The Shadow - The Key Part 8

"How?" queried Markin, with a spread of his hands. "What else can I say? I told you that other lawyers might be on the death list. I hoped that you might have information."

"We have," declared Cardona. "We found the key to a safe deposit box among Durton's effects. None of his family could identify it."

"He is one of us," nodded Markin. "Let us hope that there are none others beside myself."

"The key is the only piece of evidence," stated Weston. "It supports your statements, Markin. I believe that Clark Durton received that key from a millionaire. I am sure that he, like yourself and Verbeck, found the safe deposit box empty. But there the trail ceases."

"It would," said Markin. "In Verbeck's case, it seemed certain that he received the key from Torrence Dilgin. I have already stated that I gained mine from Rufus Gilwood. But there is only one man who can tell you who gave the key to Clark Durton. That man is Lester Dorrington."

"If we knew how many millionaires were swindled," suggested Cardona, "we could figure how many lawyers are slated for the spot. I'm putting four men on guard here, Mr. Markin. There was only one killer who went after Verbeck, but a bunch b.u.mped Durton."

"That is something gained," decided Markin, in a wise tone. "You have learned definitely that the slayers are gangsters. But have you followed my suggestion of checking upon Lester Dorrington?"

"I covered his house last night," returned Cardona. "I had three men with me on Long Island. Dorrington was there all the while."

"He would be!" exclaimed Markin, pounding his fist on the table. "If your visit here to-night, gentlemen, is in hope of gaining information, I can give no more than I have already. I told you how I received a key from Gilwood; how his dodge to escape the inheritance tax failed. Dorrington appropriated those funds from Gilwood's box at the Farley National, just as he took the cash which Verbeck was supposed to find at the Paragon Trust.

"You have the information; what you need is advice. Here it is: remember that Lester Dorrington is crafty.

He is too wise to form contact at his home. His plans have undoubtedly been made in advance. There is only one course for you to follow. Look for crooks whose cases he handled in court. They are the ones who will be in this game."

"That's right, Cardona," agreed Weston, turning to the ace sleuth. "That limits your hunt. Get the stool pigeons on the job. Keep away from the dragnet. These killers are men who are working from some hide-out." "I've got the stools working," insisted Cardona. "I've been looking up facts on Dorrington, too. I haven't used the plan that Mr. Markin here suggests we-"

"Use it then," interposed Weston, "and pa.s.s the word to-night. Others murders may be in the making.

Two have come in two nights. One may be on its way even now."

Rising, the commissioner extended his hand to Kelwood Markin. The retired lawyer received the shake.

As Weston and Cardona turned toward the hall, he uttered words of thanks, particularly because four men were now on duty outside his house.

"There is no use in trying to deceive Dorrington," declared the old lawyer. "He has watched others; he will be watching me. He must certainly know by now that you are guarding this house. He knows that I have spoken.

"That, in a sense, is unfortunate. It may mean that Dorrington is all the more anxious to kill off other persons who may testify against him. I am still fearful, gentlemen. You can appreciate my qualms. By gaining your protection, I have unquestionably made Dorrington all the more desirous of killing me."

Weston nodded from the door. This angle of the case was serious. Yet the commissioner expressed the a.s.surance that four men outside the house, with Howland inside, should be sufficient for Markin's safety.

The visitors departed. Markin summoned Howland. He gave the secretary brief orders for the morning.

The old man entered the bedroom and locked the door behind him. Howland turned out the lights in the living room, but did not lock the door.

Curtains stirred. The Shadow emerged from his hiding place. Crossing the living room he reached the hall and gained the stairs. He went up through the trapdoor and across the roof; when he descended through the deserted house, he found a side door that opened into a narrow alleyway. He used this as his exit.

LATER, the blue light shone in The Shadow's sanctum. A soft laugh sounded as the master sleuth studied the gathered clippings and reports. By his trip to Markin's, The Shadow had, since his arrival, gained the real facts in the secret that lay behind a chain of deaths.

Facts, undisclosed while The Shadow was in Rio, were pointing the way to the measures which must be taken to aid the law. By his actions aboard the Southern Star, The Shadow had sought to end the run of crime. Yet murder had followed in New York and The Shadow had learned why.

Piecing the remarks which Markin, Weston and Cardona had made concerning their previous conversation, The Shadow had gained a practical knowledge of Markin's revelations. The hidden listener at the conference to-night was the one who had profited through the discussion.

New murder might be on its way. Another lawyer-as yet unknown- might be the next victim set for murder. When crime struck, The Shadow would be there to meet it. He had gained the ground that he required to overtake new bursts of violence.

Earphones clicked. A light glowed upon the wall. Burbank's voice came across the wire. The Shadow responded, in his whispered tones.

"Instructions to Marsland," were his words. "Go to the Pink Rat. Await written orders that he will receive there."

"Instructions received."

Earphones clattered; hands disappeared from the light. When they returned, they were carrying foldersthat were identified by names. The Shadow began to study reports on crooks-definite data which he had produced from his exclusive files.

Half an hour pa.s.sed while The Shadow engaged in research. Then came a click of the light. A laugh crept through the darkened sanctum. The Shadow was departing. He was on his way to the underworld.

There he would form contact with Cliff Marsland. The Shadow and his agent, independently, would seek the information that was needed. The Shadow had taken the same advice that Joe Cardona had received from Kelwood Markin.

On this, the first night of his arrival in New York, he was seeking first-hand information concerning the whereabouts of crooks who had been legal clients of Lester Dorrington.

CHAPTER XII. A CLIENT ADVISES.

ON the following afternoon, a tall, cadaverous man entered the lobby of the Bylend Building. He purchased a newspaper at the stand; he paused to glance at the headlines. The murders of Hugo Verbeck and Clark Durton were still in the news, but no new killings had been reported.

The tall man was Lester Dorrington. He was returning to his offices after lunching at his club. His expressionless face revealed nothing of his thoughts as he strolled toward the express elevator that awaited pa.s.sengers for the twentieth floor and those above that level.

When Dorrington's footsteps clicked along the corridor of the twenty-fourth floor, a door opened across the way from the lawyer's suite. Peering eyes watched Dorrington pa.s.s. A detective, stationed by Joe Cardona, was watching the lawyer's return.

From the time that he had left his house that morning, during the lunch period that he had spent at the club, Lester Dorrington had been under police surveillance. Yet there was nothing in the lawyer's att.i.tude that indicated suspicion of that fact.

Arriving in his inner office, Lester Dorrington began to study papers that were upon his desk. While the solemn-faced attorney was thus engaged, a ring came from the private telephone. Dorrington went to the little cabinet in the corner. He brought out the telephone and answered the call.

"What's that?" he questioned, sharply, as he recognized the voice over the wire. "Ace Feldon? I didn't tell him to come to see me... I see... He wants to talk to me, eh? Put him on the wire... What's that? Well...

All right... Send him down..."

Dorrington deposited the telephone in the cabinet. He strode swiftly across the luxurious private office and locked the door that led to the outer rooms. Dorrington had half a dozen workers in his general office, with lesser a.s.sociates in private rooms of his extensive suite. He did not want to be disturbed by any of them.

Coming back to the corner by the little telephone cabinet, Dorrington unlocked the door of a closet. He pressed a shelf upward. A click followed. A panel raised in the rear of the closet.

The opening showed a spiral staircase.

DULL footsteps were clanging down the stairway. Dorrington stepped back into the office. A hard-faced, big-fisted man appeared from the open panel. His thick lips wore a pleased smile.

"h.e.l.lo, Dorrington," growled the arrival. "h.e.l.lo, Feldon," responded the lawyer, dryly. "Sit down. I shall talk with you immediately."

As the hard-faced man sauntered to a chair, the lawyer stepped into the closet and closed the panel. He left the door open, then came back to his desk. Taking his swivel chair, he stared coldly at his visitor.

"Hope you ain't sore because I dropped in," began "Ace" Feldon. "Say, Dorrington-that staircase is a swell gag. I knew most lawyers have got a good way out of their offices. You've got a couple here on this floor. But that office upstairs is the best stunt yet."

"This was the first time you used it," reminded Dorrington. "Your previous visits, Feldon, did not require secrecy."

"That's right," nodded Feldon. "You always told me, Dorrington, that if I wanted to see you on the q.t., all I had to do was drop in on a guy named Loven, who has his office on the floor above this. But I never figured that you'd have a way between. It's a pip, Dorrington, that staircase is."

"I appreciate your commendation," declared Dorrington. "Now that we have discussed the staircase, let me hear the reason for your unexpected visit."

Ace Feldon shifted in his chair. Hard-boiled though he was, this toughened fellow was ill-at-ease as he met Dorrington's searching gaze. Feldon fumbled with a hat that he was holding in his hands. Then, with a tone that indicated final decision, he put a definite question.

"Listen, Dorrington," he growled. "What's the idea of picking Whitey Calban to do your b.u.mping for you? What was wrong with me?"

"Calban?" questioned Dorrington, in apparent surprise. "I haven't seen the man for months, Feldon."

"That ain't the point," retorted Ace. "Maybe you haven't seen him; but you're using him."

"For crime?"

"Yes. For murder."

Dorrington smiled slightly as he shook his head. The lawyer was accepting the statement as preposterous.

ACE FELDON, now that he had begun, was not ready to desist.

"Listen, Dorrington," he stated, "you've represented Whitey Calban and you've represented me. Both of us are smooth workers. The bulls don't mean nothin' in our sweet young lives. If you wanted anythin'

done-along our line -it's a sure bet that either Whitey or I would pull it for you."

"Granted," agreed Dorrington. "Murder, however, is something which I have found entirely unnecessary so far as my business is concerned. I have represented killers; but I have never hired them."

"There's a difference between Whitey Calban and me," resumed Feldon, steadily ignoring Dorrington's statement. "I'll tell you what the difference is. I'm a square shooter, but Whitey Calban ain't. I've got it in for that guy Calban."

"So I have heard," remarked Dorrington. "Feuds between gangleaders are not unusual. It seems to be part of the racket."

"I ain't one that goes out of my way to find trouble," retorted Ace Feldon. "There's just one reason why I've got it in for that louse Calban. He's a double-crosser, that's why. And when a guy like Calban beginsto slip one over on a friend of mine, I do somethin' about it. Savvy?"

"I take it then," observed Dorrington, mildly, "that you have come here to discuss certain activities of Whitey Calban's."

"You've got me right, Dorrington. Dead right. Listen; if I'm workin' for a big shot and usin' a bunch of gorillas to help me with the jobs, I ain't goin' to spill nothin' to the heels in my mob, am I?

"You bet I'm not. Neither is any other guy that's on the level. But Calban ain't a straight shooter. He's been blabbin' to the crew, lettin' his gorillas know who's hirin' him. That ain't good policy, particularly when the work ain't finished yet. Calban's the mug who b.u.mped Verbeck an' Durton."

"Quite interesting."

"It ought to be-to you-since Calban's spilled it to his mob that he croaked those lawyers because you told him to!"

Lester Dorrington sat rigid as a statue. Not a muscle twitched upon the lawyer's cadaverous face.

Dorrington's eyes were fixed steadily upon Ace Feldon. The gangleader nodded sourly.

"Calban let it slip," he insisted. "He yapped the facts to his gorillas last night, down at their hide-out. Told 'em last night was a lay-off but to-night there'd be another job. Then he got mouthy and spilled your name as the guy that's backin' him."

"Quite odd," observed Dorrington. "Quite odd, Feldon, that you should tell me this."

"Tell you that Whitey Calban's a double-crosser? Put you wise because you're a friend of mine?"

"No. That part of your story is plain. What puzzles me is how you happen to know so much concerning Calban and his gang."

"That ain't no riddle," snorted Feldon. "I ain't never liked Whitey Calban; but that wasn't no reason why I should try to make trouble for him. It was reason enough though, for me to want to watch the guy.

"There's a fellow named Steve Quigg who used to work for me when I had my squad of gorillas. Calban never knew that Quigg was with my crew. When I busted up the outfit, he signed with Calban. But Quigg sees me right along. He knows that Calban is a louse. That's why he tips me off to what Whitey's mob is doin'."

"So Quigg serves you as undercover man?"

"Right. But I ain't never tried to pull nothin' on Calban. Just keepin' a line on him, that's all. When Steve Quigg calls me up to-day an' tells me that Calban's told his mob about you, I figured it was time you knew it.

"Suppose that job goes sour to-night. Suppose the bulls grab Calban. He's goin' to blab, ain't he? He'll tell the bulls that you're the guy that hired him. But he'll never admit he squealed. He'll lay it on some of the gorillas that he talked to.

"I'm tellin' you-Calban's a double crosser. You've got the proof of it right now. You've treated me good, Dorrington. I'm your friend an' you know it. I'm puttin' you wise."

LESTER DORRINGTON was leaning upon his elbows. Staring squarely across the desk, he spoke firmly to Ace Feldon. "Thank you for the information," stated the poker-faced lawyer. "I can a.s.sure you, however, that it is unnecessary. Outside of the legal case in which I represented Whitey Calban, I have had nothing whatever to do with the man."

A buzzer sounded as Lester Dorrington ceased speaking. The attorney waved his hand toward the closet. It was the sign for Ace Feldon to depart. Some one in the outer office required an interview with Dorrington.

"I ain't askin' nothin'," declared Feldon as he rose from his chair and slapped his hat upon his head. "But I'm tellin' you, Dorrington, it works both ways. If Whitey Calban is workin' for you, he's pulled a fast one, talkin' to those loud-mouthed gorillas.

"If he ain't workin' for you, he's a real double-crosser. A louse like him ain't fit to live. You're a real guy, Dorrington, an' I'll leave this with you: anythin' that I may be doin' will be on your account. Savvy?"

The gangleader had reached the closet. There were knocks at the panel of Dorrington's office door. The lawyer had no time to reply. He shoved Ace Feldon through the panel and pulled down the shelf that locked the secret barrier. Closing the door of the closet, he went to answer the knock at the outer door.

Important clients were awaiting. Within five minutes after Ace Feldon's departure, Lester Dorrington was engaged in prolonged conference. Afternoon waned, while the discussion continued. Dusk settled; lights were turned on; it was six o'clock when the conference was ended.

Alone, ready to leave his office, Lester Dorrington stood by his desk. He was recalling his interview with Ace Feldon; for once, doubt seemed to register itself upon Dorrington's cadaverous countenance. The attorney was pondering upon the situation as Feldon had outlined it.

At last, a knowing smile traced itself faintly on Lester Dorrington's lips. The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, turned out the light and departed from his office. He told a secretary that he was going to his home on Long Island; that he could be reached there in case of urgent messages.

On his way to the Pennsylvania Station, Lester Dorrington was trailed by two of Cardona's men. The lawyer did not appear to notice the stalking sleuths. Close-mouthed, crafty in every dealing, Lester Dorrington showed no concern regarding events that were to come.

CHAPTER XIII. CLUES IN THE DARK.

"WHERE'S Cardona?"