The Mansion of Mystery Part 27

"Well, that makes it more interesting. Who is the party?"

"The fellow's name is Tom Ostrello."

"Foreigner, eh?"

"No, he is American-born--the son of Mrs. Langmore."

"You don't mean the woman who was murdered with her husband?"

"Yes. He is a commercial traveler for a drug concern."

"Good! I'm glad I elected to be a traveler myself."

"As I said, Vapp, this is no ordinary case. I want you to keep track of this man day and night."

"I'll do it--if it can be done."

"I want you to note every person he communicates with."

"I'll do that, too."

"And here is another thing of great importance. If he spends money, try to find out if it is good money."

"Eh?" The shadower looked surprised for an instant. "You want me to look out for counterfeits?"

"Exactly."

"That is not so easy, but I'll do my best," went on Charley Vapp, and then he asked a number of questions regarding Tom Ostrello, all of which Adam Adams answered as well as he was able.

"You are to stay on this case until I tell you to drop it," said the detective. "And remember, if anything unusual occurs, let me know as soon as you can reach me."

"I understand. Anything more?"

Adam Adams mused for a moment.

"Yes. You know Miss Bernard, who works for me here?"

"Sure."

"Well, take care that she doesn't see you shadowing Ostrello."

"I'm wise," answered the shadower, smiling, and the next moment he was gone. He was not fl.u.s.tered by what was before him, for he had been shadowing people for eleven years, and as long as there was five dollars per day and his expenses in the work, he was willing to continue indefinitely.

With the shadower gone, Adam Adams meditated for a moment and then donned his walking coat and his hat. In his pockets he placed several large but rather flat packages.

"I am going out, Miss Harringford," he said to the clerk. "If I am not back by five o'clock, you may lock up and go home. Be on hand as usual in the morning."

Down in the street he hopped aboard a pa.s.sing car and rode eight blocks. He entered an office building, went up in an elevator to the third floor, and took himself to a suite of offices occupied by certain United States secret service officers.

"I want to see Mr. Breslow," he said, and was shown to a private apartment, where an elderly man sat, studying several reports.

"How are you, Adams!" was the greeting.

"Rather busy to-day, but what can I do for you?"

"I want to sell you some bank bills," was the reply, and Adam Adams dumped the package on the desk. Mr. Breslow opened it and examined the contents.

"By the jumping Judas! Where did you get those? Say, this is worth while."

"I guess you haven't rounded up quite as many as I have, have you?"

said the detective, with a grim smile.

"As many? Why, man, we've only run across sixteen so far, and you've got thirty. They are such a clever counterfeit that even the banks get nipped. This is wonderful! I didn't know you were following this trail. Why didn't you say something before? Or maybe you wanted to spring a surprise, and make some of the boys, down here feel cheap."

"No, it was nothing but blind luck. I wasn't on the trail at all. I simply stumbled over the bills."

"Did you get your man?"

"There was no man to get."

"Do you mean to say you found the bills?"

"I did and I didn't. They were in the safe of a man who was murdered.

I guess I'll have to tell you the best part of the story," and Adam Adams did so. "This is, of course, confidential," he went on.

"Trust me for that, Adams. Strange complication, as you just remarked.

I suppose you are going to follow up the murder mystery. Will you follow this up, too?"

"I think so. I can't get it out of my head that the two are related to each other."

"More than likely. Now, you just said you wanted to know something."

"I want to know about this John S. Watkins, of Bryport."

"Um! If I give you his record, you'll of course keep it to yourself.

You know how the department is about such things?"

"You are safe with me."

"I'll have the record brought in."

There was a wait of several minutes, and then a big book was produced from one of the safes.

"Here you are, Adams: John S. Watkins, Bryport. Born at New Haven, October 4, 1862. Former occupation, model maker and cabinet maker.

Private detective for four years, and one year with the Ca.s.sell agency.

Entered the United States service three years ago. Never been advanced. Cases 45,254; 47,732; 46,829. Wait till I see what those cases are."

Then three other records were brought forth and examined.