Murder Every Hour

CHAPTER I TWO MILLION DOLLARS

A HUGE, gray-haired man was seated at a massive mahogany desk. The modulated glow of electric lights showed his rugged, square-formed features. Bushy brows, gray like the hair above them, added to a perpetual scowl that existed on this heavy face.

Like the man, the furnishings of the room were bulky. Squatty, stout-legged chairs surrounded the weighty desk. A cumbersome table stood in one corner. Behind the desk was the thick steel door of a wall safe. Against a side wall was a mammoth bookcase, in three sections, that ran from floor to ceiling.

A knock came from the door of the room. The big man raised his head and rumbled an order to enter. The portal opened; a frail, bespectacled individual stepped timidly into the heavy-furnished study.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Dreblin?” inquired the newcomer, in a shaky voice.

“I did,” returned the man at the desk. “That is why I told Alfred to summon you.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“You are, Hastings. Your work has proven unsatisfactory. I no longer require you as my secretary.”

Hastings stood with lips twitching. The news of his dismissal troubled him. Yet the frail young man felt that he had reached the end of an ordeal. As secretary to Philo Dreblin, he had served a most irritable employer.

“Yes, Hastings,” grumbled Dreblin, “you have been inefficient. Intolerably so! Like the half a dozen others who have held your job during the past few months. It seems that I shall never manage to hire a secretary with brains.”

“I have tried my best, sir—”

“Apologies are unnecessary, Hastings. I have made due allowance for your shortcomings. The job has proven too stiff for you; that is all. I realize that effort has not been lacking.”

“Therefore” — Dreblin paused, and Hastings stared at sight of a smile that was almost kindly — “I have arranged other employment for you, Hastings. You will remain here for a few days. After that, you will work in the New York office of the Calthite Company.”

“Thank you, sir!” exclaimed Hastings. The secretary’s face showed a relieved smile. “This is generous of you, Mr. Dreblin. I shall be very much pleased—”

“Pleased to get away from here,” interposed Dreblin, dryly. “Well, Hastings, I cannot blame you. I suppose that I am something of a slave-driver. Well, now that your future is settled, you can go back to your present task. Continue to arrange my correspondence. I shall summon you if I require you.”

Hastings bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.

PHILO DREBLIN glowered from behind the desk. After a short interval he arose, tiptoed to the door and opened it suddenly, as though expecting to find Hastings listening from the other side.

Finding no sign of the secretary, Dreblin looked about an empty outer room; then stepped back in his study, closed the door and locked it. A satisfied smile showed on the big man’s lips.

Moving to the bookcase, Dreblin withdrew three heavy volumes from a lower shelf. He found a hidden button, pressed it, then replaced the books. Returning to the desk, Dreblin sat down and waited expectantly.

Two minutes passed. A muffled click came from the wall. An upright section of the bookcase swung into the room. A tall man stepped into view, nodded his greeting, then swung the bookcase shut. After that, he approached the desk.

Philo Dreblin’s visitor was a man with a shrewd, pointed face. His fox-like expression contrasted with Dreblin’s square, heavy-browed countenance. Yet it was plain that the two had some enterprise in common — one that required secrecy.

For Dreblin’s first action was a warning gesture that caused the fox-faced newcomer to sidle to a chair. Rising from the desk, Dreblin moved over to the door, stooped there and listened cautiously. Satisfied that Hastings was not outside, Dreblin returned to the desk.

“All right, Nethro,” stated Dreblin, in a guarded rumble. “We can talk. No one is eavesdropping.”

The visitor was striking a match with his left hand. He applied the flame to a cigarette, shook the match until it went out, then tossed the burned stick toward an ash tray on the desk. Drumming the woodwork with his right hand, he surveyed Dreblin curiously.

“This secretary of yours,” observed Nethro. “What harm can he do? Why would it matter if he overheard us talking? He has seen the letters Frieth wrote you, hasn’t he?”

“Not all of them,” returned Dreblin. “Hastings is the sixth secretary that I have had in the past two months. He has only seen Frieth’s last letter. He will not see any more of them.”

“You won’t hear from Frieth again?”

“Perhaps; perhaps not. But in either event, Hastings will not be here. I am dismissing him.”

Nethro guffawed, Dreblin scowled.

“I am choosing another secretary,” announced the large man. “I am taking the next on the list of waiting applicants.”

“And I suppose,” put in Nethro, “that you’ll fire the new guy within two weeks.”

“I shall,” asserted Dreblin, dryly. “And I shall do the same with every succeeding secretary until this Frieth matter is ended.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon, I hope.”

EMPHATICALLY, Dreblin yanked open a desk drawer and brought out a long sheet of paper. He thrust it across the desk to Nethro. The visitor studied it curiously; then laughed.

“Been doing your own typing, Mr. Dreblin?” he inquired. “Yeah. This looks like it. Guess this must have been too important to leave to your secretary.”

“Read it,” suggested Dreblin.

Nethro perused the lines. His face took on a puzzled look; then his lips formed a hard, angry curve. Indignantly, he tossed the paper back to Dreblin.

“You expect me to sign that?” was Nethro’s challenge. “So I’ll sew myself up any way you want me?”

“Hardly,” replied Dreblin, in a casual tone. “I can see nothing unfair in this agreement. It merely states that Kip Nethro will share responsibility with Philo Dreblin in any mutual undertaking. It is simply a legitimate protection.”

“Maybe it is,” agreed Nethro, “but I can’t see the use of it. I’m not in business with you, Mr. Dreblin. I’m a private investigator — and I’m working for you—”

“And like any employee, you might be bought out by the opposition.”

“You don’t think you can trust me?”

Dreblin smiled. Rising from his chair, he strolled around the desk and clapped Nethro on the shoulder with one hand while he presented the paper with the other.

“If I didn’t trust you, Nethro,” stated Dreblin, “I would not have hired you in the first place. I intend, however, to assign you to a new and more important task. One wherein you will contact certain parties who might seek to bribe you. Come, Nethro, sign.”

Nethro stroked his chin. He eyed Dreblin shrewdly. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he picked up a pen with his left hand. In sweeping strokes, he affixed his brief signature to the document.

Dreblin picked up the paper and went back to his chair.

“We can talk more freely from now on,” rumbled the huge man, as he placed the signed paper in the desk drawer. “I can tell you exactly how we intend to deal with this sharp promoter, Newell Frieth.”

“And the guys who are working with him?”

“Yes. Jeremy Lentz and Howard Morath. You have done well, tracing them, Nethro. But that work was merely a test. I knew about them all along.”

“Yet you had me on the job—”

“Getting first-hand information for yourself. So that I might learn your capabilities. You found out a great deal, Nethro. I shall tell you more. So let us review all facts.”

METHODICALLY, Dreblin reached into the desk drawer and produced a square sheet of dull, grayish metal, which he tossed across the desk to Nethro. The object struck the woodwork with a dull clang.

“Calthite,” stated Dreblin. “The alloy which I manufacture for use in all-metal aircraft.”

Nethro nodded. Dreblin produced a second sheet of metallic substance and passed it to the investigator.

“Ferroluminum,” remarked Dreblin. “The alloy controlled by Hiram Caffley, as one of his side lines. It’s hard to choose between them, Nethro.”

“So it looks to me,” nodded Nethro, “but Caffley’s handling more business than you are, Mr. Dreblin.”

“Purely because his organization is stronger,” rumbled Dreblin, sourly. “Hiram Caffley is a multimillionaire. He has outside funds with which he can push the manufacture of ferroluminum. But his alloy is no better than calthite.”

“What about this alloy of Frieth’s?”

“I’m coming to that, Nethro.”

Dreblin arose and paced the room. His face was troubled; Nethro watched the huge man keenly. A shrewd smile showed on the investigator’s lips. The smile faded as Dreblin wheeled about.

“Some time ago,” declared Dreblin, “an inventor named Jeremy Lentz produced an alloy which he named Duro Metal. I have a sample of it here.”

Stepping back to the desk, Dreblin plucked forth a new square of dull silvery metal and handed it to Nethro, who began to compare it with the specimens that he already held.

“Duro Metal,” resumed Dreblin, “resembles both calthite and ferroluminum. It possesses one quality, however, which the other alloys do not have. I refer to cheapness. Duro Metal, I am informed, can be produced for two thirds the cost of the others.”

Nethro nodded. This was a fact that he already knew.

“Jeremy Lentz,” declared Dreblin, “took his invention to Howard Morath, a shyster lawyer. Morath, in turn, negotiated with Newell Frieth, a high-pressure promoter. That trio wants me to buy the rights of Duro Metal, so that I can use it in competition with Caffley’s ferroluminum.”

“Which sounds fair enough,” observed Nethro, helping himself to a cigarette from a box on Dreblin’s desk. “Except that you’ve already got a lot of dough tied up in your own alloy, this calthite stuff.”

“Which would not matter,” asserted Dreblin, promptly, “if Frieth and his cronies were reasonable in their demands. But they are not. They will not consider a fair royalty basis in regard to Duro Metal. They want two million dollars in cash, for an alloy which I do not need.”

“You’re satisfied with calthite?”

“Absolutely. Just as satisfied as old Caffley is with ferroluminum. Yet I can not overlook the fact that Duro Metal, if extensively produced, would undercut the existing market.”

“And if you don’t buy out Duro Metal, maybe Caffley will.”

“Exactly. And if he does—”

“You’ll be sunk.”

DREBLIN scowled as he heard Nethro’s statement. Plucking a cigar from his pocket, he bit off the end of it and chewed savagely at the tobacco.

“A great bunch of hijackers,” remarked Nethro. “Lentz, Morath and Frieth. This isn’t the first fast one they’ve sprung.”

“What do you mean?” snapped Dreblin. “You’ve heard about—”

“About the Powlden business?” chuckled Nethro, as Dreblin stopped abruptly. “Sure thing! That’s how those hijackers got their start. Jeremy Lentz used to be hooked up with an inventor named Donald Powlden, who doped out a synthetic gasoline. Powlden left its handling to Lentz. The result was that Powlden was left out in the cold while Lentz tied up with Morath and Frieth. The three of them got a million bucks out of an oil company that bought up the synthetic gas to get rid of it.”

“So you learned that,” mused Dreblin. “Well, Nethro, you went deeper than I supposed you had. Why did you hold back these facts?”

“I figured you knew them. And there was no way of getting at those three guys through Powlden. They foxed him so completely that he had no come-back.”

Dreblin nodded. His eyes were keen beneath his bushy brows. Nethro showed a shrewd smile as he met Dreblin’s fixed gaze.

“Tomorrow, Nethro,” stated Dreblin, slowly, as if formulating the final steps of a premeditated plan, “I want you to visit all three of those men. Lentz first; then Morath; finally Frieth.”

“As your representative?” inquired Nethro.

“No,” retorted Dreblin, savagely. “That would be folly, Nethro! Do not even mention my name to any one of the three.”

“Who shall I say sent me? Caffley?”

“That would be even greater folly. Chances are that those rascals are already negotiating with Caffley as well as myself.”

“Then who — how—”

“Tell them that you represent a newly formed syndicate. That your employers have heard of Duro Metal. That they want to buy it to compete with both calthite and ferroluminum.”

“Will they fall for that stall?”

“They may. I don’t think they know the alloy business well enough to realize that no one would try to buck such strong concerns as Caffley’s and mine. Talk prices with the three of them: Lentz, Morath and Frieth — right up the line.”

Nethro was nodding his approval of Dreblin’s plan. His sidelong gaze fixed shrewdly upon the manufacturer’s rugged face.

“Until I can raise two millions,” asserted Dreblin, “I must hold off Caffley. Duro Metal, in his hands, would mean my ruin.”

“Suppose Caffley outbids you?” inquired Nethro, casually.

“He won’t go over two million,” snapped back Dreblin. “You have mentioned a future danger, however. The prospect is not pleasant, Nethro.”

“Unless,” put in the investigator, “you find some way to eliminate Duro Metal altogether. Why couldn’t you and Caffley get together on the proposition?”

“I WOULD like to control Duro Metal,” responded Dreblin. “I do not trust Caffley. There is no chance of cooperation with him. The only plan, Nethro, is to keep the deal open until Frieth comes down in his price. Unless — as you have suggested — a sure way of handling the problem could be discovered.

“After all, you are right. I am satisfied with calthite. It is as good as ferroluminum, despite Caffley’s claims to the contrary. Elimination — something I had not thought of. Do you think you could accomplish it, Nethro?”

“I might,” asserted the investigator, rising. “Maybe by scaring these bozos with talk about Donald Powlden. Or getting a line on some other crooked deal the three of them have pulled. But if I’m going to spring a bluff, I’ve got to see all of them — Lentz, Morath and Frieth — as a starter.

“I’ll be tied up over at the Acme Investigation Agency until after half past four tomorrow afternoon. But I can get to Lentz’s office before five o’clock. Morath’s apartment next; then Frieth’s.”

“You seem to have learned a bit about those men,” observed Dreblin, dryly. “You have not, by any chance, met them?”

“I’ve seen them. That was good business. But they haven’t seen me. So I’m holding the edge for a starter. But tell me this, Mr. Dreblin: suppose I do bluff these phonies. Suppose I put the skids under Duro Metal, or get it for you cheap. What do I get out of it?”

Dreblin considered. When he spoke, his words were both methodical and deliberate.

“If you can cut the two millions in half,” he decided. “I shall pay you one hundred thousand dollars, Nethro. For every thousand dollars below one million, ten per cent additional. A price of half a million would mean one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for you.”

“And suppose I get Duro Metal for nothing?”

“That would be two hundred thousand dollars.”

“And if no one gets it? If Duro Metal goes in the scrap heap? That means the same? Two hundred grand?”

“Certainly. If you can prove that it is actually forgotten.”

“Let me have a memo on that, Mr. Dreblin. With your signature.”

Dreblin hesitated. His heavy lip’s straightened. His brow showed a scowl.

“I signed your paper,” chuckled Nethro. “It’s your turn to put something in writing.”

Dreblin strode to the desk. Hesitating no longer, he picked up a pen and scrawled off the statement that the investigator wanted.

Nethro was looking at his watch when Dreblin handed him the paper. Smiling, the investigator tucked the memo in his left vest pocket.

“I’ll drop in at this time tomorrow night,” informed Nethro, pulling out the bookcase. “Nine o’clock. We’ll have more to talk about then. Goodnight, Mr. Dreblin.”

Nethro departed by the secret exit. The bookcase clicked shut behind him. Philo Dreblin stood in speculation; then went to the door, unlocked it and called for Hastings. The secretary appeared.

“Letters,” rumbled Dreblin. “Have your pad ready, Hastings, while I dictate them.”

Seated at his desk, the huge man went through the routine of dictating business letters to branch offices of the Calthite Company. But as he rumbled along, Philo Dreblin registered suppressed elation upon his rugged features.

Apparently, the secret visit of Kip Nethro had turned out to Dreblin’s liking. For the alloy manufacturer’s real thoughts concerned the morrow, when his new campaign would begin against the trio who sought two million dollars.