Hatch produced one. The Thinking Machine put what he had written into the envelope, sealed it and handed it back.
"There's something that may interest you some time," he said, "but don't open it until I give you permission to do so."
"Certainly not," said the reporter, puzzled but without question. "But may I ask--"
"What it is?" snapped the scientist. "No, I will tell you when to open it."
They descended the stairs together.
"Somewhere to a public telephone," were The Thinking Machine's instructions to the cabby. At a nearby drug store, he disappeared into a telephone booth and remained for five minutes. When he came out he asked for the envelope he had given Hatch and in a little crabbed hand wrote on it:
"November 9-10."
"Keep it," he commanded, as he returned it to the reporter. "Now we'll drive to the girl's place."
When the cab reached the West End address it was a little later than dusk. Caroline Pierce and her girl chum occupied a front apartment on the ground floor. As The Thinking Machine and Hatch were about to enter the building, Tom Manning, another reporter on Hatch's paper, approached them.
"The girl hasn't returned," he reported. "The other girl-Miss Jerrod-came back home from work just a few minutes ago."
"We'll see her," said The Thinking Machine. Then to Manning: "At the end of two minutes, by your watch, after I enter this apartment, ring the bell several times. Don't be afraid. Ring it! If any person runs out, man or woman, hold him. Mr. Hatch, you go to the back entrance of this apartment. Stop any person, man or woman, coming from this suite."
"You believe then--" Hatch began.
"I'll give you two minutes to get to the back door," snapped The Thinking Machine.
Hatch disappeared hurriedly, and for just two minutes, not a second more, The Thinking Machine waited. Then he rang the bell of the apartment. Miss Jerrod appeared at the door. He followed her into the suite.
Manning at the front door waited, watch in hand. When the two minutes were up he rang the bell time after time, long, insistent rings. He could hear it tinkling furiously. Then he heard something else. It was the slamming of a door, a rush of feet and a struggle. Then The Thinking Machine appeared before him.
"Come in," he said, modestly. "We have Cunningham inside."
V.
A little drama of human emotion was being enacted in the tiny front suite. Frank Cunningham, wanted for the murder of Fred Boyd, sat wearily resigned in the corner furthest from the door under the watchful eye of Hutchinson Hatch. The man was unshaven, haggard, and there lay in his eyes the restless, feverish look of one who lives his life in terror of the law. Caroline Pierce, who was to have been his wife, had flung herself on a couch, weeping hysterically.
Towering above the slender, shrinking figure of The Thinking Machine, Miss Jerrod was bitterly denouncing him for a trick which had given Cunningham into his hands. The scientist listened patiently, albeit unhappily. He couldn't help himself.
"You told me," stormed Miss Jerrod, "that you believed him innocent, and now this-this."
"Well?" said The Thinking Machine meekly.
Miss Jerrod was about to say something else when Cunningham stopped her with a gesture.
"I'm rather glad of it," he said, "or rather I would be if it were not for her," and he indicated Caroline Pierce. "I have never spent such hours of mortal fear as those since the murder of Fred Boyd. Now, somehow, it's a relief to know it must all come out."
"You know you were a fool to try to hide, anyway," said The Thinking Machine, frankly.
"I know I made a mistake-now," replied Cunningham. "But we were afraid-Caroline and I-and I couldn't help it."
"Well, go on with your story," commanded the scientist testily.
Manning, the other reporter, crossed the room and sat beside Hatch, while Cunningham moved over, took a seat beside the couch where the girl lay weeping and gently stroked her hair.
"I'll tell what story I can," he said at last. "I don't know what you'll think of it, but--"
"Pardon me just a moment," said The Thinking Machine. He went to Cunningham and ran his long, slender fingers over the prisoner's head several times. Suddenly he leaned forward and squinted at Cunningham's head.
"What is this?" he asked.
"That is where a silver plate was put in," Cunningham replied. "I was badly injured by a fall when I was about fourteen years old."
"Yes, yes," said the scientist. "Go on with your story."
"I have known Boyd since we were boys together up in Vermont," Cunningham began, "and there, too, I knew Caroline. All three of us came from the same little town-Caroline only two years ago. Boyd and I had been in Boston for seven years when she came. Boyd lived for five years in that-that room in South Boston, where--"
"Never mind," said The Thinking Machine. "Go on."
"Well, Caroline came here two years ago as I said and I believe that Boyd loved her as well as I do," said Cunningham. "But she promised to be my wife and we were to be married next Wednesday--"
"But the night Boyd was killed," interrupted The Thinking Machine impatiently. "Come down to that."
"I went to Boyd's room that night at a few minutes after eight o'clock. We sat for an hour or more and talked of our work, our plans and various things as we played cards-pinochle it was. Neither of us was particularly interested in the game.
"Boyd didn't know of my coming marriage to Caroline and finally I happened to mention her name. I also showed him the wedding ring I had bought that day for her. He looked at it, and asked me what I intended to do with it. I then told him that Caroline and I were to be married.
"He was surprised. I think any man in his position would have been surprised, because I think it was his intention to ask her to marry him. Well, at any rate, he grew angry about it, and I tried to placate him.
"I guess he was pretty hard hit-worse than I thought-for several times between the deals he picked up the ring and looked at it, then he'd put it down each time on his side of the table.
"After awhile he threw down his hand with the remark that he didn't care to play. 'Now look here, Fred,' I said, 'I didn't think of the thing hitting you so hard.' He replied something about it not being fair to him, though just what he meant I didn't know.
"Then word led to word, until finally I was in a fury at a careless reference he made to Caroline-a thing he would never thought of doing in his proper senses-and demanded an apology. He grew ugly and said still more, and then, somehow, I don't know quite what happened. I know that I had an insane desire to take hold of him-but--"
Cunningham paused and gently stroked the hand of the girl.
"And then?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"You know this hurt on my head was more serious than you may imagine," said Cunningham. "There are times, in moments of anger particularly, when things are not clear to me. I lose myself, I don't know what to do. A surgeon once explained to me why it was but I don't remember."
"I understand," said The Thinking Machine. "Go on."
"Well, from the moment the quarrel became really serious I would not swear to anything that happened," Cunningham resumed. "I know at last I found myself in the lower hall after what seemed a long time, and I remember leaving there, slamming the door behind me.
"I went down the avenue and was almost home when it occurred to me that the ring was in Boyd's room. By that time, too, I was seeing things more clearly. I wanted to go back and talk to Boyd more calmly and see if both of us hadn't said things we should not have said. It was with this double purpose of seeing him and getting the ring that I started back to the tenement.
"Outside, I found a crowd. I wondered why, and asked. One man told me Boyd had been murdered-choked to death; that the police knew who did it and were searching for him. I was terror-stricken, and after the body was taken out I walked away. The terror was on me, and after I turned into a side street I broke into a run. I knew myself, you see, and my own irresponsibility.