THE MARATHON MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
A Call in the Night
A SUDDEN gust of wind wrenched the door from Godfrey’s grasp and slammed it with a bang that echoed through the building.
“Anything doing?” he asked, as he flapped the rain from his coat.
Simmonds, the grizzled veteran of the Central Office, now temporarily in charge of the devious business of the “Tenderloin,” shook his head despondently.
“Not a thing. Only,” he added, his eyes gleaming suddenly with appreciation, “you were right about that Delanne abduction case. It was all a faked-up story on the mother’s part. She confessed this evening.”
“I thought she would if you kept at her,” said Godfrey, sitting down with a quick nod of satisfaction. “She hasn’t nerve enough to carry through a thing like that—she’s too pink-and-white. How does it happen you’re alone?”
“Johnston’s gone down to Philadelphia to bring back Riggs, the forger. Fleming’s got the grip. Bad night, ain’t it?”
“Horrible!” agreed Godfrey. “Listen to that, now.”
