Circle of Death

CHAPTER VI THE FIRST OPTION

DESPITE the blackness of The Shadow’s sanctum, daylight still prevailed in Manhattan at the hour when the mysterious crime hunter had left his abode.

It was after five o’clock; and at the very moment of The Shadow’s departure from his sanctum, a man was alighting from a taxicab in front of a huge building on Lexington Avenue.

This man was Maurice Bewkel, first option holder in Electro Oceanic Corporation. As soon as he had paid the driver, Bewkel turned and hurried into the building. He entered an elevator and rode to the thirty-sixth floor.

Alighting there, he walked a few doors to an office which bore the legend:

Entering the door, Bewkel stopped in front of a little wicket which showed in the panel of an anteroom. A girl looked inquiringly through the opening.

“Is Mr. Mungren still here?” inquired Bewkel.

“Yes,” replied the girl. “Are you Mr. Bewkel?”

Bewkel nodded.

“Go right into his office,” declared the girl, pressing a switch to open the door. “It is down the passage to the left.”

Maurice Bewkel entered. The inner offices were deserted, as it was after five o’clock. At the end of the corridor, however, Bewkel entered an opened door to discover a portly, baldheaded man seated behind a desk.

“Good afternoon,” declared Bewkel. “Sorry that I could not arrive sooner, Mr. Mungren.”

“Quite all right.” Mungren was beaming as he arose to proffer his hand. “Quite all right, Mr. Bewkel. I can always wait to discuss business with customers such as yourself. Sit down. Let us talk about this Electro Oceanic business.”

BEWKEL seated himself opposite Mungren. He waited while the securities man referred to a folding calendar. Then he made a remark:

“The option is due tomorrow.”

“So it is.” Mungren had found the date. “Due tomorrow, or it will expire.”

“So,” declared Bewkel, “I shall deliver the funds that are required. I assume that you will demand a certified check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Mungren stared with mouth agape. He dropped the calendar upon the table.

“You mean,” he blurted, “that you intend to exercise this option?”

“Certainly.”

“With Electro Oceanic selling at ten dollars a share?”

“Not so long ago,” reminded Bewkel, with a dry smile, “you were quite optimistic about Electro Oceanic, Mr. Mungren. You sold me fifty thousand dollars worth of stock in what I might term an eager fashion. Now, when I offer three times that sum, you act as though I have lost my senses. Is that consistent?”

There was a touch of irony in Bewkel’s tone. For a moment, Logan Mungren appeared half-angered, half-cornered. Then he regained his poise.

“Mr. Bewkel,” he declared, “I sold you Electro Oceanic as a speculative investment. I knew that its par value might fall. I did not expect it to drop to one tenth of its original value.

“I regard you as a client. You have made other purchases — profitable ones — through me. I advise you, now, to drop Electro Oceanic. Why send good money after that which has proven bad?”

“Because I still have confidence in Electro Oceanic. Perhaps, Mr. Mungren, I still believe in the possibilities which you outlined when I purchased my first stock.”

“The possibilities are there.” Mungren nodded as though making an admission. “But the excessive cost of manufacturing the wave motors has rendered them impractical from a commercial standpoint.

“New stock will be issued in Electro Oceanic. I doubt, however, that it will find buyers. Unfortunately, Mr. Bewkel, wave motors are one of certain inventions which cannot be classed as impracticable until they have been built and put in operation.

“Why spend money to produce new ones when those that have been manufactured have shown their ineffectiveness? Fortunately, Electro Oceanic has not yet failed. Your present stock can be sold at ten dollars a share. I advise you to dispose of it instead of exercising an option on the new issue.”

“Which means,” decided Bewkel, “that I should be content with five thousand dollars from my original fifty thousand?”

“Exactly.”

“Not a bit of it. I prefer to invest one hundred and fifty thousand dollars more. That is my decision, Mr. Mungren. I have come here to arrange for the issuance of the stock so that I may receive it in return for delivery of the option.”

SETTLING back in his chair, Logan Mungren studied his visitor. He saw an expression of determination upon Maurice Bewkel’s face. He realized that no amount of argument could cause the wealthy man to change his purpose. “Very well,” declared Mungren, in a tone of resignation. “I have warned you, Mr. Bewkel. I no longer consider Electro Oceanic to be a sound investment. The decision upon the option rests with you, however. I profit through it, because I gain my commission on the sale. I do not, however, care to make money at the expense of my clients.”

“You are merely the agent,” returned Bewkel quietly. “I am making the purchase through you — not from you. I thank you for your advice; but I do not choose to follow it.”

Mungren nodded.

“Do you have the option with you?” he questioned.

“No,” replied Bewkel. “It is in a safe-deposit vault. I am prepared to deliver it here tomorrow morning. What about the payment? How do you wish it?”

“A certified check will do,” returned Mungren. “I suppose you can arrange that at the bank when you go there tomorrow for the option.”

“That is what I intend to do.”

“Very well. Nevertheless, I still feel that my advice should be heeded—”

Bewkel waved his hand in interruption as he arose from his chair.

“I went over that matter last night,” he declared. “I was talking with” — he paused without mentioning a name — “with another person interested in Electro Oceanic. I have considered the same advice that you have given me. My answer is that I intend to utilize my option.”

Bewkel looked at his watch. Mungren, watching him, began to chew his lips in nervous fashion. He steadied as Bewkel glanced in his direction.

“You will join me at dinner?” questioned Bewkel. “I am going to the Merrimac Club; after that, to my home.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” returned Mungren. “Unfortunately, I cannot accept it. I put in a long-distance call to Chicago, a short while ago. I may have to stay here an hour or more.”

Bewkel was turning toward the door. Mungren followed him. The two walked through the passage back to the anteroom. On the way, Mungren again became persistent.

“Suppose,” he suggested, “that you give this further thought, Mr. Bewkel. Perhaps—”

“My decision is made,” interrupted Bewkel, strongly. “I want no further discussion upon the matter. I shall be here tomorrow morning, with the option and the money. That is settled.”

“Very well,” agreed Mungren.

They were at the outer door. Bewkel continued on. Mungren watched him; then turned to the girl at the switchboard.

“You may go,” he said. “Leave the connection to my office open. I may receive a late call.”

Turning, Logan Mungren started back toward his office. On the way, he drew a large handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopped his bald brow. The securities promoter appeared nervous. His face was pale as he entered his spacious office and resumed his place at his desk.

Then came a change. With an effort, Logan Mungren altered his expression. Determination replaced worry. An ugly smile appeared upon Mungren’s thick lips. The securities man picked up a telephone and called a number.

“Hello…” Mungren paused as he recognized the voice at the other end. “Yes, this is Mungren… Yes… The sale is to be made… Positively. A final decision…

“He has left… The Merrimac Club… Yes… For dinner. Then home… Yes…”

Mungren replaced the telephone on the desk. His expression showed a gloating, as though mere conversation across the wire had given him new confidence.

His qualms were ended. To eliminate their return, Mungren drew bottle and glass from a desk drawer and poured himself a drink, which he drained with a quick swallow. His lips formed their twisted smile.

All signs of faltering were gone. Logan Mungren had revealed himself — while alone — as a man of evil. For the telephone call which he had made was more than a mere passing conversation of facts.

Through that call, Logan Mungren had played his part in crime. His announcement regarding the option was the forerunner of doom. Logan Mungren, by his act, had sent a death warrant for Maurice Bewkel!