“I’d had some railroad experience, and I was sent up here to check the whole situation. In the meantime, Carl Greester was working on the hump, and he stumbled onto what was going on. The enemy agents had duplicate tags slightly larger than the regular numbered tags which went on the cars as they came through the switch. By putting on those phony numbers they’d have the cars they wanted switched down to a siding where they had sufficient opportunity to do their work. And it didn’t take them long.
“After the cars had been entered and sabotaged they’d be resealed, the phony numbers taken off, a couple of dummy cars added, and a switch engine sent down to pick up the cut and redistribute it.
“When Greester found out what was happening, he didn’t go to the F.B.I. He went to the men who were mixed up in it. They bought his silence for seven thousand five hundred dollars. But Greester was afraid to take a bribe in the ordinary manner, and they weren’t foolish enough to just park seven thousand five hundred somewhere and go away and leave it for him to pick up. Greester kept insisting that the money be given to him under such circumstances that if there was a double-cross, the F.B.I. couldn’t claim he had accepted a bribe.
“Finally they agreed that Greester would send a suit out to be cleaned. When the suit came back, it was to be given to the clerk to hang up in Greester’s apartment. The bribe money would be in the inside pocket. In that way, if anyone suspected what was happening, Greester could have a perfect alibi. He’d sent his suit to the cleaners. The cleaner had returned the suit to the clerk while Greester was at the yards.
“But when the go-between picked up the suit at the cleaners, planted the seventy-five hundred bucks in the pocket, and handed the suit to the desk, he either got mixed up on the numbers, or the clerk did. No names were mentioned, merely apartment numbers. The suit went to two-eighteen instead of two-eighty-one.
“Greester came home, looked for the suit and the bribe money. No suit, no money. He asked the clerk if anything had been left for him at the desk. The clerk said no. The gang knew the suit had been delivered. They thought the clerk had got the dough.
“They got the thing straightened out, finally. The clerk was a little nincompoop who was always getting figures mixed up. They decided he must have delivered the suit to the wrong apartment. One of the men got into Muriel’s apartment with a passkey and found the suit; but the money was gone. He was in there when Lorraine came in, and he had an idea the money might have found its way into Muriel’s purse. That’s why he was so interested in the telephone conversation.”
“And the clerk?” I asked.
“The clerk kept thinking over Greester’s questions, finally remembered about the suit, and wondered if he hadn’t put it in two-eighteen instead of two-eighty-one. He went up to two-eighteen, let himself in with a passkey, and found a man boring holes in the wall and installing a dictograph. We know what happened to the clerk.”
“Why the dictograph?” I asked.
“Don’t you see? They didn’t know whether Muriel was a government agent and they were leading with their chins, or whether it was just a mixup. Naturally, killing the clerk hadn’t entered into their plans. They had to get rid of the body.”
“They knew we’d discovered that body?” I asked.
“Sure they did. They were on the other end of the dictograph when we stumbled on it before they’d had a chance to remove it. They evidently waited a while to see if we were going to report it. When they found out we didn’t, they tried to whisk it away.”
“But Greester must have thrown in with them,” I said. “His apartment was two-eighty-one—”
“He didn’t throw in with them,” Gabby said. “Greester tried to play smart. It was unfortunate that he did.”
“You mean—?”
“The police discovered his body about daylight this morning, when one of the gang confessed.”
“But,” Muriel said, “Carl Greester seemed so nice. He told me that a man who owed my husband some money was working down at the switchyard on a night shift, that if I’d come down and see him I could arrange to get the balance of the money that was due under the property settlement with my husband. He wrote out where I was to meet him shortly after midnight. I... Oh, I guess I see now.”
Gabby said, “He found out about this man and tipped you off just as a favor, but all the time he was playing with this personal dynamite. He thought he was being smart. He was signing his own death warrant.”
“So they took over Greester’s apartment?” I asked.
“Sure. It was bad enough finding Greester’s suit in the girl’s apartment. But when the girls came down to the switchyard to join Greester around midnight, they became suspicious. They made an excuse to grab Muriel, jerk her out of the way of a freight car, and frisk her purse while they were doing it. As soon as they found out that the purse contained seventy-five hundred dollars, the girls were on the spot. Then you and I put in our two-bits worth.”
“What’s become of the money?” I asked.
“The money,” Gabby said, “is in the hands of Uncle Sam. Three men were placed under arrest for tampering with the seals of freight cars. One of them started talking. He’s talked enough so Fanston can pin the murder of the clerk and Carl Greester on the two other men. And the third, who turned state’s evidence, will get life as an accessory after the fact.”
“How about the man who owed my husband money?” Muriel asked. “Is he one of them?”
Gabby shook his head. “I think you’re okay on that. His name is Gulliver. He works under Bob Cuttering. Cuttering’s a grouch-face who is pretty much overworked, but he’s a good egg just the same.”
I said, “I don’t see why this man in the bedroom didn’t stick me up for Muriel’s purse—”
“Because you said you didn’t have it with you. Lorraine could toll, from the way you were holding your left arm against your body, that you did have it. The man in the bedroom could only hear what you’d said. He couldn’t see. That’s why Lorraine was able to get out of the apartment — talking as though she were slamming the door indignantly on her visitor, but actually slamming herself on the other side of it.”
Lorraine said, “I was never so frightened in my life. While I was waiting down there, a man poked the muzzle of a gun into my back and marched me down the corridor.”
“The dog was a sort of watchman?” I asked.
Gabby nodded. “When they moved into Greester’s apartment they took the dog with ’em. The dog had been trained on one of those inaudible dog whistles. Whenever he heard it he’d bark and try to get out. Whenever anyone entered the place who might make trouble, a guy posted outside would blow the whistle, and the dog would bark. The dog had also been taught to give warning when anyone came near the apartment.”
“Well,” I said, “I guess that winds up the case.”
“Of course,” Gabby said, “the colonel insists that he’s going to hold us responsible to see nothing happens to these girls — my buddy and me. I told the colonel it might be a little embarrassing. But you know the colonel; he just barked into the telephone, ‘Keep those two girls lined up. I don’t want them going out with anyone except you and Jay!’ ”
“You mean we can’t have any dates,” Muriel demanded, “unless—”
“Exactly,” Gabby said sternly. “Those are orders direct from the colonel.”
Muriel lowered her lashes. “Well,” she conceded, “if it’s for my country.”
I looked at Lorraine.
She said, “He’s got the idea now, Gabby, so you can take your foot away. It’s my toe you’re on.”
“What are you two talking about?” Muriel demanded.
“Our patriotic duty to our government,” Lorraine said self-righteously.