Part 11 (1/2)
Police were coming toward the office. Steve Quigg, crawling bewildered from among the books, grabbed up Whitey Calban's gun. Before he could aim toward the door, a bluecoat entered. The officer shot down the lone gunner who remained. Other shots were barking in the hall and outside the house.
The law was taking charge.
Bluecoats had driven the last remaining mobsters into the house. The s.p.a.ce between the building and the house next to it was unguarded. It was through this opening that The Shadow glided. His swift steps, unseen, unheard, carried him from the vicinity.
A solemn, whispered laugh sounded in the gloom of a side street, three blocks from Kingsley Keith's.
There was no mirth in the repressed shudder of the tone. The Shadow had gained a victory; with it, a loss.
He had dealt death to Whitey Calban, the murderer whom he had come to meet. But fate had tricked The Shadow. Though dead, Whitey Calban had accomplished his design. The killer had slain Kingsley Keith.
CHAPTER XVI. CARDONA MAKES A CALL.
IT was the following afternoon. The newspapers had made huge stories of the fray in which Kingsley Keith had died. Photos of the dead lawyer; pictures of the house; diagrams of the downstairs room- all had provided excitement for eager readers. Seated at the big desk in his private office, Lester Dorrington was digesting the reports. The cadaverous lawyer was nodding as he rubbed his chin. The police had hinted at a feud between Whitey Calban and Ace Feldon. Dorrington knew that for once they were right.
A ring from the private telephone. Dorrington answered it. Tersely, he ordered the speaker at the other end to send the visitor down. Unlocking the closet, he opened the panel. A wiry, wise-faced fellow stepped from the stairway.
”Sit down, Squeezer.” Dorrington waved the visitor to a chair. ”Let's talk this whole business over.”
”It looks bad,” said the wiry man, in a whiny tone. ”Trailing's my business. You know how I tagged Berlett when he took the plane to South America. But snooping in-seeing what's happening-well, that ain't so easy. Last night, for instance-”
The speaker paused as a buzzer sounded. Dorrington frowned slightly. He pointed back to the closet.
”It must be something important,” declared the attorney. ”Duck, Squeezer. I don't know who's out there; it wouldn't be good policy to keep a visitor waiting to-day.”
Squeezer nodded as he sidled for the closet. Dorrington closed the panel and locked the door. He strolled across his office and opened the door as a secretary appeared. The girl was followed by a stocky, swarthy-faced man. Lester Dorrington recognized Detective Joe Cardona.
”Step in,” invited the attorney. ”I'm glad to see you, sir. It is a privilege to receive a visit from one whose time must be quite fully occupied.”
Cardona sensed the sarcasm. Dorrington was closing the door. He went to his desk, waved Cardona to a chair and offered the acting inspector a cigar.
”What can I do for you?” questioned the lawyer.
”Two crooks were killed last night,” a.s.serted Cardona, bluntly. ”One of them, Whitey Calban, murdered a lawyer named Kingsley Keith.”
”So I have learned from the newspapers.”
”We think that Calban killed Hugo Verbeck and Clark Durton.”
”So I understand.”
”Well”-Cardona stared steadily as he spoke-”you've handled cases for both of those crooks. What can you tell me about them?”
”I represented them before the law,” stated Dorrington, in an even tone. ”The facts are in the records. I can produce testimony from my files.”
”I'm talking about the present, not the past. Some one was in back of Whitey Calban. Somebody wanted those three lawyers to die.”
”Probably. Your theory sounds logical.”
”Can you suggest any one who might be a suspect?”
Lester Dorrington allowed a smile to flicker upon his face. He puffed at his cigar before he answered.
When he spoke, his tone was calm. ”Certainly,” declared the lawyer. ”I can name such a person.”
”Who?” queried Cardona.
”Myself,” responded Dorrington.
THE detective gaped. He had come here, in his capacity of acting inspector, to parry with Lester Dorrington. Using the attorney's legal connection with the dead man, Cardona had seen a golden opportunity for a visit.
To Cardona, Kelwood Markin's suspicions of Lester Dorrington had been justified. But Joe had never expected the criminal lawyer to fall in line with his thoughts.
”I have named myself as a suspect,” stated Dorrington with a smile, ”purely because of certain circ.u.mstances. I note by the newspapers that all of Whitey Calban's mobsmen battled the police in stubborn fas.h.i.+on. As a result, not one of the so-called gorillas survived.
”Therefore, you failed to obtain a blind clue which you might otherwise have obtained. There is still a chance that you may get it from some pal of one of the dead gorillas. Had you used the dragnet, inspector”-Dorrington emphasized the t.i.tle with which he addressed Cardona-”I believe that you might have heard some mention of my name.”
”We got Calban,” said Cardona, gruffly, ”even if he wasn't dead, for his mob is done. We didn't need the dragnet.”
”So I have saved you trouble,” nodded Dorrington. ”I would prefer to have you hear my name mentioned by myself than from some rat who knows nothing of the facts.”
Joe Cardona sat dumfounded. This interview was staggering him. He stared at Lester Dorrington. The lawyer's face was solemn and inscrutable. Joe could not guess what might be in his mind.
”Yesterday,” declared Dorrington, ”I received an unsolicited visit from Ace Feldon. The gangleader came to this office and spoke to me in confidence.”
”We didn't see-”
”I know,” smiled Dorrington, as Cardona paused abruptly. ”You mean the d.i.c.ks who were covering this office didn't see Ace Feldon. That merely proves the incompetence of the average detective. You should make a note of it, inspector. Pa.s.s it along to the police commissioner.
”But to resume. Ace Feldon came to warn me about Whitey Calban. Ace seemed to think that Whitey was a double-crosser. He told me that Whitey had killed Hugo Verbeck and Clark Durton. He was sure that Whitey intended to continued his career of murder.”
”Where did Ace get that dope?” questioned Cardona.
”From a man named Steve Quigg,” replied Dorrington. ”He told me that Quigg was his man; that the fellow was one of Calban's crew.”
”Say!” exclaimed Cardona, forgetting his antagonism toward Dorrington, ”that explains how Ace Feldon horned in on the trouble.”
”Yes,” agreed Dorrington, ”but let me proceed, inspector. Ace Feldon told me something else. He declared that Whitey Calban had told his outfit that I was the man in back of the murders. That was thereal reason why Ace Feldon came to me.”
”What did you do about it?” demanded Cardona.
”Nothing,” a.s.sured Dorrington calmly. ”Really, I regarded Feldon's visit as a consultation. As his attorney, I could keep his statements to myself. I am speaking to-day only because Feldon is dead.
”But at the same time, I doubted the veracity of Feldon's story. I knew that Feldon thought he was speaking true, but I was not at all sure about the unknown factor-Steve Quigg-nor could I see any reason for the actions and the statements attributed to Whitey Calban.