The Man Higher Up
Trant substituted for the photograph the bent wire given him by MissRowan. Then for the last time he swung to the instrument, and as hiseyes caught the wildly vibrating pencils, they flared with triumph.
Thisexcellent detective scientifiction story is the first of a series toappear in AMAZING STORIES. These romances depict the achievement of LutherTrant, psychological detective.
While the results of psychic evidence have not asyet been accepted in our courts, there is no doubt that at a not-distantdate such evidence will be given due importance in the conviction of ourcriminals. The authors of this tale are experts in their science and theseries cannot fail to arouse your interest to the highest degree. A secondstory will appear in an early issue of AMAZING STORIES.
The first real blizzard of the winter had burst upon New York from theAtlantic. For seventy-two hours—as Rentland, chief clerk in theBroadway offices of the American Commodities Company, saw from therecord he was making for President Welter—no ship of any of the dozenexpected from foreign ports had been able to make the company’s docksin Brooklyn, or indeed, had been reported at Sandy Hook. And for thelast five days, during which the Weather Bureau’s storm signals hadstayed steadily set, no steamer of the six which had finishedunloading at the docks the week before had dared to try for the opensea except one, the Elizabethan Age, which had cleared the Narrowson Monday night.
On land the storm was scarcely less disastrous to the business of thegreat importing company. Since Tuesday morning Rentland’s reports ofthe car-and train-load consignments which had left the warehousesdaily had been a monotonous page of trains stalled. But until thatFriday morning, Welter—the big, bull-necked, thick-lipped master ofmen and money—had borne all the accumulated trouble of the week withserenity, almost with contempt. Only when the chief clerk added to hisreport the minor item that the 3,000-ton steamer, Elizabethan Age,which had cleared on Monday night, had been driven into Boston,something suddenly seemed to “break” in the inner office. Rentlandheard the president’s secretary telephone to Brooklyn for Rowan, thedock superintendent; he heard Welter’s heavy steps going to and fro inthe private office, his hoarse voice raised angrily; and soonafterwards Rowan blustered in. Rentland could no longer overhear thevoices. He went back to his own private office and called the stationmaster at the Grand Central Station on the telephone.
“The seven o’clock train from Chicago?” the clerk asked in a guardedvoice.
“It came in at 10:30, as expected? Oh, at 10:10! Thank you.” He hungup the receiver and opened the door to pass a word with Rowan as hecame out of the president’s office.
“They’ve wired that the Elizabethan Age couldn’t get beyond Boston,Rowan,” he cried curiously.
“The —— —— —— hooker!” The dock superint