Crooks Go Straight

CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHOW-DOWN

“YOUR work has been commendable, Zurk.”

Joseph Daykin made the statement. The portly importer was seated in his living room, talking to his new employee. Steve Zurk, puffing at a long cigar, was apparently enjoying this visit to Daykin’s Long Island home.

“So commendable,” added Daykin, “that I am going to send you on the road, visiting our customers throughout the country.”

“Thanks Mr. Daykin,” returned Steve. “I may find it tough sledding, though. Big orders may he hard to get unless you’re going to push that line of Swiss cameras that just came in.”

“That is exactly what we do intend to push,” said Daykin, with a tired smile. “Galen Flix will be here shortly. I have arranged to place a huge advertising contract with his concern.”

“To plug the Swiss cameras?”

“Yes. The Blorff camera will be known in every important city throughout America, before you start your trip, Zurk. But let us forget business until Flix arrives. I want to show you my storeroom.”

“Isn’t that it in there?” Steve nudged his thumb toward a door at the back of the living room. “Where you’ve got the big safe?”

“No, no,” laughed Daykin. “That is my strong room. I told you about the storeroom that I have in the cellar. Surely you must remember that I spoke about those valuable curios from the Orient?”

“Jeweled idols,” nodded Steve. “I remember. But I thought you had them in some warehouse. I must have misunderstood you.”

“I mentioned that the items were very valuable,” said Daykin. “Particularly the idols. I told you where I kept them; but you probably forgot. Particularly because it would seem strange to have such curios stored in a cellar. But no one — except myself and a few friends — has any idea of their worth. Come, Zurk—”

Daykin was rising when a servant entered the room to announce that Mr. Flix had arrived. The importer smiled and settled back in his chair.

“Tell him to come in, Rhodes,” he told the servant. Then to Steve: “We can visit the storeroom later.”

GALEN FLIX appeared. The advertising man shook hands with Daykin and Steve.

“A friend of yours was coming with me, Zurk,” he said. “I refer to Jack Targon. I told him that you would be here.”

“Why didn’t Jack come?” asked Steve.

“He suddenly remembered an important appointment,” replied Flix. “Some client he had promised to see.”

“Too bad,” rejoined Steve. “I’d like to have seen Jack.”

“Well, gentlemen,” began Flix, “this ad campaign looks like it should be a world-beater. If we don’t sell half a million of those cameras, I’ll—”

He stopped short. From the chair that he had taken, Flix was looking straight toward a pair of French windows that opened to a porch. The curtained portals were trembling. As Flix spoke in puzzlement, they swung open.

A rough clad man sprang into view. His face was masked with a blue bandanna. His right hand held a gleaming revolver. As he covered the seated trio, this rowdy was followed by another masked ruffian who also flourished a gat.

“Stick ‘em up!” came a growled command. It was Beak Latzo’s voice. “Keep ‘em up, you dubs! We’re taking a look around here!”

HANDS raised promptly. Daykin’s arms were trembling; Flix was by no means steady. Only Steve lacked fear. He held his arms poised and stared quietly at the bandits.

“We’re looking for your safe, old bean,” growled Beak, as he faced Daykin. “Guess it’s past that door, huh?

“All right” — this to the other masked man — “you keep a bead on ‘em while I go in. This guy in particular” — he motioned his gun at Steve — “because he looks tough.”

Moving toward the door, Beak paused to deliver a contemptuous snort at Daykin.

“Don’t feel happy, mug,” he sneered. “That swag of yours downstairs has been loaded long ago. Sent it away where we can use it. We’re just dropping in to see what else looks good.”

Beak placed his hand upon the door and opened it. He looked into the room where the safe was located.

His henchman was watchfully covering the seated men, ready to open up if any one made trouble.

Steve, like Daykin and Flix, was watching Beak. None heard stealthy footsteps creeping in from the hallway.

A sudden exclamation came from the gorilla who was covering the seated men. The masked mobster had felt something cold press against his neck. He knew the sensation of a revolver muzzle. He loosened his fingers and let his own gun clatter to the floor.

Beak whirled about. He was too late. He was staring into the mouth of a gun held by a second arrival.

Sullenly, Beak let his own gat drop. He knew the man who had him covered. It was Detective Joe Cardona.

DAYKIN and Flix turned. So did Steve. They recognized the man who had pressed a revolver to the neck of the second crook. Cardona’s companion was Jack Targon.

The rescuers backed Beak and the gorillas into a corner. While Jack stood by with ready gun, Joe whisked the masks from the faces of the disarmed crooks. The detective uttered a grim comment.

“Beak Latzo,” said Cardona, in recognition. “I thought so. All right, Targon” — Joe turned, keeping the crooks covered — “Have your gun ready and tell these gentlemen what you told me.”

Jack hesitated. He looked squarely at Steve, who had let his hand fall to the arms of his chair. Then, with solemn lips, the ex-swindler spoke.

“I hated to do this, Steve,” he said. “But you remember what I told you. I was with you while you played square.”

Steve made no reply. He looked toward Beak. The mobleader’s face was hard.

“I didn’t like the looks of things,” asserted Jack. “That murder of Luftus — the way you tried to pin it on some broker. After that the mess when the lawyer, Dokeby, lost a big bunch of dough.”

“What is this, Targon?” questioned Flix, as Jack paused. “Are you accusing Zurk?”

“Yes,” replied Jack. He faced the ad man. “I knew that Steve used to work with a crook named Beak Latzo. Those jobs looked like Beak’s work. When you told me Steve was coming out here tonight, I had a hunch something was up.

“I wasn’t sure. I went to headquarters and told Detective Cardona what I suspected. I asked him to come with me here, figuring that he could step out if things looked all right. But they didn’t.”

It was seldom that Steve Zurk smiled. On this occasion, however, his lips formed a definite grin.

“You’re all right, Jack,” he said, commendingly. “A swell fellow. And you’ve nabbed Beak Latzo. I’m glad of that. Used to work with me, Beak did; but that’s all over. Long ago. Those jobs did look like Beak might have done them. But lots of other people might have pulled them, too.

“Think it over, Jack, and you’ll see you shot too far. Just because it happened to be Beak doesn’t mean that I’m in on it. Say” — he chuckled coldly — “wouldn’t I be a dub to bring Beak to a place like this. Me, just out of the big house, pulling something as raw as all that. It don’t fit, Jack.”

“No?” The question came from Cardona. “Well, that’s the smart part of it, Zurk. Crossing the dope. What better alibi would you want than to be with your boss when his place was robbed?”

Steve made no reply.

“Figuring we didn’t have you hooked with Beak Latzo,” added Cardona. “Well, we didn’t — until this chap Targon put us wise. We’ll dig up your record, Zurk, and put some frills on it.”

“You’ll prove nothing against me,” remarked Steve. “The past doesn’t make the present.”

Beak Latzo, hard-faced and silent, looked ready to support Steve’s statement. Cardona began a gruff growl. He paused as some one entered. It was Rhodes, Daykin’s servant. The man quavered at the sight of guns. He did not know what had happened in here.

“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir,” stated Rhodes. “It — it’s Mr. Delhugh, sir—”

“The man we want to see!” exclaimed Jack to Cardona. “The very man!”

“Have Mr. Delhugh come in,” ordered Daykin.

Rhodes left. He returned with Delhugh and Benzig.

DELHUGH stopped short at the scene before him. He looked from person to person in apparent bewilderment.

“What’s this?” he questioned.

“Attempted robbery” replied Cardona. “This man” — he motioned to the corner — “is known a Beak Latzo. Targon and I nabbed him. We think that Steve Zurk was working with him.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Delhugh. “This is a mistake. At least” — he paused, troubled — “at least, I hope it is a mistake.”

“You have facts regarding Steve’s record, Mr. Delhugh,” put in Jack. “Don’t any of them mention a hook-up between him and Beak Latzo?”

Delhugh nodded slowly. He looked toward Steve and spoke in a quiet, reassuring tone.

“Zurk,” he declared, “it is my painful duty to state facts that appear very much against you. Until I have finished, I shall ask you to remain silent. Is that understood?”

Steve nodded.

“Because,” added Delhugh, “these facts are somewhat circumstantial. If you are innocent — as I hope and believe — they may not matter. I came here intending to discuss them with you privately. Since you are suspected of crime, it is better that I should reveal them. It is always a mistake to hold facts back.”

Steve nodded in agreement.

“You are Detective Cardona?” asked Delhugh, turning to Joe. Receiving a nod, he added: “Since you and Targon are needed with your revolvers, I shall allow you to listen while I show this evidence to my friends Flix and Daykin. You can judge by their opinions.”

“All right,” agreed Cardona.

Turning to Flix and Daykin, Delhugh produced a bundle of papers from his pocket. As he handed documents to the two men, he described each paper.

“This,” stated Delhugh, “is an investigator’s report that connects Zurk with Latzo. Something that Zurk has apparently not denied as part of his past. Here is a specimen of Zurk’s handwriting. This is a photograph of his finger prints.”

Flix and Daykin nodded.

“Here” — Delhugh produced a crumpled sheet — “is a recent letter from Zurk to Latzo. I say recent, because it refers to a proposed robbery of Theobald Luftus.”

Steve was staring hard at Delhugh. Beak’s jaw had dropped. The production of The Shadow’s evidence was something that no one had expected.

“And this paper,” added Delhugh, “is a legal form that was found in Richard Dokeby’s safe. Its reverse side bears impressions of Zurk’s finger prints.”

“It’s Zurk’s writing,” declared Daykin, studying the crumpled paper. “It compares with the specimen.”

“And the finger impressions coincide with the photostatic copy,” added Flix.

“And regarding those robberies,” remarked Delhugh, “I shall call upon the testimony of my secretary. What have you to say, Benzig?”

“ONLY this, sir,” stated Benzig. “Zurk was alone in your study twice. On each occasion he could have examined your correspondence. Some of it referred to Theobald Luftus; and some to Richard Dokeby. There are letters in your files, sir, which can be produced.”

“I regret,” declared Delhugh, turning toward Cardona, “that I did not inform the law earlier regarding these matters. You see, I had nothing but Benzig’s suspicions to go on until tonight, when I obtained actual documents as evidence against Zurk. Then I decided to act promptly.”

“This is a lie!” cried Steve, coming suddenly to his feet. “I never wrote a line to Beak since I came out of stir. I wasn’t in Dokeby’s safe—”

“Move over here,” broke in Cardona, moving his gun. “Line up with the other crooks. And no more talk!”

Reluctantly, Steve backed along beside Beak and the mobsman. Beak growled in Steve’s ear.

“Goofy was to have burned that letter,” informed the mobleader. “That’s what Goofy said he did; but he was croaking.”

Steve stared blankly at Beak. A sudden look of puzzlement showed on the mobleader’s ugly face.

“Some one phone headquarters,” Cardona was saying. Then, to Delhugh: “You’ve given us the goods on Zurk. There is enough evidence here to convict him. Along with Latzo.”

“Too bad,” declared Delhugh, with a sad shake of his head. “You see, when I obtained this evidence—”

His voice broke. Delhugh saw heads turning. Papers in hand, he wheeled about, toward the doorway from the hall. As Delhugh swung, a burst of shivering mirth swept through the room. Delhugh quailed at the mocking tones.

Framed in the doorway, ready with steadied automatics, stood the enemy whom Delhugh believed dead.

Again, the arch-crook faced his formidable antagonist; but this time the Nemesis of crime was garbed in his guise of black.

Papers crinkled between Delhugh’s trembling hands as the false philanthropist stared at the tall, weird form of The Shadow.