The Substitute Prisoner Part 25

The Coopers of society and club life have many invisible means of support. There are the climbers, who are easy prey. Then the tailors and haberdashers are glad to furnish free wearing apparel in return for the custom which these men are able to recommend. Caterers, decorators, florists do not balk at paying commissions on contracts. The society papers pay liberally for society scandal. And occasionally, as in every other station of life, there is to be found in the upper circles of society, an idle and discontented woman with more money than prudence.

Cooper had attached himself to one of these women; and, as their relations grew more intimate, he succeeded in attaching himself to some of her rings. Subsequently he met more promising prey and began to neglect the woman whose confidence he had betrayed. At first her jealous rage expended itself in futile appeals to his manhood, his honor, his sense of obligation. Then it occupied itself with plans for revenge. She demanded the return of the jewelry which he had borrowed on one pretense or another. But it had pa.s.sed long ago to the p.a.w.nshops and could not be reclaimed. Seeing an opportunity to humiliate and punish the man, she discarded discretion, and appealed to the police.

As invariably happens in such cases, the woman came to her senses eventually. Cooper found the climate elsewhere more inviting and remained away until the woman realized that she was plunging into a colossal scandal and withdrew her complaint.

But Cooper had placed himself in the power of the police, and now Fanwell did not hesitate to exert that power over him.

"Collins didn't leave the house until to-day," the detective explained.

"But he broke loose this afternoon when he learned that his brother-in-law's bank had busted and that all his money is tied up in the failure. He was drunk when he left the house and the chances are he'll be more intoxicated when he drops in here."

"But if it ever gets out that I acted as police agent I'd be shunned by everybody I know," growled Cooper.

"It will never get out," the other promised. "You needn't have a bit of fear."

The shadows in the room lengthened until it was difficult to distinguish the various objects scattered about the place. The few members that had dropped into the club faded into dark images barely discernible in their broad leather chairs. Then, of a sudden, the lights were switched on.

The sharp rays that spread from the cl.u.s.ters of electric lamps revealed a man's figure outlined in the doorway. His eyes traveled about the room as if imploring a nod of recognition, but none was vouchsafed him.

"Collins!" exclaimed Cooper in an undertone.

"Get him!" commanded Fanwell. "Remember, I'm a relation of yours--from the West!"

Hiding his reluctancy, Cooper left his seat and advanced toward the doorway.

"h.e.l.lo, George!" He extended a hand in greeting.

An expression of drunken amazement overspread Collins's dissipated face.

He came forward, almost falling on the other man's shoulders.

"h.e.l.lo, Tom!" he returned the greeting. "Glad there's one man that ain't ashamed to talk to me. Just look at 'em around here! They act as if they didn't know me. That's a h.e.l.l of a way to treat a good fellow like me, now ain't it? Just because my name's been in the newspapers!"

Cooper led his friend toward the window.

"Glad to have you join me," he said. "I've got a distant relation here--just in from the West. Wants to see the town."

"Rotten town!" growled Collins. "And the people in it--worse! You're the only good fellow, Tom, I've met all afternoon. Everybody else looked at me like I had a knife out for 'em. Had to drink alone every place I went."

Mr. Fanwell greeted the newcomer cordially, bestowing on him a smile so ingratiating as to put Collins immediately at ease.

"You've probably read a bit about Collins in the papers lately,"

remarked Cooper.

"Not the Mr. Collins mentioned in connection with the Whitmore case?"

asked the detective innocently.

"Yes, that's me!" mumbled Collins. Then, in a burst of drunken unconcern,--"And if you want to turn your back on me too, why, you and Tom may do so!"

"Not at all, not at all!" Fanwell hastened to a.s.sure him. "I'm glad to know you. Won't you join us in a drink?"

The invitation seemed to mollify Collins. He smiled foolishly and dropped into a chair. But the cold shrugs, the averted faces which he had met all afternoon still preyed on his mind, and, under the stimulus of a fresh drink, he opened the floodgates of his wrath.

"They're a lot of spineless jellyfish in this town," he drawled. "They all believe I killed Whitmore. Well, I'm not saying whether I did or not. But suppose I did kill him? Ain't a man got the right to defend his home? What's this country coming to when a viper can sneak into another man's house and steal his wife? The papers say that I went around threatening to kill him. Well, I did. And I meant it, too. Why, that yellow cur was sending letters to my wife urging her to leave me. What do you think of that?"

Fanwell and Cooper shook their heads gravely, as if in sympathy with him.

"He dishonored my home!" Collins exclaimed with added vehemence. "He stole my wife--he tried to steal her," he corrected with a sly grin.

"And that thieving brother of hers was in sympathy with him! Ever heard of anything like that before? A brother approving the liaison between 'em? And now Ward's bank has busted and I'm ruined! Fine state of affairs--what?"

Collins looked musingly out of the window. He was in a talkative mood, yet Fanwell dared not prompt him into further revelations. To manage a drunken man, or one half-drunk, requires exceptional tact. Once his suspicions are aroused, it is impossible to allay them.

Even now it was evident to the detective that Collins wasn't talking as freely as he pretended to be. He still retained a sufficient amount of caution not to plunge into the details of the murder itself. What he said of his wife's relations with Whitmore was simply a repet.i.tion of statements he had made at the club and elsewhere before Whitmore's death. Plenty of witnesses could be obtained who would testify to having heard Collins threaten to kill the merchant. But whether he had actually carried out his threat remained to be proved.

Fanwell was aware that at Police Headquarters opinion as to Collins's guilt was divided. Britz did not believe him guilty, Greig seemed hopelessly befuddled by the conflicting evidence, while Chief Manning dared not venture an opinion. But a majority of the other detectives engaged on the case seemed confident that Collins was the man. Fanwell wondered whether Britz had been led into an error of judgment.

Over Collins a slow transformation was creeping. His eyes, which had blazed indignantly while he was talking, now clouded with a dull mist.

The tense expression of his face relaxed and his head sank on his shoulders. He was quickly pa.s.sing into a state of sodden stupefaction.

Being unfamiliar with Collins's habits and his capacity for drink, Fanwell was trying desperately to think of some means of restoring the drunken man to a condition in which his perverted sense of injuries suffered would inspire his tongue to further revelations.

"Is he a chronic drunk or an occasional drinker?" the detective whispered to Cooper.

"Chronic," came the whispered reply.

"Then he'll recover in a few minutes."

They waited while Collins surrendered completely to the conquering stupor, which seemed more like a heavy sleep brought on by physical exhaustion than the overpowering effect of whisky fumes. His heavy eyelids closed, his jaw hung, he breathed through his mouth. After a time Fanwell shook the unconscious Collins until all the drowsiness left him.

"We're going to dinner," he said. "Come and join!"

Collins waved a repudiating hand.

"Don't want any food," he growled. "Give me a drink."

He was induced to accompany his friends into the dining-room. The smell of food provoked his appet.i.te and he ordered an elaborate meal. When it came he could not eat it. But two or three gla.s.ses of champagne revived him temporarily, long enough for him to note the chilling contempt with which the other diners in the room regarded him. After indulging in a long volley of profanity, his mood underwent another change. He grew morose, introspective, self-pitying.

"n.o.body cares for me!" he whined. "They've all turned against me. But there's one that would have stood by me--she's dead!"

His memory of her grew suddenly tender and tears filled his bleary eyes.

"She was all right--a good girl but stubborn," he proceeded in a maudlin way. "Got the marriage craze! Wanted me to let my wife get a divorce and marry her! She didn't want to live dishonored all her life. And she killed herself--poor Julia!"

As the name dropped from his lips, Collins bolted upright in his chair.

"I'm going to the flat," he said. "That's where I was happy."

"Wait and we'll go with you," suggested Cooper on a nudge from the detective.

"All right," a.s.sented Collins. "You're the only friend I've got left."