AN APPOINTMENT IS MADE
“HARKNESS murder solved!”
A man paused at the newsboy’s cry. He purchased a copy of the Evening Classic and stared at the headlines. He hailed a passing taxi.
Within the vehicle, he turned on the light and read the news account as he rode along. A smile of cunning satisfaction spread over his face as he perused the details.
The cab stopped at the gloomy mansion that had been the home of Theodore Galvin. The man entered the building. Although it was not yet dark outside, the interior of the old house was dusky. The man walked through the hallway and came to the door of the lighted study.
“Hello, Briggs,” he said, as he entered.
The big man, staring idly from the window, turned to answer the greeting.
“Hello, Bob,” were the man’s words. “What’s new?”
“The gag worked all right,” replied Bob. “Take a look at the Classic. The Chief scored a ten-strike when he arranged this stunt!”
Briggs seized the paper and his eyes lighted as he scanned the headlines.
“Great stuff!” he exclaimed, admiringly. “Inspector Herbert Zull identifies murdered gangster as the slayer of Richard Harkness. Gee! That’s hot!
“The morning papers tell of finding Clink’s body in an auto junk yard. By afternoon, Zull has doped it out. Clink killed Harkness. New clews — finger prints on the table that corresponds with Clink’s. Finding of the death gun on the dead gangster.
“Jake Grimble — alias Clink — small-time racketeer. They’ve got all the dope here, haven’t they, Bob?”
“Right,” was the reply, “and it fixes things all right for us. There’s no connection between Clink and us. That’s where we’re safe.
“Clink was just a hanger-on with Moose Shargin’s mob. The kind of a guy that would try to stick up Harkness for whatever might be in the place.”
“He was around with us, though — and I was there with him,” said Briggs, doubtfully.
“What of it?” demanded Bob. “You don’t get the lay, Briggs. While the murderer was unknown, Zull was in a tough spot.
“That’s his business — to track down murderers. Some rookie dick might have come along and found some evidence that would have made Zull look cheap.
“You know how he works — he won’t stop at anything, that guy. He’d hang a murder on his own brother if he could fake it.
“Now he’s hung this one on Clink — and he’s got the guy that really killed Harkness. That closes it. Zull has other work to do. This is a big find for him, and he’s not going to waste time trying to locate an accomplice that nobody even suspects.
“There won’t be any one else on the case, either. Read that stuff about the motive. Look at what Zull found out about Clink — a small-time racketeer, working on his own — all that sort of stuff.”
“Guess you’re right, Bob,” admitted Briggs. “I guess it’s just as well Clink did fall down the stairs and break his neck.
“You’ve got to hand it to Shargin, too. He and those gorillas of his sneaked the body out of here in first-class style.
“Loaded old Clink full of lead out in the junk yard. There’s been other gang killings there before. This was a soft one with a guy already dead.”
BOB did not reply. He was opening the newspaper. He stopped at a page near the back and pointed out an item to Briggs. It stated that Miss Betty Mandell, well-known society girl, had left for a trip to Florida and the West Indies.
“Well-known,” laughed Bob. “She’s got about four friends in New York. Her uncle threw a big coming-out party for her a few years ago and she’s good for the society page any day, on account of family history.
“But she never got around much. Told me so herself. That paragraph takes care of her for the next six weeks. We’ll be through by then!”
Briggs nodded. He reached over to the desk and picked up a sheet of paper upon which he had written a telephone number. Bob looked at it.
“Westcott!” he exclaimed. “When did he get back?”
“To-day.”
“What did he say?”
“Wanted to talk to you. Said it was very urgent.”
Bob still stared at the sheet of paper in his hands.
“Maybe I ought to talk to the Chief first,” he said, “but he won’t be around until after six o’clock. It isn’t five yet. Well, here goes.”
He picked up the telephone and called the number. Briggs listened intently while the conversation followed.
“Mr. Westcott?” said Bob. “This is Robert Galvin. Yes… Nephew of Theodore Galvin… Yes, I knew you were a friend of his… Tonight? Yes… At the Cobalt Club, for dinner? Very well, I’ll be glad to join you there, sir…”
His comments ended as he listened intently. The man at the other end was speaking at considerable length. Briggs wondered what it was about.
“Well,” cut in Bob, “I’ve met very few of my uncle’s friends… Wait… How about Hiram Mallory? That’s fine… Yes, I believe I can arrange for him to join us… Seven o’clock then, at the Cobalt Club.”
Bob hung up the receiver and grinned as he faced Briggs.
“Thaddeus Westcott,” he said. “One of the three. We were figuring on him for last. Now, he’ll come second. Tonight.
“He may be just the one, Briggs. He says that he has important information for me — but that he must be sure of my identity. So I told him that I would be there with Hiram Mallory.”
The gigantic Briggs cleared his throat and looked apprehensive.
“You should have waited to hear from the Chief—”
“Not a bit of it. This is a break in the right direction. We’d figured on laying low for a few days more — it’s only three nights since Clink bumped off Harkness.
“But this lets us move without any risk, and maybe we’ll find out just what we want to know!”
Bob picked up the telephone and called a number. He asked for Hiram Mallory. He was informed that the latter would not be in until after six o’clock.
“Tell him that Mr. Galvin called,” said Bob. “Robert Galvin. I would like him to meet me at the Cobalt Club at seven o’clock. We are to dine with Mr. Westcott — Thaddeus Westcott.”
“That fixes it,” declared Bob. “I’m going upstairs to dress for dinner. You stick around here in the evening, Briggs. Keep your eye out. We don’t know what may crop up.”
“You mean The Shadow?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t figure him in on this, Bob.”
“Listen, Briggs.” Bob’s voice was serious. “We’ve got to play the game without taking any chances! I agree with you — there’s been no sign of The Shadow, so far as we’re concerned. At the same time, he’s a guy that doesn’t leave any traces. Never forget that!”
Briggs nodded.
“First,” declared Bob, “the girl saw somebody in here. That put me on the lookout. Then the Chief wised me up to something else.
“The Shadow or somebody a lot like him — had a run-in with Zull the night after the Harkness murder. Zull kept pretty mum about it, but the news got to the Chief.
“It means that The Shadow was looking in on that affair.”
“I thought he was looking in here,” admitted Briggs, “two nights ago, when Clink did that nose dive down the cellar stairs.”
“So did I,” agreed Bob. “I figured Clink imagined he saw something down there. But when I looked the place over, it was okay. No sign of anybody having been there.
“At the same time, it’s hard to figure how Clink slipped the way he did. He must have been pretty sure something was happening to miss his step and take a fall like that one.
“That’s why I say — look out!”
“What if The Shadow does prowl around here?” Briggs insisted. “He can’t find out what we found out. Only two people got the dope on this place — Clink and I. Clink’s out now, and so is the guy that talked to us. I’m not blabbing to any one!”
“We’re safe enough,” agreed Bob. “At the same time, don’t forget that four people have found this place unhealthy” — his voice became an undertone — “and only one of them is still alive!”
“It would be better if he was rubbed out, too!”
“No. The Chief may have use for him later on. By the way, Briggs, did any mail come in?”
The big man nodded. He opened a desk drawer and produced a letter which bore a South African stamp. Bob tore it open and read the contents. He put the letter back in the envelope and thrust it in his pocket.
“The Chief will want this,” he said, shortly.
He left the room, Briggs remained alone, reading the newspaper.
It was half an hour later when Bob reappeared. He was attired in a dinner jacket. Over his arm was an overcoat, and he carried a hat and cane.
“Remember, Briggs,” he said. “Keep on the lookout!”
WITH that final admonition, Bob was gone. He stepped from the front door, alone, and stood looking shrewdly up and down the street. No taxis were in sight, so he strolled leisurely along to the nearest avenue, swinging his cane as he walked.
He reached a cab stand. There, he glanced behind him. Satisfied, he entered a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Cobalt Club.
But with all his alertness, Bob did not observe the shadowy form that had flitted along the street behind him. He had not seen it in the obscurity of the side street; it had been invisible to his eyes even in the brighter light of the avenue.
Nor did he pause when he reached the door of the Cobalt Club. He entered that imposing edifice with an air of self-assurance.
His confidence might have disappeared had he noticed another cab rolling by as he alighted from his own.
It was several minutes after Bob had entered the club before another man walked through the portals. Like Bob, this visitor was faultlessly attired. His face was solemn and impassive. The doorman bowed.
“Good evening, Mr. Clarendon,” he said.