Charg, Monster

CHAPTER XI. CHARG’S REWARD

MIDNIGHT. Detective Joe Cardona, riding westward in a taxicab, noted the hour by his watch. He settled back in the seat. In a few minutes he would be at Bryce Towson’s. Midnight was the time that Joe had set for his appointment with the consulting engineer.

Towson, Joe hoped, might tell him something of Meldon Fallow and Loring Dyke. Two men — both singularly slain — had been friends of Bryce Towson. A connection between Fallow and Dyke might mean much toward the solution of these baffling deaths.

In the conference room at his home, Bryce Towson sat alone, studying minutes of the meeting which he had held with Herbert Whilton. Shelburne had taken these notes; he had left them for Towson to review.

The engineer was also anxious for the interview which he was to have with Joe Cardona. Towson, like the detective, had a purpose in mind. He had chosen to tell the truth to the greatest possible degree, without overemphasizing the importance of the supermotor which Meldon Fallow had devised.

Meanwhile, The Shadow waited. He was to be the unseen listener, the keen investigator who had advanced along the trail. In a sense, his work was just beginning. For The Shadow, as yet, had learned nothing concerning Charg, the unknown master who had launched two fiendish murders.

This hour of midnight, however, was one that had been appointed by Charg himself. While Cardona sped toward Towson’s; while Towson awaited in the conference room; while The Shadow lurked unseen, a man was approaching the obscure apartment house that hid Charg’s lair within its walls.

This man was Talbot. The false servant of Loring Dyke was pale as he entered the quiet apartment house. From his pocket, he had drawn the key which had come from the envelope opened on the subway platform.

Talbot’s hand was fumbling as it unlocked the door of the apartment. Within the poorly furnished living room, Talbot turned on the light and looked about in unfamiliar fashion. He proceeded to the passage, found the closet and twisted the hook. He pressed it five times.

The murmur of the elevator came from below. The wall opened. Talbot entered the lift and descended.

He found the entrance to the abode of Charg. He pressed the button five times. The door slid upward; Talbot stepped into the lighted lair.

THE false servant stared hard at the strange surroundings. He shivered as the door dropped behind him.

He approached the screen with faltering steps. He heard the tiny lights click; by their shaded illumination, he saw Charg’s moving arm.

Then came the grating voice — the ominous tones that brought new quivers:

“Who are you, intruder?”

“Talbot,” gasped the standing man. “That is my name. Talbot. I–I am the servant of Charg.”

Talbot had repeated instructions gained from the message which he had destroyed. It was plain that this was his first visit to the terrible being whose mandates he had chosen to obey.

“Your token?”

“Five.”

“Make your report.”

“I–I did as ordered,” stated Talbot. “Jerry Laffan was the man who — who told me about you. I–I watched the box that was left yesterday. When Jerry came — with another man — I helped them put the box in the dumbwaiter. They— they took it away afterward.”

A pause. To Talbot, passing seconds seemed like intervals. Then came the rasping voice from the screen.

“You have read my message,” were the words of Charg. “Have you destroyed it?”

“Yes,” stammered Talbot. “I tore it up. The pieces are gone. I–I left nothing.”

“You have done well.” The statement came after a second’s pause. “You have come, at my order, to claim the reward that is your due.

“Face to the right. Advance to the door that you see there. Place your hand upon it. The door will open at your touch. Are my instructions plain?”

“They are. Yes.”

“Charg has commanded.”

Talbot started to turn toward the door. He faltered, remembering that he had other words to say. Again facing the screen, he spoke.

“When Charg commands,” he said, nervously, “his servants obey.”

“Then advance,” came the grating voice. “Go to the door on the right.”

Talbot saw a moving arm; he caught the outline of the turbaned head, with the sparkle of jewels. He turned to the right and stepped forward. As he reached the appointed door he pressed his hand against it.

There was a click. The door shot upward. As Talbot gasped, the light went out. Then came a thudding sound, a hoarse scream from Talbot’s throat. A choked gasp sounded in the darkness. Something slumped upon the floor and sprawled there, motionless. A new click marked the dropping of the door.

A rasping chuckle came from behind the screen. It was the knell of death. The abode of Charg lay silent and still. Tragedy had occurred within those roughened walls.

EIGHT minutes after midnight. Silence had pervaded Charg’s lair. Elsewhere, a milder appointment was being kept. Detective Joe Cardona was entering Bryce Towson’s conference room. The engineer was rising to meet him.

The servant who had ushered in the detective closed the door upon leaving. Cardona lost no time in getting down to business. The first question that he put to Towson was a pointed one.

“You knew both Fallow and Dyke?” asked Joe.

“I did.” Towson nodded soberly. “I am a consulting engineer. My income is derived from large corporations. I have always, however, found it good policy to be friendly with men of scientific ability.

“I give advice to such persons. I know many inventors, many chemists — men like Fallow and Dyke. Hence the coincidence which has brought you here. One, Fallow, saw me not long before his death. The other, Dyke, had spoken about coming here tonight.”

The door of the conference room was opening. Neither Cardona nor Towson observed the fact. The room was gloomy; for the chief light was at the end of the table near the windows.

The Shadow, peering through a narrow slit, was listening in on the two speakers. He caught the final words that Bryce Towson uttered. He heard Joe Cardona’s next question.

“Did Fallow and Dyke know each other?”

“They did.” Towson’s tone was positive. “But” — the engineer modified his first statement — “their acquaintanceship was casual. Fallow was an inventor; Dyke a chemist. There was little in common in their work.”

“I see. Were they ever here together?”

“Yes. Fallow had developed some chemical preparation in connection with an invention. He asked Dyke’s opinion of it. Dyke approved the formula.”

“Did you see Dyke after Fallow’s death?”

“No.”

Cardona was nodding. His last question had received a truthful answer. At the same time, it had turned the trend. It gave Cardona the very impression that Towson was anxious to create. While Cardona paused, Towson took the lead.

“I greatly wish,” stated the engineer, in a sincere tone, “that I could aid you in solution of these terrible murders. Both Meldon Fallow and Loring Dyke were men of worth. Their deaths are real tragedies.

“I read the accounts of Fallow’s death. I presumed that the newspaper reports were accurate. I only hope that Dyke’s unfortunate end has given you some real clue that may be linked to those which you gained after Fallow was killed.”

“Thanks,” said Cardona, gruffly. “The problem is a tough one. To be frank with you, about all I’ve got is what you’ve just told me. The two men knew each other; and it’s a cinch the same guy killed them.”

“Yes,” nodded Towson. “You told me over the telephone that Loring Dyke’s body was horribly mangled. That was the case with Meldon Fallow—”

“It was,” interposed Cardona. “Believe me, I’ve seen some bad ones — but never anything like these two. There’s only one way the murderer could have got in; that was through the door into the rooms where Dyke had his laboratory.”

“Wasn’t it locked?”

“Sure it was. What’s more, the key was on Dyke. But the windows were barred; and they hadn’t been opened. There was only one other way” — Cardona paused and delivered a gruff laugh — “and that was up through the dumbwaiter. But you can’t make a midget do a giant’s work.

“The guy that killed Dyke came in by the door and went out the same way. He must have had a key — that’s all — and there’s a bird that could have given it to him.”

“You don’t mean Parsons? The servant who telephoned me here?”

“Not Parsons. He’s on the level. But there was another fellow working for Dyke — a guy named Talbot. He left on a vacation. Went tonight. Parsons saw him go out. Leastwise, Parsons went upstairs, just before Talbot went out.”

“Was that prior to the murder?”

“Yes. So we’re looking for Talbot. We want to find out what he knows. Maybe he had a key to Dyke’s rooms. Maybe he gave it to some one; maybe it was swiped from him. Anyway, we’re going to find him.”

“Could he be the murderer?”

“No. I checked on that. He isn’t very husky; but that’s not the point. I figured it this way: the guy that killed Dyke was the one who murdered Fallow. So I quizzed Parsons and found out that Talbot was at Dyke’s, on the job, the night that Fallow was killed. Parsons is sure about it.”

“I hope that Parsons is to be relied upon. He might have been in league with Talbot.”

“Not a chance. One guy wouldn’t hold the bag if the other scrammed. Maybe Talbot is phony; but Parsons isn’t. That’s settled.”

TOWSON pondered. Cardona’s words had apparently started a thread of recollection in the engineer’s mind. Cardona waited for a statement.

“Loring Dyke came here but seldom,” remarked Towson. “He spent most of his waking hours, so I understand, in his laboratory. On one visit, I remember that he mentioned his servants — Parsons and Talbot — and he spoke highly of their loyalty.

“Dyke was a man of sound judgment. Your impression of Parsons is doubtless correct. It fits in with Dyke’s belief. It is possible, of course, that Dyke was mistaken regarding Talbot.”

“Once we’ve found the fellow,” persisted Cardona, “we’ll know. There’s another angle to it, Mr. Towson. The police surgeon thinks that Loring Dyke was killed just about the time when Talbot left the house.

“Maybe the killer was waiting until he got out. That would have been good business; it would have meant only one servant to fight. It happened that Parsons was on the third floor; so there’s no reason why the murderer— assuming he had a key — couldn’t have gone in and out right after Talbot left.”

The trend of conversation had changed. Joe Cardona had been stating his own theories. His questioning had ceased at an early stage. Bryce Towson was adhering to the plan which Herbert Whilton had ordered. He had diverted the talk to a point where there could be no mention of the supermotor.

Joe Cardona was rising. The door closed without a semblance of a jar. The Shadow merged with darkness. Then the door reopened; Cardona stepped into the hall, accompanied by Bryce Towson. The detective shook hands with the engineer; then left.

The Shadow waited until Bryce Towson had returned to the conference room. The engineer left the door partly opened; The Shadow, passing, saw Towson busied with his papers. Then the gliding shape reached the front door. The Shadow made his silent, unseen way out into the night.

Joe Cardona had been at Bryce Towson’s slightly more than twenty minutes. In the period between twelve-eight and twelve-thirty, he had discussed the theory upon which the police were working. Joe Cardona was returning to headquarters; The Shadow was faring forth on new investigation. Cardona had learned nothing that The Shadow knew; The Shadow had learned Cardona’s theories.

Yet neither had learned of the reward of Charg. The death of Talbot, delivered in a hidden lair, was yet unknown. Only those whom Charg had chosen could find the body of Talbot at the spot where it now lay!