Murder Every Hour

CHAPTER XIII INTRUDERS ARRIVE

IT was a quarter before nine. Philo Dreblin was glancing at his watch as he dictated letters to his new secretary. The magnate made a sudden decision. He pocketed his watch and leaned back in his chair.

“All right, Vincent,” he rumbled. “That will do. Type the letters and bring them to me in the morning.”

Harry glanced at his own watch after he left the study. Only quarter of nine. Had he heard wrongly, last night? Was Dreblin’s visitor coming early? Or did Dreblin expect some other person?

Such was possible. There was no proof that the man in the gray overcoat was the only one who made secret trips to Dreblin’s study. Tonight, Harry had thrown occasional glances about the room. He had seen no door that would have served as secret entrance. That, to Harry, gave added importance to the situation.

Instructions from The Shadow had been brief last night. No more had come since then. This meant that Harry was to use his own judgment in cases of necessity. Harry felt that he had run up against such a situation.

Going to his room, Harry attached the mechanical typewriter clicker. He set it so that it would keep running for five minutes — this with the aid of a specially marked dial. Harry did not intend to be absent for more than a five-minute interval. He knew that Alfred might be about.

Clicker going, Harry stole into the hall and shut the door behind him. He sneaked into the deserted parlor, crossed to the door and listened. Two minutes passed; then came a slight clicking sound from within the study.

Mumbled words. Harry was sure that a visitor had arrived. He heard footsteps; they came rather close to the door; but Harry did not budge. He felt confident that there would be no danger of discovery until later.

Harry leaned close and listened. Buzzing talk ended. Harry was intent; his suspicions, however, did not rise. He was totally unprepared for the surprise that arrived a few seconds later.

The door was yanked open from the inside. Before Harry could regain his balance, he found himself sprawling to the floor, at the feet of Philo Dreblin. Then a tall, long-limbed attacker came springing forward.

As Harry struggled with the foe above him, Dreblin shut the door, locked it and joined in the fray.

Beginning with a disadvantage, Harry had no chance. Both adversaries were powerful. They pinned Harry’s arms behind him, strapped him with his own belt and gagged him with a handkerchief from his pocket. They pushed him back into a chair.

LOOKING up, Harry found himself facing Kip Nethro. He did not know the man, but he was sure that Nethro was the visitor in gray. For Nethro had laid aside gray overcoat and dark hat upon his arrival in the study.

“Eavesdropping, eh?” Philo Dreblin rasped the question. “Well, Vincent, who sent you here? The police?”

“He can’t answer you,” chuckled Nethro, dryly. “Not since we gagged him. But why worry about the police, Mr. Dreblin?”

“That’s right,” rumbled Dreblin, glaring at the investigator. “Perhaps you’d rather I didn’t mention the police, Nethro.”

“As for calling me by name,” observed Nethro, helping himself to a cigarette from the magnate’s desk, “that was hardly necessary. But since you have done so, I may as well state that I don’t mind this fellow Vincent knowing who I am.”

“I made a mistake, Nethro,” growled Dreblin. “But your final comment was also a mistake. Vincent has proven himself an eavesdropper. The less he knows, the better.”

“I don’t blame him for snooping,” commented Nethro, striking a match with his left hand and studying Harry curiously. “The way you run this crazy joint of yours, I’d snoop if I was working for you. This fellow looks like he has some brains. No wonder he’s curious.”

“He has brains,” admitted Dreblin. “More than any of my previous secretaries. That’s why I want to know why he came here.”

“Ungag him, then, and hear what he has to say.”

“Humph! Maybe I shall.”

His face registering challenge as he glared at Nethro, Dreblin moved over toward the chair where Harry was seated. Suddenly the magnate stopped short and shook his head. Something had made him change his mind about releasing Harry.

“Go ahead,” urged Nethro.

Before Dreblin could respond, there was a knock at the door. Dreblin motioned for silence from Nethro. Approaching the portal, the millionaire growled:

“Who is it?”

“Alfred, sir,” came the servant’s voice. “There is a gentleman here to see you. Mr. Vincent was not about, so I came in here myself.”

“Who is the visitor?”

“Detective Cardona, sir. He says that he is from headquarters.”

“Show him up.”

Nethro stared curiously as Dreblin turned about. Then the investigator’s face showed concern.

“You’re not seeing Cardona?” he questioned.

“Why not?” retorted Dreblin,

“On account of this fellow.” Nethro indicated Harry. “He’s gagged and bound. You’d better cut him loose before Cardona comes in. Tell him to keep quiet.”

“He’ll keep quiet without being told.”

Dreblin yanked open a drawer of the desk and produced a revolver. He stepped forward and covered the door; then looked sharply at Nethro.

“You open the door,” ordered Dreblin, “when I give you a nod. Leave the rest to me.”

“But listen, Mr. Dreblin—”

“Do as I tell you.”

Nethro shrugged his shoulders. He stepped over to the door. He waited with one hand on the knob. Someone rapped at the other side.

“Come in,” ordered Dreblin. He nodded toward Nethro.

The investigator brought the door inward with a quick yank. A stocky man stopped short on the threshold. It was Joe Cardona. The detective became rigid at sight of Dreblin’s gun.

“Come in,” rasped the magnate. “Sit down.”

CARDONA obeyed. Nethro closed the door while Dreblin approached Cardona and found the detective’s revolver. The magnate tossed the weapon on the desk; then ordered Nethro to bind and gag the new prisoner.

Nethro started a protest; Dreblin flourished his revolver and the investigator obeyed.

Cardona offered no protest while Nethro trussed him. Joe had been caught entirely off guard. Dreblin’s eyes were ferocious behind the heavy automatic which the magnate held leveled. Cardona believed that by submitting easily, he could later talk terms with these captors.

For Joe did not think that they would deal in murder. The ace detective was convinced that Powlden was the real killer behind three deaths. The actions of Dreblin, however, were illuminating; and Joe decided that by playing dumb, he might fare better later.

One troubled thought, however, was racking the detective’s brain. Last night there had been heavy violence on Ninety-first Street. Togo Mallock had lost out in a machine gun fray. Was Dreblin in back of that episode? Joe wondered.

Nethro’s face looked familiar to the ace. Joe placed the man, just after Nethro had completed the gagging. Kip Nethro — investigator with the Acme Agency. Something of a detective in his own right, Nethro was. Joe wondered what circumstances had brought this card into the game.

“Well, then, Mr. Dreblin,” declared Nethro, with a smirk. “There’s the two of them, tied up the way you want them. What comes next?”

“We’re going to talk things over,” informed the magnate. “You and I, Nethro.”

“With these birds listening in? Your secretary and a headquarters dick?”

“You know this second man for a detective, do you?”

“Certainly! He’s Joe Cardona, acting inspector — the fellow who pinched Donald Powlden.”

“Good. If what you say is correct, Nethro, all for the better. If you are mistaken” — Dreblin’s rumble carried a peculiar irony — “no damage will be done. I am playing the game safe, Nethro, as you will observe—”

Dreblin broke off suddenly as a click attracted his attention. Leaping from his chair, he swung toward the bookcase just in time to see it sway inward on its hinges.

Joe Cardona, staring in the same direction, was astounded to see the tall figure of Lamont Cranston.

THE SHADOW had arrived in his chosen disguise. Following Harry Vincent’s tip, he had waited until after nine o’clock. Then he had approached Dreblin’s house; there he had picked the lock of the side door. He had followed an inner stairway that had brought him to this spot.

Joe Cardona had seen Cranston act before. Through the detective’s brain rushed a memory of that swift deed at Powlden’s, when the globe-trotter had caught the inventor’s wrist to stop the heavy clock that Powlden had chosen as a bludgeon. Cardona was to witness another demonstration of that sort.

Leaping forward, Dreblin was aiming his big revolver with his right hand, ready to overpower this new intruder. The Shadow, however, had no worry about the bulky magnate. As he sprang inward from the secret passage, The Shadow twisted to the right, avoiding Dreblin’s bullish charge.

Stopping short, the magnate swung about for new aim. The Shadow launched himself in headlong dive. His left fist caught Dreblin’s right wrist. His right arm shot by the magnate’s left hand.

A driving fist met Dreblin’s jaw. The bulky man staggered; then bellowed in rage. Dreblin’s chin was tough; that blow would have felled an ordinary fighter. Nevertheless, The Shadow’s punch had accomplished its mission. Before Dreblin could recover, The Shadow’s right arm was around his neck. A twist of The Shadow’s left hand made the gun drop useless from Dreblin’s right fist.

Snapping back from a forward stoop, The Shadow hoisted the bulky magnate in mid-air. With the ease of a wrestler, he sent the huge man spinning about; then released him with a side fling.

Dreblin crashed to the floor and rolled up against the bookcase. He lay there, half groggy.

The Shadow turned to meet Nethro.

The investigator had stood dumfounded at the sight of the fray. Either he had not intended to aid Dreblin or he had believed that the magnate could fell The Shadow — whichever the case, Nethro had made no move until Dreblin crashed.

Then the investigator sprang into action. Pouncing to the big desk, he shot his left hand forward and snatched up Cardona’s revolver which Dreblin had placed there. Wheeling back, he swung to aim; then stopped short.

The Shadow had gathered up Dreblin’s gun. Holding it in his right fist, he had Nethro covered. The investigator saw a ready finger on the trigger. With a sour snarl, Nethro lowered Cardona’s weapon.

“Excellent!” remarked The Shadow, in the quiet tone of Cranston. “Let the revolver fall. That is right.” He smiled slightly as Nethro’s fingers relaxed and the gun bounced glimmering upon the floor. “We can proceed more comfortably now.

“I see that you have some prisoners. I must ask you to release them. You will not need to reach in your pocket” — Nethro stopped his hand at The Shadow’s quiet warning — “I can provide you with a knife. Here you are, Mr.—”

The Shadow paused, quizzically. Nethro growled a reply.

“My name’s Nethro,” he informed. “Kip Nethro. A private investigator. Working for Mr. Dreblin. But I wasn’t in on this funny business.”

“Kip Nethro,” repeated The Shadow. “Well, Mr. Nethro, I had hoped to find you here. A left-handed man who wears a light gray overcoat. Just the chap I have been hoping to meet. Your action with the revolver was most opportune.”

NETHRO looked uneasy as he received the small knife that The Shadow proffered. However, he made no comment as he advanced to release Cardona and Harry.

The Shadow was holding Dreblin’s revolver in readiness. Noting that Nethro intended to make no trouble, The Shadow sat down behind the big desk.

Philo Dreblin was sitting up beside the bookcase. He was still half dazed; too shaken to attempt new battle. His eyes, however, were glowering as they surveyed the placid countenance of Lamont Cranston.

Keeping his gaze in the direction of both Nethro and Dreblin; holding the revolver leveled as he did so, The Shadow lifted the receiver of the telephone that stood on the desk. With his left hand he set the receiver upright on the desk, then dialed a number with that free hand.

Picking up the receiver, The Shadow held it to his ear until he heard the level tone of Burbank’s voice coming across the wire. The Shadow responded with a single, quiet word:

“Ready.”

Following that lone comment, he arose from the chair. Hanging up the receiver, he lounged beside the desk in fashion characteristic of Lamont Cranston.

The Shadow was awaiting the release of the prisoners. When Nethro had finished that task, The Shadow would be ready to hear the statements of all concerned.

Three intruders had entered this room tonight. Two had been promptly seized by Philo Dreblin and Kip Nethro. The third, however, had turned the tables. The Shadow was master of the scene.