The Crime Clinic

CHAPTER III CASSLIN’S CASTLE

THE chimes of a jeweled clock were striking nine. A fashionable throng was gathered in the spacious living room of Rutherford Casslin’s home. The group had come to this apartment following a sumptuous dinner.

Rutherford Casslin, a tall, portly man of fifty years, surveyed the group with a self-satisfied air. Most of the men present were ones who had gained prestige and wealth through commercial success. A small group, but a select one, so Casslin decided.

Most of the women were of middle age. There was one exception, Casslin noted, as he smiled beamingly. That was Yvonne Lydell, a beautiful girl in her early twenties. Garforth Lydell, Yvonne’s father, was one of Casslin’s old friends. Garforth, Casslin remembered, was away from New York at present.

Beside Yvonne was seated a young man, attired in a perfectly fitted Tuxedo. This was Bart Melken, wealthy scion of an old New York family. Melken was Yvonne Lydell’s fiance. The pair would make an excellent match, Rutherford Casslin decided.

Only one guest was not seated. Of middle height, but thin to an extreme that made him seem tall, this worthy was standing in a corner of the room. He was a man whose status as a surgeon had gained him high recognition, yet who seemed out of place in this purely social gathering.

Rutherford Casslin had considered long before inviting Doctor Lysander Dubrong to dine here tonight. There was something about the physician’s cynical demeanor that made it difficult for Casslin to understand him.

Rutherford Casslin was a domineering, boastful individual. So long as he could hold the center of conversation, he was a perfect host. His guests seemed to sense this; out of courtesy, they listened as Casslin took the floor. The millionaire was about to make an announcement which he regarded of paramount interest.

“Tonight,” declared Casslin, “I have a treat in store for you. This is Monday. I have announced that on Wednesday I shall exhibit certain rare gems which I possess. Those jewels are in a safe-deposit vault — with one exception.

“I refer to the prize of my collection — a beautiful diamond of high value. I brought the stone from India. It is here in my mansion tonight. I am ready to show it to you on this occasion.”

A murmur of surprise swept through the throng. Casslin had created the effect that he wanted. He paused to add further remarks.

“Many persons have wondered,” he stated, “how I am able to keep valuables in my home with absolutely no fear of burglary. My answer is that this house is itself as strong as any vault.

“This building, which I have called ‘Five Towers,’ is the modernized replica of a famous English castle. No feudal lord ever possessed a more formidable fortress. Each turret of this castle has walls of solid stone; and one tower, in particular, is especially provided against attack. It is there that I keep any valuables that I bring to my house; it is there that the diamond is now safeguarded.”

Casslin stared about him with a proud smile. Seeing interest on the faces of his listeners, he proceeded with a new statement.

“Some of you,” he declared, “have seen the arrangement of my stronghold. Others have not. I am going to my tower to procure the diamond. Any who wish may accompany me.”

THE invitation was promptly grasped by several of the persons present. There were exceptions, however, and chief among them was Doctor Lysander Dubrong. With a cynical smile upon his thin, dry lips, the physician advanced and extended his hand to Rutherford Casslin.

“Sorry,” he explained. “I must forgo the pleasure. I have visited your tower before.”

“You are welcome again,” returned the millionaire.

“It is after nine o’clock,” objected Dubrong. “I have an important appointment in Manhattan.”

“You are not remaining to see my diamond?”

“I can wait until Wednesday night.”

“Evidently you are not a connoisseur of gems, Doctor Dubrong.”

There was criticism in Rutherford Casslin’s tone. It was matched by the sharp sarcasm of Dubrong’s reply.

“Cold stones,” said the physician, “do not impress me. Though they may sparkle, they are mere baubles. The real gems in life are human achievements.”

Dubrong was shaking Casslin’s hand as he spoke. With a gesture that bordered almost on contempt, the physician swung and walked from the living room. He stopped in an outer hallway.

Alone, he donned his hat and coat, in slow, methodical fashion. He was peering through a curtained doorway, and his gaze was centered upon Bart Melken, the young man of wealth who was engaged to Yvonne Lydell.

So far as the group was concerned, Doctor Dubrong’s departure was of no importance. Even Bart Melken, the man Dubrong watched, had given no further thought to the physician. When Dubrong went from the outer hallway, no one noticed his final leave-taking.

Rutherford Casslin had summoned two servants. Husky fellows, attired in uniform, they looked like a pair of bodyguards. Casslin referred to one as “Hubert” to the other as “Hodges.” At the millionaire’s order, each servant exhibited a loaded revolver.

Casslin’s living room was on the second story of the castle. It had two doorways; one at the side, through which Doctor Dubrong had gone; the other at the rear. It was through this opening that the millionaire invited his guests to follow him. Three men and two ladies responded; the others remained in the living room, for they had previously seen the strong room.

Mrs. Casslin, the millionaire’s bejeweled wife, remained in the living room talking to the few who had not followed her husband. Among these persons were Yvonne Lydell and Bart Melken. Speaking to Yvonne, Mrs. Casslin mentioned the magnificent diamond of which Casslin had boasted.

“It is a marvelous stone,” said the portly hostess. “These jewels which I wear are merely trifles compared with it. They are worth only a few thousand at the most—”

“Your necklace, Mrs. Casslin?” inquired Yvonne in surprise, as she indicated the string of jewels which the millionaire’s wife was wearing.

“They are paste,” confided Mrs. Casslin, with a smile. “I would never dream of wearing the real ones. They are in a safe-deposit vault. I do not like to have valuable gems here in the house.”

Bart Melken, half a dozen paces away, was listening to Mrs. Casslin’s statements. With an attitude of indifference, as though talk of jewels was boring, the young man strolled toward the side windows of the big living room. There, he extracted a cigarette from an ornate case. He drew a lighter from his pocket and flicked it.

THE flame responded and died. It was repeated. Melken seemed nervous. A third attempt failed. It was only after he had stepped away from the window that Melken managed to obtain a light for his cigarette. At the moment of such accomplishment, his back was toward the window.

No one had been watching the young man at the time of his odd performance. Keen eyes might have taken his flickering work with the lighter as a signal to someone on the ground beyond the window. The few persons present, however, were talking with Mrs. Casslin.

Meanwhile, the guests who had accompanied Rutherford Casslin had reached a gloomy spot in a hallway that paralleled the rear of the living room. They were standing in front of a steel door that was set in the solid wall. A massive lock showed the strength of this formidable barrier

Casslin was talking like a lecturer as he drew a key from his pocket. He turned the lock, and before he opened the door, he finished with a few concluding remarks.

“This,” he said, “is the entrance to the rear tower. I alone hold the key. It is my practice to enter here by myself. I entrust the key to one of my servants only while I am in the tower.”

Unlocking the door, Casslin revealed the interior of a circular, stone-walled tower that extended upward for thirty feet, a hollow shaft. A narrow circular stairway of iron formed the mode of ascent. The stairway ran about the inner sides of the wall. It had a thin rail of metal.

Casslin pressed a switch. The interior of the turret was lighted with dim illumination. The visitors noted that the steps of the circular stairway were unblocked; one could see between them. The entire shaft showed emptiness.

Casslin handed the key to Hubert. While this servant and Hodges waited below, Casslin led his guests up the steps. The big door clanged behind them. Their footfalls sounded weirdly upon the iron steps.

Casslin’s voice came in echoes as the millionaire preceded his friends on the thirty-foot climb. Casslin was pointing out a feature of the tower: tall, slitlike windows at intervals along the stairs.

“These windows,” he explained, “were placed here before I made the tower my stronghold. You will observe, however, that they are less than eight inches in width. Moreover, they are strengthened by horizontal bars, set at intervals of six inches.”

The guests could observe what Casslin said. The windows were tall, each nearly three feet high, to admit light. They were fitted with glass in iron frames, so that they could easily be opened. The crossbars, however, made it impossible for more than a hand and arm to enter through any opening.

Casslin reached the top of the steps. Here was another door, of wood, but braced with iron, which he opened with a smaller key. The door swung inward. Casslin pressed a single light switch and conducted his guests into the lighted turret.

THE room was stone-walled and unfurnished. It was about a dozen feet in diameter. It possessed three long, slitted windows, like those on the stairway. They were also barred with crosswise metal rods.

“In old-time castles,” explained Casslin, “these served as openings through which archers delivered their shafts. You will notice that three directions are covered. The openings were purposely narrowed, so that if the enemy scaled the wall with ladders, it would be impossible for them to enter.

“This portion of the wall” — he turned to the half which had no opening — “holds the strong box. It is a small wall safe of a specially designed pattern. I, alone, know the combination.”

The guests saw the spot indicated. The front of a small, square safe projected from the wall. Set in solid stone, buttressed by the house itself, this device was capable of withstanding the attack of a dynamiter.

“Now,” decided Casslin, “I shall ask you all to retire below. I never permit anyone to be here when I open the wall safe.”

The guests filed out through the door. While they were clanking down the circular steps, Casslin shut the barrier. He opened the safe and removed a small metal box. He closed the safe and followed the others who had gone below. He closed the door of the strong room as he departed.

Hubert and Hodges were waiting outside the lower door. The guest had opened it from the inside; Casslin did the same. He took the key from Hubert, shut the steel door, and proceeded to join his guests who had gone back to the living room. The two servants, holding their revolvers, formed a bodyguard for the millionaire.

The tension was dramatic when Casslin entered the living room and placed the box upon the table. In the light, the small container showed its beauty. The box was inlaid with ivory. Casslin pressed a catch; the lid came open. Incredible gasps came from the onlookers.

Set upon white plush was a diamond of lustrous beauty. The stone sparkled with gorgeous radiance; its size, too, was remarkable. The feature which made the spectators gaze in awe was the coloring of the gem. A distinctly reddish tint seemed to pervade the diamond; and this elusive hue was always present.

“I purchased this diamond in India,” lectured Rutherford Casslin. “It is said to have come from the collection of the King of Bishenpur. That monarch owned two of the most magnificent rubies in existence! I suppose that he fancied the diamond because of its reddish tinge.

“Shortly after I bought the diamond, I was approached by a jewel merchant of Bombay, who offered me one hundred and fifty thousand rupees for it. I could have shown a fancy profit above the price I paid, had I disposed of the diamond to Changra, the jewel merchant.

“However, I refused his offer. I would not part with this gem at any price. I am simply mentioning, though, that in India, this jewel would command the equivalent of fifty thousand dollars.

“The offer I had received followed me on my journey from India to England. In London, persistent representatives of the Bombay merchant still tried to buy the gem. They failed. I am keeping the diamond from Bishenpur.”

As he concluded his talk, Rutherford Casslin held the jewel between thumb and forefinger. He raised it above the level of his eyes. A pale crimson aura seemed to hover about the Bishenpur diamond. Then, with a dramatic gesture, Casslin replaced the jewel in its case. With a bow that caused the guests to spread apart, he turned to return to his strong room in the tower.

Yvonne Lydell walked toward the side window, where Bart Melken, cigarette lighter in hand, was having trouble making new bursts of flame. The young man looked up as his fiancee approached. He dropped the lighter into his vest pocket.

Yvonne, as she came from the back of the room, was facing toward the front window. Something made her stare in that direction, instead of looking at her fiance. Suddenly, the girl gripped Bart Melken’s arm.

“Look! Look!” she gasped.

Pressed against the front window was a brownish face. Dark, glittering eyes caught the girl’s stare. Then, in a twinkling, the face was gone.

Bart Melken, as he followed the direction of Yvonne’s gaze, was too late to see the visage that had been peering in from the outer darkness.

Yvonne’s startled gasp faded on her lips as the girl felt Bart Melken’s firm and reassuring grip upon her arm.