Circle of Death

CHAPTER XXI TRESSLER ACTS

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA stood astonished after he had stepped from the elevator. He scarcely heard the clang of the closing door, so intent was he as he viewed the scene before him.

The patio, with its tinkling fountain, was a sight that Cardona had never expected to find within the limits of Manhattan. A vertical trip up a long shaft had brought the detective into what appeared to be the entrance of a house in old Seville.

Approaching footsteps aroused Cardona from his lethargy. Felix Tressler appeared from the passage that led through the penthouse. He wore a questioning gaze upon his heavy-browed face.

“What do you want here?” he demanded.

“Are you Mr. Tressler?” returned Cardona.

“Yes. Who are you?” inquired the bulky millionaire.

“Detective Cardona,” returned Joe. “From headquarters. I want to see your secretary, Wilton Byres.”

A scowl appeared upon Tressler’s brow. The mention of Byres seemed to anger him. He motioned to Cardona. The sleuth followed as Tressler led him into the passage. The millionaire opened a door on the right and ushered Cardona into an office. Tressler took his seat behind a desk. He waved Cardona to another chair and proffered a box of cigars.

“What has Byres been up to?” demanded Tressler.

The question took Cardona by surprise. The detective had expected to meet the secretary. Tressler’s action had made him believe that his suspicions might be wrong. It was obvious now that Byres was not here, but Tressler’s method of introducing that fact threw Cardona off his guard. Tressler’s mention of Byres was done in a fashion that placed a stigma upon the missing secretary.

“I don’t know,” returned Cardona. “What I want to know is where Byres is.”

“Not here.” Tressler shook his head sadly. “I placed great confidence in that young man. A few days ago, he left this penthouse and did not return.”

CARDONA eyed the millionaire closely. Despite Tressler’s well-feigned concern, Cardona began to gain an inkling that all was not well. Coming directly to the point, he made a brief statement.

“Two nights ago,” affirmed Cardona, “a man was found murdered in a taxicab near Times Square. He was unidentified. We took his photo at the morgue. Have you seen it in the newspapers?”

“No.” Again Tressler shook his heavy head. “Byres used to bring up the newspapers. I am something of a recluse. I have been alone since night before last.”

“That was when Byres went out?”

“Yes.”

Joe Cardona reached for the telephone. Tressler shoved out a big paw to stop him. The millionaire’s face was grave.

“What do you intend to do?” he questioned.

“I’m calling headquarters,” retorted Cardona. “Telling them to bring up photographs. I think I’ve found out who that dead man was. He was your secretary, Wilton Byres.”

“Wait a minute.” Tressler scowled. “Just because that fool went out and got himself killed is no reason why I should be dragged into this.”

“Sorry,” rejoined Cardona, as he stared coldly. “This has got to be told down at headquarters. I’m calling Inspector Klein.”

“This is irregular!” challenged Tressler. “Why didn’t the inspector come here himself? Where is your authority?”

“I’m handling this case,” retaliated Cardona. “I just uncovered this fact about Wilton Byres.”

“You mean that I am the first person to whom you spoke concerning it?”

“Yes. I overheard two men talking in a lunch room on the street. One said the picture of the dead man looked like a chap who worked up in this penthouse.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Tressler. He drew away the telephone as Cardona sought to grip it. “You mean that you are raising a hubbub on the strength of such slender evidence?”

“I mean,” returned Cardona, angrily rising to his feet, “that I’m going to find out who murdered Wilton Byres!”

“Ah!” Tressler’s tone was tinged with irony. “That is different. Perhaps you would like to find out who killed Dustin Cruett. Also Maurice Bewkel. And also who killed Bigelow Zorman.”

Cardona’s fists were clenched. The detective stared as Felix Tressler gloated. A light struck Cardona. He realized in one confused moment that he was face to face with a murderer. The mask had lifted. Felix Tressler was glaring like a fiend.

Mechanically, Cardona’s hand started toward his pocket. Tressler thundered a warning that made the detective cease his intended action.

“Look out!” Tressler’s voice meant business. “Pull that gun and you’re a dead man!”

INSTINCTIVELY, Cardona stared. He found himself staring straight into the muzzles of two revolvers. The detective’s hands went above his head. Felix Tressler spoke from behind the desk.

“Two friends of mine,” he announced. “The tall gentleman is Perry Harton, the new president of the Electro Oceanic Corporation. His companion is Logan Mungren, promoter of that company’s stock issues.

“Quite odd, is it not, that men of such high standing should behave as thugs? Well, Detective Cardona, since this will be your last case, I do not mind telling you the situation. These two men, like myself, are also swindlers.

“Mungren promoted the Electro Oceanic Corporation. Harton managed it. I padded it with a fake purchase of fifty thousand dollars worth of stock. There were two first-class suckers: Maurice Bewkel and Channing Rightwood. They were the biggest of the fish. They coughed through with fifty thousand each.”

Felix Tressler had risen from his chair. Striding heavily past the desk, he stood facing Joe Cardona. He sneered as he again spoke to the detective.

“They were ready to fall again — Bewkel and Rightwood. This time for a hundred and fifty thousand each. Our plan was to build the sucker list up past a million before we let the company drop.

“I’ve made millions through swindles. I’ve spent millions. I needed this one. A wave motor that looked like a beautiful sucker racket, until some fool down at the plant improved it and made it practicable. The word was passed to the other workers.

“What was the answer? To kill those options that Bewkel and Rightwood held. To grab the stock for myself. To make millions through a real development. That’s the game at stake. Bewkel and Rightwood learned too much; so did Cruett and Zorman. I foresaw that they would. To kill them was the only way out.

“Wilton Byres found out what was going on. I kept him as a secretary because I thought he was too dumb to become wise. But he learned more than was good for him. He is dead with the others. All are dead, except Channing Rightwood.”

The mention of that name brought sudden haste to Felix Tressler. With a motion to Harton and Mungren, Tressler ordered the pair of villains to conduct Joe Cardona from the room. With gun muzzles against his back, Cardona marched down the hallway of the penthouse. He was forced in through an open doorway, where he stared in amazement at the big map which took up the entire wall.

FELIX TRESSLER arrived, bringing pieces of stout rope from the office. He seized Cardona’s upheld arms and brought them down behind the detective’s back. He bound Cardona’s wrists; then tumbled the helpless detective to the floor and tied his ankles. All the while, Tressler was talking in a sarcastic tone:

“Murder. Your business is to detect it. You failed. Why? Because murderers go to find the men they want — as a rule. My plan was different. I waited for my victims to come my way.

“All had business in New York. I knew that when they came here, there was a portion of Manhattan — with this penthouse as a center — through which they would surely pass.

“I am wealthy. I hold interests and leases throughout this section. Mungren is a crook whom the police have never flagged. With his aid, I arranged the most perfect death trap in all the world — a zone which looks innocent because it teems with passing thousands — the last spot where any one could suspect or discover lurking death.”

Raising Cardona, Tressler lifted the detective bodily and propped him against the wall opposite the huge map of central Manhattan. Standing erect, the glowering millionaire pointed to the chart with its lights and its red circle.

“All have died.” Tressler’s tone was fiendish. “All, I should say, but one. His turn has come. Watch with us, Detective Cardona, and enjoy yourself. You will never return to headquarters to report this case.

“Channing Rightwood is due within that circle. When he arrives there, he is marked for death. No power on earth can save him. Millions will be mine, and these companions in crime will share. Yet after that, the circle will still remain. I shall keep the agents — the thugs hired by Mungren — that I may still wield power in the future.”

With this last statement, Felix Tressler wheeled. Disregarding the captured detective he stood watching the huge map. The hour of nine had passed. Any moment would mark the beginning of the game which Felix Tressler relished.

Channing Rightwood, the last victim, was due within the circle of death!