Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW TALKS

“BENZIG told me that you had telephoned, Mr. Cranston.”

Perry Delhugh, seated behind his mahogany desk, made this statement as he proffered a cigar to his calm-faced visitor. The remark brought a nod from The Shadow.

“Yes,” he replied, in Cranston’s tone. “I called from the Cobalt Club. I am going back there later.”

“Will you wait until Vincent arrives? He usually comes early in the evening.”

“No, that will not be necessary. Vincent is doing his work capably. There is no reason that I should see him until his job is completed.”

“Indeed?” Delhugh’s tone was quizzical. “This is surprising. I thought that you had come to talk about those lists that Vincent is making.”

“No.” A thin smile showed on the lips of Lamont Cranston. “I have come to discuss another matter.”

“Another matter?”

“Yes. Crime.”

Perry Delhugh looked puzzled. Then his strong face took on a sudden change. The philanthropist’s eyebrows furrowed as an anxious look revealed itself.

“Regarding those men whom I have aided?” he questioned. “Something to do with Zurk and Targon?”

“Yes,” replied The Shadow.

Delhugh settled back in his chair. He puffed at his cigar and his face remained troubled. He seemed to be recalling hazy facts. His attitude, at the same time, was one of listener.

“YOU mentioned to me,” began The Shadow, in a steady tone, “that Theobald Luftus had communicated with you not long before his death.”

“He did,” nodded Delhugh. His voice was grave. “In regard to a philanthropic contribution.”

“Perhaps in writing to you” — The Shadow’s voice was Cranston’s, but it carried a steady monotone — “Luftus conveyed the impression that he had large funds available in his penthouse.”

“I did receive that impression from his letter.”

“And perhaps Steve Zurk or Jack Targon might have had opportunity to see that letter.”

Delhugh did not reply at once. He tapped his desk with his fingers, again recalling past circumstances.

Then he said, slowly:

“Steve Zurk could have read the letter from Luftus. Also my reply to that same letter.”

A pause. Then came the quiet tone of Cranston.

“You receive a great deal of philanthropic correspondence,” stated The Shadow. “Perhaps other letters concerned the library fund held by Richard Dokeby.”

This time Delhugh made no delay in his reply. He leaned across the desk and spoke frankly.

“Dokeby wrote me a letter,” he declared, “and stated that he had those funds available. What is more, Mr. Cranston, Steve Zurk could have read the letter. And my reply.”

“Then you have probably come to some conclusion.”

“I have. But it has left me bewildered. Often, Mr. Cranston, I have mistrusted certain persons. But Steve Zurk was not one of them. The man struck me as honest.”

“And yet—”

“Yet circumstances are against him. My secretary, Benzig, made pointed remarks concerning Zurk. He chided Benzig for doing so. I have tried to maintain a faith in Zurk’s integrity. I like the man.”

Delhugh came upright and pounded the desk emphatically.

“I like the man!” he repeated. “That is enough to make me hold confidence in him. It takes more than idle rumor to shatter a well-formed belief.

“I hold no proof against Zurk. All that I know is that he did have opportunity to learn facts regarding both Luftus and Dokeby. Benzig was suspicious of him, yes; but one can not take Benzig’s opinion as a criterion.”

A pause; then Delhugh added seriously:

“Targon and Zurk both started on a road to honesty. Targon had no opportunity to stray. But Zurk did have. Twice. And after each of those occasions, crime appeared on the horizon. Most damaging of all, it was crime of a type that Zurk could have aided.”

Delhugh reached out and opened a desk drawer. He produced a stack of papers and spread them out upon the desk. He began to speak musingly.

“I HAVE hesitated to consider these documents,” he admitted slowly. “They refer to Zurk’s past; and, somehow, they link in with Benzig’s suspicions. Had Benzig alone shown a suspicious trend, I would have remained firm in my trust of Zurk.

“But when a man like yourself, Mr. Cranston — one with philanthropic leanings — adds weight to suspicion, I am forced to listen. I am compelled to make a study of Zurk’s past, as these papers record it.

“It happens that Zurk does not know how closely he was investigated. He does not know that he was linked with a vicious desperado called Beak Latzo, who is still at large. Even the police do not know that fact.”

A pause. Cranston’s tone came:

“Yet you have known it.”

“Yes,” admitted Delhugh. “And I know also that this man Latzo would be capable of perpetrating the two crimes that have occurred. I really believe” — he nodded seriously — “that if a new link showed between Zurk and Latzo, I could suspect Zurk of guilt.

“But as it stands” — again Delhugh pounded the desk — “I still swear by Steve Zurk! I like the man! I believe in him! Despite his past connections and all that the law once had against him.”

DELHUGH leaned back and swept the papers half across the desk. Typewritten statements fluttered to the floor. A scrawled letter stopped short of the desk edge. Photographs slid apart. One was a rogues’ gallery picture of Steve Zurk; the other a photostatic copy of finger-print impressions.

“There’s not an iota of evidence against Zurk,” proclaimed Delhugh. “The man’s new career shines blameless. This mass of data pertains to the past — not to the present.”

“Sometimes the past link, with the present,” remarked The Shadow, quietly.

“Not in the case of Steve Zurk,” decided Delhugh, with a shake of his head. “Suspicions — even from you, Mr. Cranston — are not sufficient to incriminate Zurk in my eyes.”

A pause; then, as Delhugh, firm-jawed, maintained an emphatic attitude in defense of Steve Zurk, The Shadow reached leisurely into his pocket and produced a crumpled ball of paper that Delhugh eyed curiously.

“I should be interested,” stated The Shadow, in the quiet fashion of Cranston, “to have your opinion regarding this paper, Mr. Delhugh. To learn whether or not it would injure your belief in Steve Zurk’s integrity.”

He passed the paper to Delhugh, who opened it. Delhugh’s eyes registered genuine amazement. His mouth opened wide. He was reading the message that The Shadow had found in Beak Latzo’s hideout.

Recovering suddenly from his astoundment, Delhugh snatched up a paper that lay on the desk. It was a specimen of Steve Zurk’s handwriting. Delhugh compared the scrawls. He dropped both papers and sank his forehead to his upstretched hand.

“This is terrible,” groaned Delhugh. “It shows Zurk’s guilt, Cranston. It shows it beyond reclaim. The handwriting proves that Zurk wrote this message to Beak Latzo.

“How — when — where—” Delhugh paused speculatively as he raised his head. “Tell me, how in the world did you manage to find this damning document?”

“It came into my possession,” replied The Shadow, quietly, “through an agency that I can not name at present. It was brought from a house where Beak Latzo had been living.”

“You have other evidence like this?” questioned Delhugh, indicating a briefcase that his visitor had brought. “Reports of investigators? Other facts against Zurk?”

“I have this.” The Shadow produced the paper that he had found at Dokeby’s. “A legal form, found in an incriminating spot. Note the finger impressions upon the under side, Mr. Delhugh. Tell me: Do they compare with Zurk’s?”

DELHUGH made a study of the photostatic copy. He held it, with the legal form, close into the light.

Then he nodded. With a look of puzzlement, he asked:

“You say this came from an incriminating spot? What place might that be?”

“From Richard Dokeby’s safe,” replied The Shadow.

Delhugh arose. He placed his finger upon the button that showed on his desk. Then he stopped and shook his head.

“I was going to summon Benzig,” he declared. “I wanted you to hear his statements regarding the suspicions that he held of Zurk. But I have a better plan. Let us go downstairs.”

He placed Zurk’s papers in the desk drawer, added the documents that The Shadow had brought, then turned a key in the lock of the drawer.

“With your word for it, Cranston,” remarked Delhugh, “the statement that the paper with the finger impressions came from Dokeby’s is quite as damaging as the letter that speaks for itself. I suppose, of course, that you can reveal facts later. Regarding the investigation that you have apparently conducted privately.”

He came from behind the desk and motioned toward the little anteroom. The Shadow picked up the briefcase and walked with Delhugh.

“Zurk is coming here tonight,” informed the philanthropist. “It would be the logical time to confront him with these proofs. Are you agreed?”

They had reached the anteroom. The Shadow, with his briefcase, had stepped ahead at Delhugh’s urge.

He turned about as the philanthropist spoke.

“No,” replied The Shadow, in the steady tone of Cranston. “We should not be too hasty, Mr. Delhugh. There are reasons why we should first watch Steve Zurk.”

“Reasons?” quizzed Delhugh. He had stopped short at the entrance to the anteroom. “What sort of reasons?”

“Reasons that pertain to crime,” replied The Shadow. “Ones that may prevent—”

ENDING his sentence, The Shadow stared sharply at Delhugh. From Cranston’s immobile face gleamed burning eyes — a sudden revelation of The Shadow’s true identity.

The briefcase left The Shadow’s clutch; his hands shot forward with a sudden spring.

A change of Delhugh’s expression had produced The Shadow’s quick action. But, for once, The Shadow made a thrust too late. Delhugh’s right hand had slid to the side of the doorway. The philanthropist pressed a hidden button.

The thick carpeting of the little anteroom split like a trap. The Shadow’s leap ended almost as it began.

As Delhugh dropped back, The Shadow’s hands missed the philanthropist by an inch. Then the tall form of Lamont Cranston went plunging downward into a blackened pit.

Powerful fingers caught the edge of the study floor and clung there for an instant. Delhugh, gripping the side of the doorway, drove his foot toward The Shadow’s hands. His brutal, grinding kick was calculated to loosen The Shadow’s clutch.

But The Shadow, staring upward, defeated the fierce move by opening his fingers just before Delhugh’s heel arrived. With that release, Delhugh saw his enemy go plunging down into the depth. A crash announced The Shadow’s arrival at the bottom of the pit.

Delhugh pressed the switch again. The trap closed. The false philanthropist delivered an ugly, fiendish laugh. Himself a partner to crime, Delhugh had tricked The Shadow. The master foe of crime had dropped into a superplotter’s snare!