"RichardHardingDavis-TheFrameUp" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Richard Harding)

drug-store at which it had been purchased. The handwriting was that of a woman,
and what she had written was: "If the district attorney will come at once, and
alone, to Kessler's Cafe, on the Boston Post Road, near the city line, he will
be told who killed Hermann Banf. If he don't come in an hour, it will be too
late. If he brings anybody with him, he won't be told anything. Leave your car
in the road and walk up the drive. Ida Earle."
Hewitt, who had sent away the messenger-boy and had been called in to give
expert advice, was enthusiastic.
"Mr. District Attorney," he cried, "that's no crank letter. This Earle woman is
wise. You got to take her as a serious proposition. She wouldn't make that play
if she couldn't get away with it."
"Who is she?" asked Wharton.
To the police, the detective assured them, Ida Earle had been known for years.
When she was young she had been under the protection of a man high in the ranks
of Tammany, and, in consequence, with her different ventures the Police had
never interfered. She now was proprietress of the road-house in the note
described as Kessler's Cafe. It was a place for joy- riders. There was a
cabaret, a hall for public dancing, and rooms for very private suppers.
In so far as it welcomed only those who could spend money it was exclusive, but
in all other respects its reputation was of the worst. In situation it was
lonely, and from other houses separated by a quarter of a mile of dying trees
and vacant lots.
The Boston Post Road upon which it faced was the old post road, but lately,
through this back yard and dumping-ground of the city, had been relaid. It was
patrolled only and infrequently by bicycle policemen. "But this," continued the
detective eagerly, "is where we win out. The road-house is an old farmhouse
built over, with the barns changed into garages. They stand on the edge of a
wood. It's about as big as a city block. If we come in through the woods from
the rear, the garages will hide us. Nobody in the house can see us, but we won't
be a hundred yards away. You've only to blow a police whistle and we'll be with
you."
"You mean I ought to go?" said Wharton.
Rumson exclaimed incredulously: "You got to go!"
"It looks to me," objected Bissell, "like a plot to get you there alone and rap
you on the head." "Not with that note inviting him there," protested Hewitt,
"and signed by Earle herself."
"You don't know she signed it?" objected the senator.
"I know her," returned the detective. "I know she's no fool. It's her place, and
she wouldn't let them pull off any rough stuff there--not against the D. A.
anyway"
The D. A. was rereading the note. "Might this be it?" he asked. "Suppose it's a
trick to mix me up in a scandal? You say the place is disreputable. Suppose
they're planning to compromise me just before election. They've tried it already
several times."
"You've still got the note, If persisted Hewitt. "It proves why you went there.
And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be hundred yards away. And,"
he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan."
Nolan was the spoiled child of 'the office.' He was the district attorney's pet.
Although still young, he had scored as a detective and as a driver of
racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now doubled the parts.