Part 3 (2/2)

”And Ba.s.slett was in the employ of Ralgood?”

”Exactly. That's why I'm here after a story on Dave Callard.”

”You'll get one, young fellow.” Mallikan reached for the telephone. ”Stay right here and listen. I am calling the police. I am going to tell them all that Dave Callard said when he was here this morning. He deliberately lied to me after he found out that I knew nothing about his uncle's fortune.”

Clyde Burke smiled in satisfaction as Roger Mallikan put in the call. The reporter felt that he had scored a ten-strike. At The Shadow's order, Clyde had gone through files at the Cla.s.sic office; in them he had made the discovery of Dave Callard's former acquaintances.h.i.+p with Roger Mallikan.

Those headlines in the evening newspaper blared forth the fact that Dave Callard was being sought for murder. While the police were hunting blindly, Clyde had gained a lead.

That thought, however, was not the real cause for Clyde's elation. The reporter was pleased because he had performed an even greater duty. Clyde Burke was prepared to pa.s.s this news of Dave Callard's most recent whereabouts straight to his hidden chief.

The Shadow, like the law, would have another trail in the coming search for Dave Callard.

CHAPTER VI. IN THE EVENING.

DARKNESS had settled over Manhattan. Newsboys were shouting out the last editions of the evening journals when a tall, stoop-shouldered man hobbled into the lobby of an uptown apartment house.

This arrival was an elderly man; except for his limp, he still had a strong physique. The tight clutch that he retained about the head of a heavy cane was proof of his latent strength.

The stoop-shouldered man stopped by the window of a little office. His glance was nervous as he eyed the clerk who was seated there, reading a newspaper. The stooped man coughed; the clerk bobbed about and came to his feet.

”Good evening, Mr. Shurrick,” he said with a nod. Then, glancing to a row of pigeonholes beyond the desk: ”No messages for you, sir.”

Shurrick nodded and used his cane to hobble to the elevator. The clerk returned to the desk and picked up the newspaper. He resumed his reading of the details that concerned double murder. A police hunt had been on all day. So far, it had brought no new traces of Dave Callard.

The elevator arrived back at the ground floor. The operator strolled over to the window and looked toward the clerk. The man at the desk turned about and tapped the newspaper.

”This is a hot case, Jerry,” he told the operator. ”They can't locate this young Callard. Funny, ain't it? A guy gets back from China; b.u.mps off two blokes and dives out of sight. You'd think he'd have trouble getting a hideout, wouldn't you?”

”Yeah,” growled the operator. ”It does sound sort of goofy. There's a stack of dough mixed up in it, ain'tthere, Bill?”

”That's what the police think. They say that anybody who knew anything about old Milton Callard would have known that there must be some gravy somewhere.”

THE clerk flourished the newspaper and began to mark different pa.s.sages with his forefinger. The elevator man leaned over the window counter to listen.

”The police have got the layout pretty straight,” explained Bill. ”Old Milton Callard was a wealthy gazebo who kept his business affairs to himself. He had a lot of friends; but they were all big money men like himself. They didn't know each other even.

”Any one of those blokes would have guessed that Milton Callard's estate was a couple of million short.

Any one of them - like this fellow Luther Ralgood - who got b.u.mped. But it ain't likely that any of them worried about old Callard's dough. It was the nephew who wanted the money. He came after it.”

Jerry chuckled; then nudged his thumb over his shoulder, toward the elevator.

”Maybe old James Shurrick was one of Milton Callard's friends,” he observed. ”Funny old duck, ain't he? Crabbier than usual tonight.”

”He might be one of them,” nodded Bill. ”He's an old bird and he's well fixed for mazuma.”

”I wouldn't be him on a bet.”

”Why not?”

”Because of where he's living. That penthouse is on the thirteenth floor of this building.”

Bill planked the newspaper on the desk and leaned back to chuckle at Jerry's display of superst.i.tion.

”How's anything going to happen to a guy up there?” questioned the clerk. ”Shurrick don't ride to the thirteenth. Only to the twelfth. He walks up the stairs to the penthouse. How's anybody going to get up there to bother him, anyway?”

”By the fire tower. It runs clear up from the alley in back of here.”

”It stops at the twelfth floor. It would be a b.u.m route for a get-away.”

”Not if a guy was lucky. Well, Bill, there goes the elevator buzzer. See you later.”

JUST after Jerry left the office window, another man arrived from the street. He was a tall man who walked with shoulders well back. Though well advanced in years, he looked younger than James Shurrick. The clerk looked about and recognized the man's dignified face.

The arrival was Courtney Dolver, an apartment occupant. Bill looked in a box marked 12 B and pulled out a small stack of letters; also a key.

”Here you are, Mr. Dolver,” he announced. ”By the way, when do you want your mail to be forwarded?”

”Not for another week,” replied Dolver. ”They've been very, very slow refurnis.h.i.+ng my Long Island residence. Only the servants' quarters are fit for occupancy.”

”Another week before they'll have the place fixed?” ”Longer than that. A month at least. I shall not go to Long Island at all. I am taking a vacation at the end of next week. I intend to go directly to my lodge in the Catskills.”

Pa.s.sengers were coming from the elevator, which had returned to the ground floor. Dolver entered and the elevator went upward. It returned a few minutes later; Jerry came to the office to resume his chat with Bill.

”There's a guy that ain't crabby,” he declared. ”You'd think that Dolver was a kid. Walks into the elevator brisklike, sets his bag down and says, 'h.e.l.lo.' Dignified gent, too.”

”He's taking a vacation,” informed the clerk.

”A manufacturer, ain't he?”

”Used to be. He's doing importing mostly, nowadays. Guess he found it brought in the dough just as easy, without the overhead. Smart fellow, Dolver.”

A light glimmered on the switch board. Bill plugged in; the call came from a square marked 12 G. Jerry started back toward the elevator; then stopped short as he heard the clerk's excited cry.

He swung about to see Bill leaping from the desk. The clerk cleared the counter with one bound and landed on the floor beside the startled elevator man.

”That fellow Lattan in 12 G!” exclaimed Bill. ”He heard shots from the penthouse! He's watching the hall and wants cops quick! Hold it, Jerry, while I holler to Jake at the door!”

The clerk dived out toward the front. The elevator man stood stupefied. Ten seconds later, he heard the pound of footsteps.

Bill came rus.h.i.+ng back, followed by a uniformed policeman. The clerk pointed to the elevator; Jerry dashed aboard and slammed the door as soon as the pair had joined him.

”This officer was right outside,” explained Bill to Jerry, as the car sped upward. ”Jake's putting in the alarm; then he'll beat it around to watch the fire tower.”

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