screw in an envelope and put it into his pocket. "Let's go up to the apartment, Chief, and see what we can find."
The Scene of a Murder
A short drive brought them to the Earling—one of those modern monstrosities, the homes of so many of our city dwellers. They were accompanied to the apartment by a scared janitor ofIrish persuasion, who, however fearless they are of the living, have a wholesome respect for the dead.
"Shore Mr. Kronsky was a foine man. 'Tis many the tip he gave the byes."
"When did you find him, Casey?" the chief asked.
"Just a little after six, Chief."
"You say the door was wide open?"
"Shore 'twas. I was surproised to foind it thot way as Kronsky was always careful to kape it locked."
Dr. Bryan, who had been carefully examining the lock, looked up with sudden questioning eyes. "See, Chief, this is a spring lock. It works only from the inside. This door was opened from the inside and left open."
The doctor, without awaiting the chief's reply, hurried into the room and opened the window. The room was on the fourth floor of the apartment and a bare expanse of wall devoid of pipes or fire escape greeted the doctor's eyes.
"The fire escape is at the end of the hall," the chief answered the doctor's unspoken question. "See here, doctor, no one could climb that wall. I've seen human flies, but I never saw one that could climb a sheer wall like that."
"Don't be too sure, Chief. There are ledges where a man, if he had nerve enough, could get a grip. Anyway the person or thing that could break a man's neck with his thumb might be active enough to climb the side of this wall."
He turned from the window and started a careful search of the room. Look as he might, it bore out the chief's contention. It was barren of the slightest trace of evidence. The man had simply died at the hands of some assailant who had come and gone as silently and mysteriously as the evening shadows.
"Chief, we are up against a tough one. According to the story books the criminal always leaves some clue, always forgets something, or slips up in some way that lets the astute investigator find his trail. You and I know that this idea is pure bunk. If it were not, then why so many unsolved crimes?"
"I'm afraid you're right, doctor," sighed the chief. "The newspapers will give me the merry razz on this case."
"Never mind, Chief, we all have our left-handed friends. I'll think this thing over and see if there isn't some way.
"Smoke up, Chief," he said, handing the detective a fat cigar. "This may make things look brighter."
The Flat-Headed Screw
Dr. Bryan was busy at his professional work for the rest of the day and did not have time to give any thought to the murder. But in his room that evening he settled down for a period of intense concentration and study of the meager details that he possessed. He laid the little screw out on the table and studied it from every angle. It was a peculiar screw, short and flat-headed, and resembled one of the screws from a watch, as the chief had suggested.
In the meantime the chief had put in a busy day tracing the history of the murdered man. This was as barren of results as was the search of the apartment. The man was unknown outside of the apartment in which he lived, and the bank where he had his account. He seemed plentifully supplied with money on deposit, and his safety deposit box disclosed a large investment in Liberty bonds and a considerable collection of unset diamonds.
Days passed into weeks and still the mystery remained unsolved. To the chief the doctor briefly explained, "When I examine a sick man I must find a few symptoms or signs before I can make a diagnosis. A murder case is the same. Unless we have something to work on we are helpless. I think this case will be solved by chance, and chance only."
Chance indeed at last gave him a clue; but his wildest stretch of imagination could not have shown him the strange dénounement it was to bring forth.
Dr. Bryan was unusually busy at the hospital for some weeks, and had come in contact with Dr. Carter more frequently than in the past. A series of brain injuries brought them together on many occasions. To Bryan it seemed that Carter was slightly more affable,—though he still held himself aloof.
The two associates were standing in a corridor and discussing a recent case when they were startled by the screams of a nurse. She came running down the hall, wringing her hands. . . .then, at the sight of them she cried out: "Oh! come quick, please! A man got stuck in the elevator. Oh! hurry, please," she sobbed.
Hurrying down the hall they were met by an appalling sight. The janitor of the hospital had brought the freight elevator to the second floor and left the door open while he unloaded some articles. Familiarity with the elevator had developed dangeeous habits. He always reached in to the starting lever, turned on the power, and then stepped inside the car. Nothing ever happened. This time, however, his foot slipped as he stepped through the door and he fell on his face across the sill. The heavy elevator came down with resistless power and pinned him to the floor.
The look of agony on the man's face was enough to appal even the doctors inured to sights of suffering as they were.
"My God! Carter, how can we get him out," Bryan cried. "Someone run downstairs and shut off the power."
"Just a moment, Doctor." Dr. Carter stepped up and grasped the edge of the elevator top in his hands. "Just get the man's shoulders and pull him out as I lift."
Wondering at the apparent insanity of the request, Bryan mechanically obeyed. With a heave of his slender shoulders Dr. Carter lifted the elevator and Bryan drew the body of the dying man out on the floor.
Stunned at the tremendous feat of strength, Bryan could only stand there breathless. Then the arrival of an orderly with a cart distracted his attention and the care of the injured man drove all thoughts of it from his mind for the time being.
