49 Tales of the Thinking Machine by Jacques Futrelle

Author:Jacques Futrelle [Futrelle, Jacques]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788074849404
Publisher: e-artnow Editions
Published: 2013-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

4

Mr. Hassan left Boston that night for Washington. He took the dagger with him. The Thinking Machine made no objection, and the very existence of the man was as yet unknown to the police.

“When it is necessary to produce that dagger,” he explained to Hatch, “it can be done through regular channels, if Hassan is still alive. It seems very probable now that international law may have to take a hand in the case.”

“Do you consider it possible that Hassan in person had any connection with the affair?” Hatch asked.

“Anything is possible,” was the short reply. “By the way, Mr. Hatch, it might be interesting to know a little more about this real estate collector, Clements, who discovered the girl’s body. He might have known about the house being unoccupied. There are still possibilities in every direction, but the real problem hangs on the golden dagger.”

“In that event, it seems to come back to Hassan,” said the reporter doggedly.

“I would advise you, Mr. Hatch, to settle the points I asked about the advertisement. Then see Dr. Loyd; ask him if he still has the dagger. If you get the original copy of the advertisement, turn it over to the police. You need not mention Hassan to them as yet.”

It was early that evening when Hatch saw Dr. Loyd.

“Did the burglars get the dagger?” he asked.

“I have nothing to say,” was the reply.

“Have you the dagger now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Did you turn it over to the District Attorney?”

“I have nothing to say.”

The result of this was that Hatch went away firmly convinced that Dr. Loyd did not have the dagger; that the burglars, whoever they were, had taken it away; that they were probably in the employ of Hassan and robbed Loyd’s house for the specific purpose of regaining possession of the dagger.

Later Hatch made an investigation of the circumstances attending the publication of the advertisement. It had appeared four times on alternate days. The original copy of it was found and given to him. It was the bold handwriting of a man. This he turned over to the police, with all information as to the advertisement.

Then began a long, minute search, which ultimately resulted in the discovery of the whereabouts of half a dozen girls reported missing. But the fact that they were found immediately removed them as possibilities. From the first, the search for Wilkes had been unceasing. It was generally assumed that the name Wilkes was fictitious.

On the morning of the second day Hatch appeared at his office weary, discouraged and disgusted. But weariness fled when the city editor excitedly approached him.

“They have Wilkes,” he said. “They got him late last night in Worcester. The real estate clerk has positively identified him. He will be at police headquarters within an hour or so. Get the story.”

“Who is he?” asked Hatch.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t deny his identity, and insists that his name is Wilkes. He was found at a hotel registered as Charles Wingate.”

The first editions of the afternoon papers flamed with the announcement of the capture of the supposed murderer.

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