion of missing wealth.

“Notice anything queer about friend Alex?” whispered the scribbler.

His companion examined Alex Mandebran intently. “Nope. Why?”

“Maybe it’s my imagination,” said the other.

The investigators handed back the letters which they had been scrutinizing.

“Satisfactory?” demanded the young man.

“Yes,” he was told.

The Federal investigator studied Alex Mandebran, then asked, “Are you married?”

“No.”

“At one time you were engaged to a young woman named Sylvan Niles,” the investigator stated.

Alex Mandebran looked surprised. “How did you know that?”

“We are leaving no stones unturned,” the other assured him. “Sylvan Niles broke your engagement herself, did she not?”

Alex Mandebran moistened his lips, then admitted, “She did.”

“The engagement was broken at a London night club, was it not?” the investigator persisted. “There was something of a scene. Sylvan Niles called you some things and threw your ring at you, did she not?”

Alex Mandebran nodded uncomfortably.

“Why did Sylvan Niles break her engagement?” the government man asked.

Alex Mandebran hesitated. He not only looked uncomfortable, but indignant.

“She caught me going out with another girl,” he snapped.

Some of the reporters laughed at this, and their mirth drew a scowl from Alex Mandebran.

The district attorney now took over the questioning, asking, “You are an only child, are you not?”

“Yes,” admitted Alex Mandebran.

“And, as your father’s only offspring, you should be his principal heir?” the prosecutor questioned.

Alex Mandebran admitted, “I suppose so.”

The district attorney took a long breath. “Then tell me,” he directed, “why your father’s will cuts you off without a cent.”

Alex Mandebran sat perfectly still for a time. He did not look particularly disappointed.

“I did not know there was a will,” he said, levelly. “Am I to understand that my father is dead?”

“Not at all,” he was told. “We have no idea what’s become of him.”

“Then why have you opened his will?” shouted the young man.

“Because we are leaving no avenue of investigation unexplored,” the other replied.

Young Alex Mandebran was now asked another question.

“Do you know the present whereabouts of your former fiancée, Sylvan Niles?” he was asked.

“I no longer have the slightest interest in Sylvan Niles,” Alex Mandebran snapped.

“Did you know Sylvan Niles was here in Philadelphia?” the questioner countered.

“Good night!” exploded young Mandebran. “No!”

The newspapermen obviously had not known Sylvan Niles was in Philadelphia either. There was a bustling among them as they demanded the young woman’s address. This was given them. The young woman lived in the Salimar Apartments.

It might have been noted that Alex Mandebran listened intently to this address.

Some of the reporters now departed in a great hurry, anxious to interview Sylvan Niles.

A few more routine questions were put to Alex Mandebran. Replying to them, the young man asserted he had not the slightest idea what had happened to his father, that he considered his parent one of the most honest men living, and that he could not even hazard a guess as to what had happened to the twenty million.

“Did you know a great deal about Sylvan Niles?” he was asked.

“No, I did not,” he admitted. “I realized that later. I knew practically nothing about the young lady’s past.”

“Did you know a man named Hando Lancaster?”

“Scarcely at all,” said Alex Mandebran, quickly.

“He was Sylvan Niles employer, was he not?” prompted the interrogator.

“That was my understanding, I think.”

“Her capacity was that of laboratory assistant or secretary, was it not?” asked the other.

“Sylvan Niles told me very little about her work,” replied Alex Mandebran.

“What was Hando Lancaster’s business?”

“I have not the slightest idea,” declared young Mandebran.

“Were you at any time jealous of Hando Lancaster?”

“Good grief, no!” gasped Alex Mandebran. “Sylvan was the one who was jealous!”

There was some further questioning, but the subjects of Hando Lancaster and Sylvan Niles were not brought up again. The questions were general ones having to do with the character of the missing Jethro Mandebran. Had he been a gambler? Had he been a chaser? Did he drink? Had he ever shown any dishonest traits? To all of these Alex Mandebran answered in the negative.

“I should like to put a question of my own,” he said, suddenly.

“Of course,” he was told.

“In just what form was this twenty million dollars when it disappeared?” Alex Mandebran demanded.

“In the form of unregistered bonds,” the district attorney explained. “Bonds which, unfortunately, cannot be traced.”

“Now, I should like to be excused,” said young Mandebran.

This seemed to be agreeable, so Alex Mandebran took his departure.

Perhaps three quarters of an hour later, a taxicab unloaded the young man two blocks from the apartment house where the police had said Sylvan Niles lived. He sauntered along the street and, under the pretense of waiting for a bus, observed Sylvan Niles’ apartment house.

The apartment building was a six-story structure, neat and comparatively new-looking. Several automobiles were parked in the street in front of the structure and a number of newspaper reporters were arguing violently with the uniformed doorman. One of the scribes ducked past the doorman, and the latter pursued him. A moment later, the journalist appeared again, with the doorman maintaining a secure grasp on the seat of his pants and his coat collar.

The young man who had just arrived in the taxi glanced up and down the street and then, without undue appearance of haste, stepped among near-by bushes.

A streetsweeper was approaching, trundling his large can on wheels, and occasionally pausing to use his long-handled brush. He came opposite the bushes.

“Ps-s-st!” came out of the bushes.

The streetcleaner stopped and peered. He saw a young man on all fours in the bushes, apparently hunting for something.

“I’m trying to find something,” the young man called softly. “There’s five bucks in it for you, if you’ll help me.”

The streetcleaner hastily trundled his can to the curbing, left it and walked into the bushes to stop and look down at the young man who was on all fours. Since the latter had not looked up, the streetcleaner had failed to see his face as yet.

“Whatcha huntin’?” asked the streetcleaner.

“It would be rather hard to explain,” said the young man.

He then reached inside his clothing and brought out a small glass phial. He emptied the contents of this, a liquid, on the ground beside him. Simultaneously, he held a handkerchief over his own mouth and nostrils.

“What the heck?” demanded the streetsweeper. “You nuts or something?”

The young man made no reply to this.

The streetsweeper seemed to grow sleepy. He yawned. He shut his eyes. Then he fell to the ground and began to snore.

The young man bent over the streetsweeper and began removing the latter’s rather ample white uniform. The streetcleaner was a large man, and the uniform had been made larger than was necessary for him, since he wore it over his regular clothes.

The man playing the part of Alex Mandebran donned the somewhat soiled white uniform. The cap had “Department of Sanitation” on the band. He pulled it well down over his eyes.

He started away, paused, then came back. From a pocket he withdrew a wallet. The contents of this must have been thousands of dollars. The man extracted a twenty, folded it, and tucked it in the sleeping streetsweeper’s vest pocket.

None of the excited group about the apartment house paid particular attention to the large man in the white uniform of a Department of Sanitation employee who trundled his trash can past them. A great deal of microscopic trash was cleaned up in the vicinity during the next few minutes. It did not take an extraordinarily keen pair of ears to ascertain what the excitement was about.

The newspaper reporters were squabbling with the doorman. The trouble seemed to be that Sylvan Niles did not want to be interviewed. She had given the doorman ten dollars to keep the gentlemen of the press out. The reporters were trying to outbid the young woman, but the doorman had now gotten mad and was telling them specifically where they could go.

The man in the streetcleaner’s uniform now trundled his trash can around to the back. He peered furtively into the delivery entrance of the apartment house. There was a service elevator, with an operator. Two newspapermen were trying to persuade the operator to take them up. They were having no luck.

The man in the streetcleaner’s uniform now hurried to a neighborhood grocery store. He brought a small quantity of groceries, which were placed in a spare cardboard carton. He carried these on his shoulder, so that the box half hid his face, and entered the apartment house.

“Fourth floor,” he said. “I wanta collect some money, so I gotta take ’em up myself.”

This ruse got him into the apartment house. He searched rapidly and found a door with the name card:

SYLVAN NILES

He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again.

The door whipped open and a feminine voice snapped, “I told you newspaper—”

The voice stopped. The young woman stared, her eyes widening. Suddenly she drove her hand into the neck opening of her frock and brought out a small revolver. She pointed this at the man in the streetcleaner’s uniform.

“Come in, Alex Mandebran,” she said. “I can’t think of anybody I would rather see, right now!”