The Black Falcon

CHAPTER VI THE BLACK FALCON

IT was quarter after ten. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston was seated in a mahogany-furnished room that served as the study of Elias Carthers. On the other side of the table was the tobacco magnate. The third occupant of the room was a tall, pale-faced man whose tortoise-shell glasses gave him an owlish expression.

This room formed a quiet, detached portion of the Carthers mansion. Weston had chosen it as the best place to confer with Elias Carthers, particularly as the tobacco king had arranged for the police commissioner to meet him here.

“You believe then,” Carthers was questioning, “that it would be unwise to inform my guests of the danger which may be lurking here?”

“Yes, exceedingly unwise,” expressed Weston firmly. “This kidnaper has made no specific statement in reference to his plans. I have picked this reception as the likely spot at which he will act — before midnight.”

“And if the guests knew of this fact—”

“They would talk among themselves. The criminal would be warned. He would avoid trouble here.”

“A very good reason,” decided Carthers, “why the guests should know. Let me have that list, Wistar” — he turned to the man with tortoise-shell glasses — “and I can tell the police commissioner exactly who will be here tonight.”

The bespectacled individual, whom Weston took to be a social secretary, produced a typewritten sheet and handed it to Elias Carthers.

Weston studied the tobacco king. Carthers was a pudgy, droop-faced man of sixty. His flabbiness showed a life of ease; yet there was a squareness to his jaw and a flash in his eyes as he looked toward the commissioner and passed the list across the table.

“Prominent people,” asserted Carthers. “This is an important social event. I don’t like such affairs — I’ll have to stroll in and out, however. But that isn’t the point, commissioner. I think that the guests should he informed. You want to forestall crime, don’t you?”

“I do,” returned Weston. “That is exactly why I do not intend to speak to your guests. You have seen the criminal’s letter.” Weston tapped the projecting end of The Black Falcon’s note, where it showed from the commissioner’s side pocket. “You can readily appreciate that we are dealing with a supercrook.”

“All the more reason—”

“Why we should say nothing. Let me repeat, Mr. Carthers, that the man has been specific upon but one point only. He intends to act before midnight. I have picked this affair as the logical one where he would make an attempt. These people — Weston was tapping the typewritten list — “are representative of wealth. One of them would be a logical victim.

“The criminal calls himself The Black Falcon. He is unquestionably a supercrook. He believed that he can defy the law. There is one weakness in his armor; he undoubtedly has no inkling of the action that I have taken tonight. Should he come here, we shall be able to forestall him.

“If, however, he becomes cognizant of the fact that your home is being guarded, he will certainly avoid this place. That would not mean that The Black Falcon would fail to fulfill his threat. He has sworn that he will act before midnight. In all probability, he has alternate plans.

“Finding the police here, he could strike somewhere else. There are many wealthy residents of Long Island. Between now and midnight, The Black Falcon would have an opportunity to swoop down upon some other house and abduct a person of reputed wealth.”

“I understand now,” nodded Carthers. “You are right, commissioner. Say nothing to my guests. You understand that, Wistar?” Carthers turned to put the question to his secretary. “The only fault, however” — Carthers paused as he swung back to face the police commissioner — “is one of your own making, commissioner. You have come here, so you tell me, with subordinates at your command. If The Black Falcon is the smart crook that you reckon him to be, he will probably observe the presence of your men.”

“I do not think so,” smiled Weston. “No one except yourself and Wistar know that I am here. I have brought only one man with me and he is the cleverest detective on my force. I am speaking of Joe Cardona, the man who is working on the Apprison case.

“Cardona is strolling about on your front veranda. No one could recognize him in the semidarkness. The lighted windows of the reception room, however, enable him to see what is happening inside. I intend to rejoin Cardona; together, we will observe all who come in and go out between now and midnight.”

“We’ll keep the guests in the reception room,” affirmed Carthers. “That will not be difficult. The Black Falcon will have no opportunity to strike before midnight.”

“Also,” added Weston, “there are two men in my darkened limousine, which is parked among the cars in your driveway. They can be summoned instantly in case of trouble. They are watching for signals from the veranda.”

Elias Carthers arose from his chair. His face was serious. He extended his hand to the police commissioner.

“I appreciate your efforts, sir,” stated the tobacco king. “I shall have Wistar move back and forth from the veranda, so that we may be in direct communication.”

“Have him check this list to begin with,” suggested Weston, also rising.

“Certainly,” agreed Carthers. “All the guests will be here by now. That will be Wistar’s first action. After he has made his check, I shall send him to the veranda. Following that, I shall join the guests myself.”

POLICE COMMISSIONER WESTON stepped toward the massive door of the study. Wistar leaped ahead of him and turned the large brass knob. The muffled babble of distant conversation came to the study as the secretary opened the door.

“Through the passage to the right, sir,” explained Wistar to Weston. “You can reach the veranda without encountering any of the guests.”

The secretary closed the door when Weston had departed. He turned to see Elias Carthers facing the rear of the study. The tobacco magnate was looking into a full-length mirror that was set in a large closet door. He was adjusting the necktie above his tuxedo collar.

“Shall I check on the guests now, sir?” questioned Wistar, in a mild tone.

“Yes,” ordered Carthers. He wheeled to pick up the paper from the table. “There is only one person whom I do not expect. That” — Carthers rested his finger upon a name — “is Lamont Cranston. There is a chance that he may still be out of town. We received no reply after sending him the invitation. Of course, Cranston is always likely to arrive. You may, however, consider his name as doubtful.”

“Very well, sir.” Wistar picked up the list and carried it toward the door as Carthers turned back to view the closet mirror. “I shall check every one. I shall return as promptly as possible. Are there any other instructions, Mr. Carthers?”

Still reading the list, the secretary paused with his hand upon the brass doorknob. He waited for a reply from Carthers. None came.

“Are there any further instructions, sir?”

As Wistar repeated the query, he looked up from the list. He saw Elias Carthers standing before the mirror. The secretary blinked his eyes in wonderment as he observed what he first thought was the reflection of his employer. Then a gasp of terror came from Wistar’s lips.

DURING the interim in which Carthers had faced the table, the door of the closet had silently opened. Framed in the space where the mirror had been was the form of a stockily-built man. The fact that this man also wore a tuxedo accounted for Wistar’s momentary belief that he had seen the reflection of Carthers. The features of the stranger, however, soon dispelled that thought.

All that Wistar could see of the man’s face was a square-set chin with gloating lips above it. The eyes and nose were covered with a black mask. His gaze dropping, Wistar observed a glittering revolver that covered Elias Carthers.

Eyes from the mask caught Wistar’s gaze. The secretary quailed. The revolver took a forward thrust; Elias Carthers, his hands rising, backed away from the man who stood in the closet doorway.

The revolver, moving easily back and forth, held both Carthers and Wistar under its control. A contemptuous chuckle came from the gloating lips below the mask.

“Excellent plans.” The masked man spoke in a dry tone. “I was pleased, Mr. Carthers, to hear you voice your approval of the police commissioner’s methods. I assure you that your guests will be safe tonight.”

Elias Carthers was glowering. Wistar was clutching the doorknob with a trembling grasp.

“However,” resumed the masked man, “I am still able to make good my threat. A person of prominence — abducted before midnight — with Commissioner Weston standing by. An odd loophole in your plans, Mr. Carthers.

“Unselfishly, you have taken care to insure the protection of your guests. Somehow, both you and the commissioner overlooked the fact that you, yourself, would be eligible for seizure. You, Mr. Carthers, are the person of wealth who will accompany me from this house tonight.”

“Who — who are you?” blurted Carthers. “Are you — are you—”

“I am The Black Falcon,” interposed the man with the mask. “The past abductor of Hubert Apprison; the present abductor of Elias Carthers.”

The gloating lips formed a cunning leer as The Black Falcon announced his identity.