NEVER was a man more dumfounded than was Joel Caulkins of the Classic, after he had read the note shown to him by Judge Harvey Tolland. The fact that the older man was now calmly surveying him from an opposite chair did not ease his perturbed mind.
For the cryptic name of Double Z spelled fiendish horror. It was a title coined from the strange signature of a fanatic whose connection with a series of murders had terrorized New York and bewildered the police.
Caulkins, with his inside knowledge of detective investigations, knew of the menace that lay behind that strange signature. He had been shown other notes signed by Double Z, and not for an instant did he doubt the authenticity of this one.
The two letters appeared side by side, one a half line lower than the other, so close together that they formed a mysterious symbol.
Slowly, mechanically, Caulkins folded the paper and laid it on the table beside him. He looked at Judge Tolland and noticed that the jurist’s thin lips were twisted in a mirthless smile.
“Startled, eh?” asked Tolland.
“Yes,” admitted Caulkins.
“I read your articles regarding my disappearance — those that you wrote under the name of the Wise Owl. They were keenly done, Caulkins. Strangely enough, they were partly true. But they missed the important elements.”
“This note from Double Z?”
“Yes. But you were not to blame for that.”
Caulkins nodded thoughtfully.
“I never would have connected it,” he said. “Double Z was not heard of until several months after your disappearance. Even now, I do not understand.
“The note simply says: ‘You have one week to live’ — then comes the signature. Since Double Z was unknown at the time, I cannot understand why the threat frightened you. Judges often receive letters from fanatics.”
“Caulkins,” said Tolland slowly, “I am going to be confidential with you. With any other newspaperman, I would have bluffed this matter out. I have been on the verge of revealing myself during the past few weeks. I think you can help me — and also aid the police to clear up this terrible mystery.”
The reporter’s eyes focused keenly on Tolland’s. The statement freed his mind from the bewilderment that had gripped it. Here would be a real scoop!
“The theory of my disappearance,” said Tolland slowly, “has followed one general trend, beginning with the day I left my home and did not return. That day was, incidentally, the day after I received that note from the man you call Double Z.
“It has been presumed that I had accepted bribes from criminals, and that I feared discovery. On the contrary, it was because I refused bribes that I found it necessary to disappear. There were certain cases due to come up before me.
“I received a visit from a man who offered me a very large sum to favor the defense of one case and the prosecution of another. I refused. After that I received the Double Z warning.”
“You knew the man who tried to bribe you?”
“I knew the man.”
“But you said nothing?”
“I could do nothing at the time. It would have been impossible. The standing of the man — well, you will realize it later when I tell you who he is. The warning came from him.”
“He is Double Z?”
“Yes. He knows that I am still alive. He wants to kill me. I have frustrated the man for months. I shaved my mustache and dyed my hair. Yet, despite my changed appearance, you recognized me, which is proof that my disguise is insufficient. So I am now ready to act; to bring this affair to a crisis; to meet my enemy and turn his own weapons upon him.”
“His own weapons?”
“Yes. The letters he has been sending to the police. What do you think is their purpose?”
“I considered them the messages of a fanatic.”
“The man is a fanatic,” admitted Tolland, “but an amazingly clever one. I am the only person who knows the purpose of his messages. They are sent to frighten me.”
“To frighten you?”
“Certainly! When I received mine — the first of all the Double Z correspondence — I took it seriously and went into hiding, in this house. The enemy suspected my game. He knew that I was protecting my own skin in order to deliver a counterattack.
“He felt that the effect of his threat would gradually wear off. So he launched his campaign of informing the police of his intended murders, believing that each one would weaken my morale when I heard of it.”
CAULKINS sat upright in his chair. This amazing statement threw a new light on Double Z. It showed a method behind the criminal’s strange notes to the police.
“For months,” went on Tolland, “I have been giving my enemy a chance to betray himself. One slip — one slight clew of his identity to the police — and my reappearance would clinch the fight for justice. That clew has not been forthcoming. And I, alone, cannot give his name to the authorities. It must come from him — from some act of his.
“Nevertheless, I have decided to act — because of you.”
“Why because of me?” asked Caulkins in surprise.
“There are two reasons,” declared the judge calmly. “First, because you discovered me. That shows that my enemy may discover me, also. I am not immune.”
“I saw you in a little barber shop,” explained Caulkins, “having your hair dyed. Your chin looked familiar. I followed you here. I obtained a key that opened the vestibule door.”
“The second reason,” continued Tolland, passing over the reporter’s explanation, “is because you credited that note when you saw it. I was afraid to put it to the test before. Now I am sure that I shall be believed when I speak.”
“With your prestige—”
“My prestige? Where is it now; I may have had some before I obeyed the impulse to flee to safety. Yet I was wise to go into hiding. I learned that my enemy had arranged a complete frame-up that would make my sudden death seem well-deserved. I believed that.”
“What do you intend to do now?”
“I’m leaving that up to you. You are free to lift the lid with the most sensational true exposure of crime that has ever appeared. Meanwhile, I shall be traveling. You will hear from me when the time comes for my statements.”
“When Double Z has been exposed?”
“Yes. If the exposure fails, I shall still be safe — safer than I am here in New York.”
Caulkins arose and paced the room. He swung toward Tolland with a question.
“When shall I start?”
“Right now!” declared Tolland, as if fearing to hesitate. “Every minute may be precious, now that some one has discovered me. Call your newspaper from here. Give them the story, while I am here to check on any questions. Then we shall both leave and that paper will remain in your possession.”
Caulkins picked up the message from Double Z. He spread it and pointed to the signature.
“Who is Double Z?” he asked.
“I shall tell you, Caulkins,” replied Tolland. “His name is an important one. There is method in everything he does even in that signature. What does it represent to you?”
“Double Z. Two initials. I can think of no one who would have such initials.”
Judge Tolland seized the paper.
“Look now!” he declared, moving his finger across the signature. “Does that mean anything to you?
Forget Double Z. Think of a big man — a powerful, prominent man whose initials are—”
Caulkins suddenly stiffened. A startled look of incredulity came into his widening eyes. Before he could reply, Tolland picked up a pen and paper from the table and wrote a series of short lines, inscribing his signature beneath.
“There!” he exclaimed in a voice of indignation. “There is the name of the fiend — the merciless murderer! I have written it, with my signature beneath. That is my statement to you. Tell your paper; tell the police. When it is safe, you can count on me to testify!”
Caulkins leaped to the telephone. He dialed a number. He stood, with both papers on the table before him, studying one and then the other, his eyes bulging, his breath coming in anxious gasps.
“Classic?”
His question came in a wildly eager whisper. Judge Tolland, eyes gleaming expectantly, stood close beside the reporter, tense and hopeful.
“City desk,” ordered Caulkins.
A pause. Both men were strained. The time it took for the connection seemed interminable. It was a matter of seconds only, but to Tolland those seconds were hours.
A voice came over the wire. Tolland saw Caulkins clutch the phone more firmly. The reporter’s lips began to move, and Tolland’s hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned close to catch the words from the other end of the line.
Vindication! His opportunity was here. After months of persecution, he had decided upon the vital step.
Within the next few minutes the persecution which had threatened him would be ended.
For Caulkins was about to reveal the identity of the man called Double Z — reveal it so all the world would know the secret of that man who gloried in crime.