John Grimes, the peppery little president of the Elkhorn Chemical Company, laid the letter on the table before him, removed his glasses, wiped them carefully, then glared at the other members of the board of directors seated before him.
"That is the latest sample of what I have been getting for the past two weeks, Mr. Larson," he said quietly. "We have postponed action until you arrived because, in my estimation, the threats are so different from those of the ordinary blackmailer that they warrant a more than superficial investigation."
"Twaddle!" interrupted weather-beaten old Slocum, the senior member of the board, with an angry snort.
"The work of a crank," declared Innis, the company attorney, suavely. "It is a waste of time to read his letters."
Grimes ignored the interruptions. Waiting a second for the others, none of whom seemed to care to venture an opinion: "Probably no other company in the world has guarded the interests of its as has this one," he went on. "For that reason we have never had labor troubles of any kind. Seemingly, our workmen are all satisfied and I cannot bring myself to believe that it is one of them. My fellow directors do not agree with me, but I want your opinion."
I chewed my cigar reflectively for a second. "I doubt if my advice will be worth much to you until I have gone deeper into the matter, Mr. Grimes," I responded. "Remember, I arrived less than an hour ago and know absolutely nothing about conditions except what you have told me. As I understand it, you received your first communication from this mysterious blackmailer—what did you say he calls himself?"
"'The Man in the Black Mask,'" answered Grimes.
"His first letter came several days ago, as I understand it, warning you of what to expect. Three days ago you received a second communication demanding the sum of fifty thousand dollars, payment to be made in a manner to be designated later. If you agreed, you were to run up a small, white flag on the flag pole. If not, the factory was to be slightly damaged as a proof that he is able to carry out his threats. Am I right so far?"
The gray-haired president nodded.
"I take it that you have all racked your brains thinking of some one who has been injured—or fancied himself injured—in the past. That you were unsuccessful is self-evident, for you have mentioned no such person. That practically eliminates covering that part of the field again. Not having raised the white flag, your mysterious enemy sends you th# letter you have just read. Have there been any other communications?"
Grimes snorted. "Letters! Communications! My God! I've been bombarded with them. This one came by mail. When I awoke this morning I found one on my dresser. I find them in my coat pockets and pinned to the door of my room. All along the same line, but shorter. All typewritten."
I raised my eyebrows inquiringly. "It looks like collusion on the part of some one in your own home, if you will pardon the insinuation. Have you questioned your servants?"
The little president motioned towards the big man in uniform at the foot of the table.
"Chief Backus has had them both on the carpet," he responded.
The policeman spoke for the first time.
"It beats me," he rumbled. "The cook's been with him ever since Mrs. Grimes died—twelve years ago. The chauffeur and man of all work entered his service five years ago. I took no chances, though, and gave 'em both the third degree. I'd gamble my life on it that neither of them knows a thing about the thing.
"The only other member of the household is Mrs. Casey, Mr. Grime's sister—and she's a semi-invalid. Of course there's Miss Joan, his niece—but one might as well suspect Grimes, himself, as a kid like her. Crank or no crank, Mr. Larson, the man who wrote those letters is a smooth proposition or he couldn't have planted them as he did, right under the noses of everybody. Take my advice and do as I do—suspect everybody."
Having thus delivered himself, he settled back in his chair and puffed with noisy energy at his cigar.
Innis laughed good-humoredly.
"The chief really takes the matter seriously, too," he declared. "He's even stationed men around the factory entrances to keep the crowd back at the noon hour, and he's placed a man at the foot of the ladder leading up to the tower, to keep anyone from getting up there and planting explosives."
"Taking no chances," growled Backus.
"No chance of explosives being already placed in the tower, is there?" I inquired. "I mean a bomb of some kind that could be set off by electricity?"
"I've gone over it with a fine tooth comb."