Heath suddenly jerked himself forward, his cigar halfway to his lips.
“A parrot, and three stones! … And say, Miss Greene, was there an arrow with numbers on it?”
“Yes!” she answered eagerly. “That was there, too.”
Heath put his cigar in his mouth and chewed on it with vicious satisfaction.
“That means something, Mr. Markham,” he proclaimed, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice. “Those are all symbols—graphic signs, they’re called—of Continental crooks, German or Austrian mostly.”
“The stones, I happen to know,” put in Vance, “represent the idea of the martyrdom of Saint Stephen, who was stoned to death. They’re the emblem of Saint Stephen, according to the calendar of the Styrian peasantry.”
“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” answered Heath. “But I know that European crooks use those signs.”
“Oh, doubtless. I ran across a number of ’em when I was looking up the emblematic language of the gypsies. A fascinatin’ study.” Vance seemed uninterested in Ada’s discovery.
“Have you this paper with you, Miss Greene?” asked Markham.
The girl was embarrassed and shook her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t think it was important. Should I have brought it?”
“Did you destroy it?” Heath put the question excitedly.
“Oh, I have it safely. I put it away. …”
“We gotta have that paper, Mr. Markham.” The Sergeant had risen and come toward the District Attorney’s desk. “It may be just the lead we’re looking for.”
“If you really want it so badly,” said Ada, “I can phone Rex to bring it with him. He’ll know where to find it if I explain.”
“Right! That’ll save me a trip.” Heath nodded to Markham. “Try to catch him before he leaves, sir.”
Taking up the telephone, Markham again directed Swacker to get Rex on the wire. After a brief delay the connection was made and he handed the instrument to Ada.
“Hello, Rex dear,” she said. “Don’t scold me, for there’s nothing to worry about. … What I wanted of you is this:—in our private mailbox you’ll find a sealed envelope of my personal blue stationery. Please get it and bring it with you to Mr. Markham’s office. And don’t let anyone see you take it. … That’s all, Rex. Now, hurry, and we’ll have lunch together downtown.”
“It will be at least half an hour before Mr. Greene can get here,” said Markham, turning to Vance; “and as I’ve a waiting-room full of people, why don’t you and Van Dine take the young lady to the Stock Exchange and show her how the mad brokers disport themselves.—How would you like that, Miss Greene?”
“I’d love it!” exclaimed the girl.
“Why not go along too, Sergeant?”
“Me!” Heath snorted. “I got excitement enough. I’ll run over and talk to the Colonel19 for a while.”
Vance and Ada and I motored the few blocks to 18 Broad Street, and, taking the elevator, passed through the reception-room (where uniformed attendants peremptorily relieved us of our wraps), and came out upon the visitors’ gallery overlooking the floor of the Exchange. There was an unusually active market that day. The pandemonium was almost deafening, and the feverish activity about the trading-posts resembled the riots of an excited mob. I was too familiar with the sight to be particularly impressed; and Vance, who detested noise and disorder, looked on with an air of bored annoyance. But Ada’s face lighted up at once. Her eyes sparkled and the blood rushed to her cheeks. She gazed over the railing in a thrall of fascination.
“And now you see, Miss Greene, how foolish men can be,” said Vance.
“Oh, but it’s wonderful!” she answered. “They’re alive. They feel things. They have something to fight for.”
“You think you’d like it?” smiled Vance.
“I’d adore it. I’ve always longed to do something exciting—something … like that. …” She extended her hand toward the milling crowds below.
It was easy to understand her reaction after her years of monotonous service to an invalid in the dreary Greene mansion.
At that moment I happened to look up, and, to my surprise, Heath was standing in the doorway scanning the groups of visitors. He appeared troubled and unusually grim, and there was a nervous intentness in the way he moved his head. I raised my hand to attract his attention, and he immediately came to where we stood.
“The Chief wants you at the office right away, Mr. Vance.” There was an ominousness in his tone. “He sent me over to get you.”
Ada looked at him steadily, and a pallor of fear overspread her face.
“Well, well!” Vance shrugged in mock resignation. “Just when we were getting interested in the sights. But we must obey the Chief—eh, what, Miss Greene?”
But, despite his attempt to make light of Markham’s unexpected summons, Ada was strangely silent; and as we rode back to the office she did not speak but sat tensely, her unseeing eyes staring straight ahead.
It seemed an interminable time before we reached the Criminal Courts Building. The traffic was congested; and there was even a long delay at the elevator. Vance appeared to take the situation calmly; but Heath’s lips were compressed, and he breathed heavily through his nose, like a man laboring under tense excitement.
As we entered the District Attorney’s office Markham rose and looked at the girl with a great tenderness.
“You must be brave, Miss Greene,” he said, in a quiet, sympathetic voice. “Something tragic and unforeseen has happened. And as you will have to be told of it sooner or later—”
“It’s Rex!” She sank limply into a chair facing Markham’s desk.
“Yes,” he said softly; “it’s Rex. Sproot called up a few minutes after you had gone. …”
“And he’s been shot—like Julia and Chester!” Her words were scarcely audible, but they brought a sense of horror into the dingy old office.
Markham inclined his head.
“Not five minutes after you telephoned to him someone entered his room and
