Mox

CHAPTER X THE SECRET ROOMS

JUNIUS THARBEL offered Joe Cardona a piece of chewing gum as the two detectives entered the old Moxton house. Cardona refused, with thanks. Tharbel calmly chewed the gum himself. The steady, even motion of his jaw seemed to add to the hatchet-faced man’s complacency.

A State policeman greeted the visitors. He started to draw Tharbel aside to speak in confidence. The county detective restrained him with a gesture.

“This is Detective Cardona,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s from New York. Whatever you have to tell me, he can hear.”

“It’s about that prowler we saw last night,” explained the policeman. “I thought we’d better have an extra man on duty in case the bozo comes around again.”

“What prowler?” questioned Cardona, turning to Tharbel.

“I forgot to tell you about that,” returned the county detective, in an annoyed tone. “I don’t regard it as important, anyway. We’ve got to expect prowlers. Morbid-minded people like to come around a place like this.”

“The guy was funny-looking enough,” volunteered the State policeman. “I heard him near the house; I flashed a glim on him. He was going toward the old shed out back. When he saw the light, he went hopping away. He was all legs, that guy, with a midget body.”

“I don’t think you’ll see him again,” decided Tharbel. “Don’t worry about an extra man.”

“You can’t be too sure about it,” remarked Cardona.

“I’m handling this case,” announced Tharbel abruptly. “You may be right about prowlers in New York. Out here, they’re different.”

He paused and looked about the hall. He pointed to a spot just within the door.

“This is where Neswick gave his note to the servant,” explained the county detective.

“What note?” inquired Cardona.

“The one that Harlew gave him,” returned Tharbel. “It was sort of an introduction card to Moxton. It was just signed ‘Mox.’ I told you about it at the office.”

“No, you didn’t,” declared Cardona testily.

Tharbel was on the verge of an angry utterance. He restrained himself, Cardona broke the tension with a new query.

“What became of the note?” he asked.

“One of the servants took it upstairs,” replied Tharbel, in a surly tone. “He must have left it up there, with Moxton. Neswick says he came back and ushered him upstairs. That’s what I’m going to show you — the whole layout, and all that happened, as Neswick remembers it.”

“All right,” agreed Cardona.

IN a matter-of-fact fashion, Junius Tharbel began the tour of inspection. The State policeman followed as the rural detective led his New York colleague through the old house.

“Neswick was brought upstairs,” declared Tharbel, as the pair ascended the steps. “He was taken to this room” — the speaker paused until they reached the living room at the end of the corridor — “and he waited here, a short while. He saw the dog lying in that corner. It growled at him.

“Then he was brought back to the center of this corridor. That’s when the first shots came — from the living room. There seemed to be a fray beginning there. Neswick grabbed the servant here. The fellow clouted him with a gun. Then the servant got his — from the living room.”

Tharbel indicated the spot where the body of the servant had been found. He led Cardona slowly toward the stairs.

“Neswick was carried,” he described, “and the man who rescued him was firing. One of Moxton’s servants was dropped here, another on the stairs. One rolled clear to the bottom. That was the last one.”

“Four in all?”

“Yes. Four. But there may have been another — in addition to Moxton himself.”

“Why?”

“The firing, Neswick says, came from the living room. There’s a little room off it. One man may have gone in there and come out later. There must have been two people to start the shooting match in the living room.”

“Where was Moxton?”

“I’ll show you.” Tharbel’s eyes gleamed wisely. “This is one of the tips that Neswick gave us. While he was here” — Tharbel turned to point out the center of the corridor — “it looked as though the servant was going to take him to some hidden place. See these panels along the wall? Well, we tried them, and this is what we found.”

Tharbel worked at one of the panels. It slid open. The county detective used a flashlight to show a long, narrow room, which resembled a corridor. The room was entirely empty. It was about five feet in width and twelve in depth.

“A hide-out,” observed Cardona.

“Probably,” agreed Tharbel, “and here is its mate.”

Letting the panel drop shut, he led Cardona farther along the corridor, past a second panel to a third. He opened this one. His light showed another long room identical with the first.

“Two secret rooms,” remarked Cardona.

“Yes,” said Tharbel, “with a wall between.”

“Do they connect?”

“No. We have examined each one thoroughly. The intervening wall is solid. It is very thick — close to six-feet. It is probably the center section of the house — a sort of backbone on which the building depends.”

“These rooms would account for Moxton’s get-away.”

“For a temporary hiding place, at least. Probably Neswick was to be thrust into one of these. Mox — or Moxton — whichever you choose to call him — may have been waiting to kill Neswick. Shots in one of these muffled rooms would not have been heard outside.” Junius Tharbel let the panel fall. He and Cardona went downstairs. The county detective remarked that the entire house had been ransacked. A third floor attic had revealed nothing. The cellar, outside of a few oddly shaped compartments, had shown no signs of hiding places.

A COOLNESS had arisen between Cardona and Tharbel. Routine completed, each began to remember remarks which the other had made. The two went out to Tharbel’s car, and rode back to the office building near the county jail.

Reporters were awaiting them. Joe Cardona was greeted by Clyde Burke. This was the making of a story; the arrival of the ace detective from Manhattan. The reporters — Burke in particular — wanted to know the reason. Joe Cardona referred them to Tharbel.

It was obvious that Tharbel gave the news men what he chose. Cardona noted that they gathered around the desk with a respectful attitude. The hatchet-faced county detective thought a while before he made his statement.

“Detective Cardona,” he stated, “has come here because Joel Neswick testified that there is a connection between Jarvis Moxton and Schuyler Harlew, whose death Detective Cardona is investigating in New York.”

Questions came from two reporters. Tharbel waved his arms to show that his statement had been made. He pulled a fresh piece of chewing gum from his pocket and picked the wrapper from it.

“Come along, gang,” suggested Clyde Burke. “I told you to keep quiet and let Tharbel talk. You didn’t; that’s all you’ll get.”

As the reporters thumped down the steps, Tharbel made a sagacious comment to Cardona.

“Never let reporters ask questions,” was his advice. “I give them statements; nothing more. Most of the questions that reporters put are leads that they twist around to suit themselves. Let them jump around with their crack-brained theories and build up the stories that their newspapers want. It’s a help more than a hindrance, as I see it.

“They don’t try much funny stuff with me, though. If they do, I let them down later on, when the case begins to clear. That’s my rule: no questions answered. Statements, when I care to make them. It makes them behave, so they will get their statements.”

“You didn’t tell them much just now.”

“I was going to tell them more. They spoiled it. That fellow Burke used his head. He cleared the crowd out when he knew I was through talking. He knows when my statement is ended. A new stick of chewing gum; that’s all.”

MINUTES of silence passed. Cardona felt mingled resentment and admiration. He was forced to admit that this hatchet-faced county detective was a capable individual; at the same time, he did not like the man’s self-satisfaction.

Joe decided that Tharbel made it a practice to tell what he thought necessary, and keep the rest to himself.

That was not a bad idea. Cardona planned to follow the system himself. He felt sure that he had already learned one point which Tharbel did not know; namely, that the mysterious phantom known as The Shadow had battled the minions of Mox.

Whenever The Shadow appeared as an avenger of crime, remarkable consequences followed. Cardona knew that such had occurred before; he was positive that something of the sort was in the offing at present.

This case was the outgrowth of a dead man’s message to The Shadow. Somehow, The Shadow might have learned the contents of the note. The Shadow, certainly, had reached Mox, the master of Schuyler Harlew, before any others had discovered the murderous old man.

Joe Cardona regarded The Shadow as any entity. He had many proofs of the power of the mysterious avenger. The Shadow’s ways were The Shadow’s own. When The Shadow took the trail to uncover crime, those who followed would invariably gain through The Shadow’s findings. So Cardona resolved to say nothing of his hunch.

“I should like to talk to Neswick,” said Cardona, to Tharbel.

“You’ll find him over at the Darport Inn,” responded the county detective. “He’s staying there as a guest; one of my men is with him. Start over if you want. I’ll call Scudder — my assistant — and tell him that it’s all right for you to talk with Neswick.”

Cardona sauntered from the office. He reached the inn and inquired for Neswick. He was sent up to a large, comfortable room, where he found the inventor sprawled in a lounging chair. Scudder, the assistant detective, was with him.

Cardona introduced himself. Scudder had received the call from Tharbel. Neswick shook hands with the New York detective.

At Cardona’s request, he repeated the story which Cardona had learned from Tharbel. Joe came down to details which interested him specifically. He asked Neswick just what he knew about Schuyler Harlew.

“THE man came to see me at my hotel,” declared Neswick. “I liked Harlew. He seemed sincere when he told me that he had a purchaser for the television plans which I had developed. Harlew stated simply that he traveled for Jarvis Moxton; that the old man was interested in the purchase of inventions.

“One day, Harlew came and arranged for me to visit Moxton. That was about two weeks ago. At that time, Harlew gave me a note — simply a scrawled introduction signed ‘Mox.’ I was to give it to the servant when I arrived at Moxton’s home.

“I was busy with my plans after that. I failed to read the newspapers that told of Harlew’s death. I came to Darport; you know the rest. I am very sorry, indeed, that I can not give you any worthwhile information that pertains to Schuyler Harlew.”

Cardona nodded. He found himself agreeing with Junius Tharbel that Joel Neswick was a man who had told a straightforward story.

It was late in the afternoon when Cardona left the witness and went down to the hotel lobby. There he met Clyde Burke.

“How about dinner?” questioned the reporter.

“All right,” agreed Cardona. “But I’m saying nothing, Burke. This is Junius Tharbel’s precinct.”

As reporter and detective dined, Burke brought up the subject of Tharbel. Like Cardona, the reporter regarded the county detective with antagonism as well as approval. He delved into Tharbel’s odd methods.

“The hunting season is on,” said Burke, with a smile.

“Tharbel’s a hunter, isn’t he?” queried Cardona.

“Best shot in the county,” laughed Burke. “If he decides to go out after game, he’ll let this case slide along. You wait and see.”

“Great stunt for a county detective,” snorted Cardona.

“They think a lot of Tharbel out here,” reminded Burke. “He gets results, Joe. That’s what counts.”

“I guess so. Well, I’ll drop over and say good-by to his nibs. I’m going back to New York.”

“Tharbel will be at his home, Joe. I’ll take you around there in my car.”

WHEN Cardona knocked at the front door of Tharbel’s unpretentious home, the county detective, himself, was the one who answered the door. Cardona stated that he was going back to New York, that he might communicate with Tharbel later.

Joe extended his hand. Tharbel received it and said good-by. He closed the door as soon as Cardona had turned away.

In the car with Burke, Cardona grunted. He was glad that he was through with Tharbel for the time. Burke laughed as he backed the car to turn around in the street.

“You don’t know Tharbel, Joe,” he said. “That fellow just sits back and lets things break. He seems to know when events are going to turn his way. He always figures that some one is going to slip him some needed information.”

“Talk about your New York stool pigeons — they’re nothing. Tharbel always seems to be getting anonymous letters and what-not—”

“Any on this case?”

“None as yet — so far as I can see.”

The glare of Burke’s headlights had swung across Junius Tharbel’s lawn. Cardona heard a gasp come from the reporter. The detective stared ahead. On the fringe of illumination, he caught a momentary glimpse of what appeared to be a huge, living spider, leaping away from the glare.

“What was that?” he queried.

“I don’t know,” responded Burke, as he swung the car to the street. “Some person, maybe, cutting across lots in back of Tharbel’s. It may have been an animal. The lights make shapes appear odd.”

Burke was driving toward the station. There were only a few minutes in which to make Cardona’s train. The reporter had suddenly assumed his secret role, as agent of The Shadow. He made no further comment.

Cardona, too, was silent. He was thinking of what the State policeman had said.

A spidery creature — all arms and legs — had been seen near the house of Mox.

Junius Tharbel had decided that an additional watcher was unnecessary. Now, Joe Cardona had seen a distorted creature near the home of Junius Tharbel.

The star detective pondered over these matters as he rode toward New York in the train. He also thought of the secret rooms in the old house. He wondered what their purpose might be — if other than a hide-out.

Most of all, Joe was thinking of Tharbel. He decided that Burke was right. The county detective was playing a cagey game.

Joe Cardona had a hunch. He felt that he would soon encounter Junius Tharbel again, and that future meetings would involve a battle of wits between himself and the smart county detective.