The Voice on the Wire

Eustace Hale Ball
The Voice on the Wire

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Title: The Voice on the Wire
Author: Eustace Hale Ball
Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5672] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on August 7, 2002]
Edition: 10
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VOICE
ON THE WIRE ***

THE VOICE ON THE WIRE

CHAPTER I
WHEN THREE IS A MYSTERY

"Mr. Shirley is waiting for you in the grill-room, sir. Just step this way,
sir, and down the stairs."
The large man awkwardly followed the servant to the cosey grill-room
on the lower floor of the club house. He felt that every man of the little
groups about the Flemish tables must be saying: "What's he doing
here?"
"I wish Monty Shirley would meet me once in a while in the back room
of a ginmill, where I'd feel comfortable," muttered the unhappy visitor.
"This joint is too classy. But that's his game to play--"
He reached the sought-for one, however, and exclaimed eagerly: "By
Jiminy, Monty. I'm glad to find you--it would have been my luck after
this day, to get here too late."
He was greeted with a grip that made even his generous hand wince, as
the other arose to smile a welcome.
"Hello, Captain Cronin. You're a good sight for a grouchy man's eyes!
Sit down and confide the brand of your particular favorite poison to our
Japanese Dionysius!"
The Captain sighed with relief, as he obeyed.
"Bar whiskey is good enough for an old timer like me. Don't tell me
you have the blues--your face isn't built that way!"
"Gospel truth, Captain. I've been loafing around this club --nothing to
do for a month. Bridge, handball, highballs, and yarns! I'm actually a
nervous wreck because my nerves haven't had any work to do!"
"You're the healthiest invalid I've seen since the hospital days in the

Civil War. But don't worry about something to do. I've some job now.
It's dolled up with all them frills you like: millions, murders and
mysteries! If this don't keep you awake, you'll have nightmares for the
next six months. Do you want it?"
"I'm tickled to death. Spill it!"
"Monty, it's the greatest case my detective agency has had since I left
the police force eleven years ago. It's too big for me, and I've come to
you to do a stunt as is a stunt. You will plug it for me, won't you--just
as you've always done? If I get the credit, it'll mean a fortune to me in
the advertising alone."
"Haven't I handled every case for you in confidence. I'm not a fly-cop,
Captain Cronin. I'm a consulting specialist, and there's no shingle hung
out. Perhaps you had better take it to some one else."
Shirley pushed away his empty glass impatiently.
"There, Monty, I didn't mean to offend you. But there's such swells in
this and such a foxey bunch of blacklegs, that I'm as nervous as a
rookie cop on his first arrest. Don't hold a grudge against me."
Shirley lit a cigarette and resumed his good nature: "Go on, Captain.
I'm so stale with dolce far niente, after the Black Pearl affair last month,
that I act like an amateur myself. Make it short, though, for I'm going to
the opera."
The Captain leaned over the table, his face tense with suppressed
emotion. He was a grizzled veteran of the New York police force: a
man who sought his quarry with the ferocity of a bull-dog, when the
line of search was definitely assured. Lacking imagination and the
subtler senses of criminology, Captain Cronin had built up a reputation
for success and honesty in every assignment by bravery, persistence,
and as in this case, the ability to cover his own deductive
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