The Crime Clinic

CHAPTER IV MURDER STRIKES

“DID you see it, Bart?”

The question came in a whisper from Yvonne Lydell. Bravely, the girl was trying to curb the sudden terror which had caught her in its sway.

“See what?” returned Bart, in a calm undertone.

“The face,” whispered Yvonne. “The face at the window.”

“No,” replied Bart. “It must have been pure imagination on your part.”

Although the young man’s voice was calm, his own face had turned ashen. Yvonne did not notice Bart’s strained expression. She was staring toward the front windows. Beyond them, she could see the rail of a narrow balcony that ran to the right from the living room, and probably opened upon other windows at the front of the house.

The intruder, whoever he was, had gone. With a slight shudder, Yvonne turned back toward the other guests.

Rutherford Casslin, with Hubert and Hodges beside him, was departing in the direction of the tower. Guests were asking questions about the Bishenpur diamond. Yvonne’s suppressed excitement had not been noticed by anyone save Bart Melken.

“Say nothing,” prompted the young man. “There is no need to alarm anyone — at least not until after Mr. Casslin has returned from his strong room.”

Yvonne reluctantly nodded her agreement with her fiancee’s decision.

Casslin had walked through the rear door, in company with his two servants. He had evidently entered the steel door to the tower, and had gone up, for Hodges had returned, and was standing just within the doorway through which he had come.

Every guest was in the living room. Hodges, as though to make sure that all was well, stayed in the room himself. After a short interval, he turned to go back and join Hubert at the foot of the stairway to the tower.

At that moment, a hoarse, raucous shout came from beyond the door. Hodges stood momentarily startled; some of the men started toward the door before the servant moved. Then Hodges sprang to action. With three men at his heels, he dashed into the hallway.

THE cause of the cry was immediately apparent. Backed against the steel door was Hubert. He was clutching at a man who had pinned him there — a man in rough clothes, who turned a dark face toward those who came rushing into the hallway. At sight of Hodges, Hubert’s assailant broke away.

In his hand, the dark-skinned man held a flashing knife. It was dripping with crimson blood, for the fellow had stabbed Hubert before the servant had gained an opportunity to shoot him. Seeing Hodges, the assailant made a move as though intent on flight; then realizing the predicament, leaped suddenly at the advancing rescuer.

The knife gleamed as the dark hand came upward. Hodges, justifying the faith that Rutherford Casslin held in his ability, fired point-blank. The assailant was uttering a wild cry as he sprang forward. It turned to a shriek as Hodges delivered the shot.

The dark-skinned man rolled to the floor. His features showed in the light as he landed on his back. It was plain that the man was a Hindu.

Startled exclamations came from the guests who were with Hodges. All remembered Rutherford Casslin’s talk of Hindus who had sought the Bishenpur diamond.

The Hindu was dying. His hands lay loosely at his sides. The knife had fallen a foot away, and the man made no effort to grasp it. One of the guests seized the weapon. Hodges, whose quick action had saved the situation, was turning to his fellow servant, Hubert.

The man at the door had collapsed to the floor. Blood was issuing from his side. His revolver lay beside him. His lips were trembling. He could only gasp a few feeble words.

“The master” — Hubert panted as he paused — “in the tower. The master — look after him. The key — here — the key—”

Hubert’s fingers clawed at a pocket in the side of his coat. His effort failed. His body sagged and sank away from the arm that held him. Hubert, like the Hindu, had received a mortal wound.

Worried guests were crowding about. They looked to Hodges for advice. The servant, thrust in a position of importance, showed excellent judgment. He managed to calm the excited men about him.

“Someone call for a doctor,” he said. “Mr. Casslin is in the tower. We can inform him what has happened. The key must be in Hubert’s pocket.”

Hodges stooped over Hubert’s body and found the key. One of the guests was trying the steel door. It was locked. Another had gone to make the telephone call.

They could hear Mrs. Casslin in the living room, talking excitedly. A few moments later, the woman appeared in the hallway. She placed her hands to her head in horror as she saw the bodies on the floor; then, with an effort, she managed to ignore the gruesome scene.

“Where is my husband?” she questioned. “Where is Rutherford?”

“In the tower, madam,” returned Hodges. “The key was in Hubert’s pocket. I have it here.”

“He is safe, then!” exclaimed Mrs. Casslin. “He does not know what has happened here. This is terrible! Why did Doctor Dubrong go? Oh, why did he go? If he were only here now!”

“Shall I inform Mr. Casslin what has happened?” questioned Hodges. “Or shall I wait, madam, until he has come down from the tower?”

“Wait a few minutes, Hodges,” decided Mrs. Casslin. “He will be back here any moment. He must be safe; the tower door is locked.”

One of the guests appeared, to announce that he had called Doctor Dubrong’s apartment. There had been no answer. Mrs. Casslin stood in a quandary.

“We must call another physician,” she decided. “Yes, we must call another. We must call the police, also—”

“I got the apartment house on the phone,” informed the guest. “They said that if Doctor Dubrong returned or called, they would tell him to come here. There was no answer when they rang his apartment. Probably he has not had time to reach there.”

Mrs. Casslin was nervously wringing her hands. She looked from one guest to another. She seemed incapable of speech. Her eyes turned toward the steel door.

“What is keeping Rutherford?” she questioned. “He must have put the diamond away by now? Where is he? Where is my husband?”

AT that moment, another servant appeared at the end of the hallway. The uniformed man stopped short as he saw the confusion that existed. His face turned pale. He stared at Hubert’s body, then looked toward Mrs. Casslin.

“Where have you been, Gilkins?” questioned Hodges.

“Downstairs,” stammered the arrival. “What — what has happened here?”

“Didn’t you hear the shot?” questioned Hodges.

“No,” returned Gilkins, his face still ashen. “We — we were sitting in the kitchen. The door bell just rang — I went to answer it.”

“Who was there?” questioned Mrs. Casslin excitedly. “Doctor Dubrong?”

“No, madam,” returned Gilkins. “There is a man who wishes to speak with Mr. Casslin. He says that he is from detective headquarters. His name is Mr. Cardona — it is important, he says, that he should see Mr. Casslin.”

“A detective!” exclaimed Mrs. Casslin. “Tell him to come up at once, Gilkins!”

The servant hurried from the hallway. Mrs. Casslin rested against the wall, pressing her hands to her heart. One of the guests was supporting her.

All the others had come from the living room, including Bart Melken and Yvonne Lydell. They formed a small, silent group, away from the center of the hall where the bodies lay.

Everyone waited in tense silence. Then footsteps sounded, and Gilkins reappeared at the other end of the hallway. As the servant stopped, another man stepped by him. Detective Joe Cardona appeared to view this scene where death had fallen.

The first object that Cardona noted was the gun which Hodges was still holding. Without a word, the detective stepped forward and plucked the weapon from the servant’s hand. Hodges yielded the revolver without question.

With precision, Cardona opened the gun and noted its contents. He pocketed the weapon; stooped and picked up the other gun, which was lying beside Hubert’s body. He examined that weapon also, and dropped it in another pocket of his coat.

The guest who held the knife moved forward and gave the weapon to Cardona. The detective looked at it, and placed it on a small, narrow table that stood beside the wall. He bent over the Hindu’s body, and saw that the man was dead. He made an examination of Hubert’s prostrate form. Then he looked at the palefaced group about him.

“Both men are dead,” he asserted. “What has happened here? Has anyone left this place?”

MRS. CASSLIN was too weak to answer. One of the guests, a middle-aged gentleman, stepped forward, and drew a card from his pocket. He handed it to Cardona.

“Ah!” exclaimed the detective, in a respectful tone. “You are Stephen Gloucester, of the State banking department?”

“Yes,” replied the gentleman, with dignity. “I am a guest here this evening. I observed ail that occurred. This servant” — he indicated Hodges — “is in no wise culpable. He is to be commended. His companion” — Gloucester pointed to Hubert’s body — “was slain by the Hindu. This man Hodges was forced to shoot the murderer to prevent him from attacking us.”

“Where did the Hindu come from?” demanded Cardona.

“I don’t know, sir,” interposed Hodges, who had gained his tongue now that blame had been lifted from him. “Hubert, here, was standing by this door. He was guarding it while Mr. Casslin was above. I heard Hubert cry for aid. I rushed here from the living room. This is the key to the tower door, sir. It was in Hubert’s pocket.”

Cardona took the key and nudged his thumb toward the steel door.

“You mean that Rutherford Caslin is in there?” he asked.

Universal nods came from the amazed guests.

“Why hasn’t he come out?” demanded Joe.

“I doubt that he heard the shot, sir,” began Hodges. “This door is thick; there is another door above”

“Rutherford should be here!” blurted Mrs. Casslin suddenly. “He should not have remained in the tower so long. What is keeping him? What can be keeping him?”

Cardona raised his hand for silence. He motioned to all the guests, and lined them along the hallway. He strode to the living room, saw that no one else was there, and walked back to the steel door. He passed a revolver to Stephen Gloucester.

“I shall ask you, sir,” decided Cardona, “to see that no one leaves this hallway. I am going into the tower. I shall ask you to accompany me, Mrs. Casslin, and you” — he turned to the servant, Hodges — “can come along also.”

Cardona opened the steel door with the key that Hodges had given him. The light was on within the tower.

As Hodges and Mrs. Casslin started up the circular stairs, Cardona made sure that no one was under shelter of the spiral. He followed them rapidly. He reached the top of the stairs just behind the two who had gone ahead. The closed door blocked the passage.

“Mr. Casslin is in here, sir,” vouchsafed Hodges. “He has the key with him.”

Cardona pounded upon the door. There was no response. Mrs. Casslin gave a nervous cry.

“Go down to the bottom of the stairs,” Cardona ordered Hodges. “Call that other servant, and tell him to bring an ax.”

Hodges clanked down the steps. He called for Gilkins before he reached the bottom, and relayed the order to the other man. Hodges returned at Cardona’s call. The detective turned to Mrs. Casslin.

“If you would prefer to go below,” he began, “it will be all right.”

Mrs. Casslin shook her head bravely.

“Let me stay here,” she pleaded. “I know that something has happened — if it has happened, it would be better for me to be here”

Gilkins was coming up the steps. The servant had a large fire ax. Cardona moved Mrs. Casslin and Hodges a short way down the steps and remained with them while he ordered Gilkins to attack the door.

With husky strokes, the servant demolished the barrier. As a huge piece of wood splintered away from the long metal hinge that reinforced it, Gilkins uttered a cry of horror, and stepped back against the wall.

Cardona leaped up the steps, revolver in hand. He jammed his shoulder through the opening, and sprang into the strong room. Swiftly, boldly, he looked about him to see that the three windows were closed. His eyes fell to the floor beside the inner wall.

There lay the body of Rutherford Casslin. A gaping wound showed that the millionaire had been shot in the back! Sprawled upon the floor, with arms outstretched, Rutherford Casslin exhibited empty hands with spread fingers that rested almost against the base of the wall, just below the closed door of the safe.

Detective Joe Cardona was dumfounded. This tragedy was stunning, through the very circumstances that surrounded it. Rutherford Casslin’s empty hands spoke words of their own.

Here, within a tightly locked room, behind slitlike windows braced with crossbars, with a steel door locked below and the key in the pocket of a trusted servant, Rutherford Casslin had been slain.

Empty hands told the motive of this mysterious murder. There was reason for the death of the millionaire. Somehow, in this isolated place, a prize had been plucked from a dead man’s hand.

The Bishenpur diamond had been stolen!