Charg, Monster

CHAPTER XXI. THE BRAIN BEHIND

FREDERICK THORNE was seated in his paneled office. He was at the telephone. His face was harsh, his words came in tones that commanded; then argued.

“You are a fool, Shelburne,” be rasped. “A fool, I tell you… There can be no danger… Come here with your report after you have talked with Towson…

“Yes… I shall be here. It is nine o’clock now. Call me from Towson’s in half an hour. Yes… Remember, Shelburne, unless I hear from you…”

Thorne hung up. He arose and paced the room. The power magnate’s face was furious. He summoned his servant and called for hat and coat.

“Leave those here,” he ordered. “Do not disturb me from now on. I am going out at half past nine. I do not know when I shall return.”

WHILE Thorne was pacing his office, a taxicab pulled up at Towson’s. Shelburne stepped from the cab.

Harry Vincent saw him from across the street. It was the second time that The Shadow’s agent had spied Shelburne. The baldheaded man had come in at eight o’clock and had left shortly afterward.

What Harry did not know was why Shelburne had gone out. The man had left Towson’s to put in a report call to Thorne. He was returning, now that he had performed that duty.

Shelburne was admitted by a silent servant. The stoopshouldered secretary said nothing. It was Shelburne’s custom to come and go as suited him. There was something in his slinking manner, however, that indicated that he did not wish Bryce Towson to know that he had gone out.

Shelburne entered the conference room. He leered as he saw that the place was empty. Cautiously, Shelburne crossed the room and entered the laboratory where Meldon Fallow’s huge supermotor stood idle beneath a canvas covering.

Passing the machine, Shelburne approached a further door. He paused; then turned the knob. The door was locked. Evidently, Shelburne had expected to find it open. A sour expression came over the secretary’s face.

Shelburne moved catlike back to the conference room. He sidled to the filing cabinet; there, he began to arrange papers. While he worked, he listened. At times, Shelburne stepped away from the filing cabinet.

Once he laid his papers upon the radio cabinet that stood near the window.

IT was nearing half past nine. Shelburne picked up the papers, arranged them neatly and went across the room. He peered from the outer door; he saw a servant walking to the front hall. Then he heard Bryce Towson’s voice. The engineer was giving some instructions to his servant.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Shelburne stood perplexed. He had intended to make another departure from the house to put in a new call to Frederick Thorne. It was obvious that Bryce Towson had come downstairs; Shelburne doubted that the engineer would again go up. Shelburne did not want Towson to see him leave.

The secretary made a sudden decision. Closing the door of the conference room, he moved hurriedly to the radio cabinet. He plucked up a telephone that lay there. He dialed a number.

“Hello…” Shelburne was disguising his voice. He was trying to talk like Bryce Towson. “Hello…

Detective headquarters? This is Mr. Towson… Bryce Towson… I must talk at once with Detective Joe Cardona…”

There was a pause. Shelburne fidgeted. At last a voice responded with the information that Cardona was out. The speaker offered to take a message.

“Tell him to come to my house at once…” Shelburne was emphatic as he imitated Towson’s tones. “Yes… Bryce Towson… The consulting engineer… Hello… Hello…”

The speaker at headquarters had hung up before Shelburne was finished. Shelburne was annoyed. He had wanted to impress the man more fully with the importance of this call. As he clicked the receiver hook, Shelburne leaned close to the radio cabinet.

“Hello…” Shelburne spoke as he heard another voice on the wire. It was an operator. Shelburne relaxed.

There was no further need for pretense. A girl was merely asking if he had been cut off.

“Never mind,” assured Shelburne. “I’ll dial again—”

A click came from the radio cabinet. The top of the box split and popped upward on hinges. A cylinder, rising upward, smashed against the telephone. The instrument went clattering from Shelburne’s hands.

A gargling cry came from the secretary’s throat. Before the sound could rise to the frantic scream that Shelburne intended, the man was in the clutches of a murderous robot. As Shelburne stared wild-eyed at the faceless, cylindrical head, four arms shot like pistons from the rounded body. Clamping claws gripped Shelburne’s throat.

The struggle was a brief one. While the upper arms were strangling, the lowers gave a crushing grip.

Shelburne toppled forward as the upper arms pulled away. Half strangled, the doomed man could make no outcry. Pistons rose and descended like hammers against Shelburne’s unprotected skull. As the secretary sagged, the upper arms again shot to his throat. This time their murderous twist was followed by a snap; the breaking of Shelburne’s neck.

The lower rods had swung away. They delivered crushing blows as Shelburne, as good as dead, rolled in the robot’s power. Then came the swings and clangings of the mangling rods. Shelburne’s body swayed and plopped against the robot’s metal body.

Smashing arms stopped. A click of mechanism; the robot’s arms clamped to its sides. The cylinders collapsed; the robot dropped downward and the top of the cabinet fell while Shelburne’s dead form was slumping to the floor.

TEN minutes passed. The door of the conference room opened. Bryce Towson entered. The engineer stopped short at sight of Shelburne’s body. Then he advanced and stood silent, his eyes upon the mangled corpse.

Towson saw the telephone. Stepping away from Shelburne’s body, the engineer picked up the instrument and spoke in a tense voice.

“Hello… Hello…”

There was no response. Towson hung up. He placed the telephone upon the radio cabinet and moved hastily toward the door of the conference room. He stepped into the hallway. As he reached to close the door behind him, he heard a gruff voice speaking to a servant.

“I’m here to see Mr. Towson. Right away. I don’t want any argument. I’m from headquarters.”

It was Joe Cardona. Pushing past the servant, the detective spied Towson and came striding to the spot where the engineer was rooted.

“I called in to headquarters right after you did,” greeted the ace detective. “They told me to hop over here in a hurry, Mr. Towson. I called in from over on Sixth Avenue — only five minutes from here by cab. Here I am, giving you quick service. What’s the trouble?”

A perplexed expression was plain on Towson’s face. The unexpected arrival of Joe Cardona, the detective’s statement that he was coming in response to Towson’s call: both were confusing. Cardona stared.

“What’s the matter, man?” demanded the ace. “What’s happened? You look like something had hit you! Did something happen in here?”

As Towson was steadying to reply, Cardona, prompt in action, pushed the engineer’s hand from the knob of the door. Thrusting the barrier open, Cardona strode into the conference room. He stopped as he reached the long table. He stared, fixedly, at the shattered corpse of Shelburne.

“What’s this?” quizzed Cardona. “Who killed this fellow? How did he die?”

The detective pumped the questions as he swung to Towson, who had followed him into the room.

Towson, his face solemn, slowly shook his head.

“I didn’t call you, Cardona,” he declared. “It was this man — Shelburne — my secretary — who must have called. I found him here. The phone was off the hook beside him. I was coming out to call the servants when you arrived.”

CARDONA was beside the body. His face was grim as he saw this new evidence of the strangler’s murderous power. He was thinking quickly. If Towson’s belief was correct, namely, that Shelburne had called headquarters, this murder must have happened within the last quarter hour.

“Who has been in here?” demanded Cardona, quickly. “Who, beside this dead man?”

“No one,” assured Towson. “No one, except the man who brought the new radio set. That was several hours ago.”

The statement was a simple one. Ordinarily, it would have caused Joe Cardona to start a quiz regarding the identity of the man who had visited the room. But Cardona, at times, had hunches that marked him as a genius. Acting upon sudden impulse, he leaped to the radio cabinet and tried to raise it The detective was surprised at the cabinet’s weight. Failing to budge it, he heaved and sent the bulky object falling on its side. The jolt did the trick. The top mechanism yielded; the top sprang open. The cylindrical body and head of the robot killer came springing into view!

The arms did not act. But Cardona, as he saw the plungers, knew the truth of murder. He remembered the heavy desk at Fallow’s. He recalled the dumbwaiter at Dyke’s; also some talk, on Parson’s part, about a box that had been shipped to the chemist’s home.

Bryce Towson had advanced. As Cardona turned, he saw the engineer staring with fixed gaze upon the glittering mechanism of the motionless robot. Towson phrased gasping words.

“That — that was meant for me!” he exclaimed. “The cabinet came this afternoon. My servants helped to carry it in here. It trapped Shelburne in my place!”

Cardona started to speak. He stopped and looked toward the door as a servant entered. The menial stood gazing at the form of Shelburne and toward the robot beyond. Towson wheeled and spoke to the man.

“What is it?” demanded the engineer.

“A man has come to see you,” stammered the servant. “He — he is outside now. A Mr. Thorne — Frederick Thorne—”

“Steady yourself,” ordered Towson. The servant became rigid. “Go back to Mr. Thorne” — Towson’s voice had taken on a firm tone — “and usher him in here. Then summon the other servants.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the servant departed, Towson turned quickly to Cardona. The engineer’s face was gleaming with sudden inspiration. His words were plain but hasty, as he spoke this order:

“Your revolver,” instructed Towson. “Have it ready. Cover this man when he comes in. He has walked into a trap. You are to meet the brain behind these murders!”