The Crime Crypt

CHAPTER II. CROOKS OF A KIND

MARTIN HAVELOCK made no move as he stared into the muzzle of his uncle’s gun. The young man knew that he was caught; and in the face beyond that revolver, he saw no mercy. Cecil Armsbury, like his nephew, had undergone a change. The placid face of the old man had become the countenance of a fiend.

Again the chuckle. Havelock paled. He thought that he had previously deceived his uncle. Now he knew that he was the one who had been fooled. There was something monstrous in Armsbury’s evil gloat.

“Sit down.”

The command was accompanied by a gesture of the revolver. Martin Havelock obeyed. Cecil Armsbury pocketed his revolver, taking it for granted that his nephew was unarmed. The old man strode across the room, showing unusual agility in his paces. With a cackling laugh, he picked up the glass of medicine and drank it at a single draught. He set down the glass with a thump.

“Harmless,” he chuckled. “White tablets of sugar. A little bit of by-play performed by Calhoun at my order. It deceived you — as I expected. Well — what do you have to say, Martin?”

“Nothing very much,” returned the nephew, in a tone which showed a resumption of his indifferent attitude. “I suppose this changes the will. That’s all.”

“The law can deal with you.”

“Hardly. You have drunk the evidence.”

“A clever thought.” The old man chuckled. “Well, Martin, I have put you to the test. You played for thirty thousand dollars — perhaps forty — and you lost.”

Martin Havelock merely smiled sourly and shrugged his shoulders. He did not feel concerned by his uncle’s malicious glare. Cecil Armsbury laughed.

“Thirty thousand. Quite a loss, Martin. Not much to a man who owns large interests in Hidalgo silver mines, perhaps. But to a man who merely pretends to own such wealth—”

Martin Havelock stared at his uncle; paused. The old man drew a large envelope from his pocket.

“This contains the documents that I promised to show you,” he declared. “I had them in my pocket all the while. They contain proof that Martin Havelock owns no mining interests in Mexico. They prove, moreover, that Martin Havelock has not been living in Mexico. They tell a great deal, in addition, regarding the affairs of a certain international crook who is known as Duke Larrin—”

With a furious cry of interruption, Martin Havelock was on his feet. His spring toward Cecil Armsbury was stopped only by the old man’s quick action. Like a flash, Armsbury brought out his revolver and pointed it at his leaping nephew. Havelock halted six feet from the old man’s chair.

CECIL ARMSBURY cackled. He seemed to enjoy this turn of affairs. Martin Havelock, seeing the threat in his uncle’s eyes, retreated to his chair.

“Duke Larrin,” announced Cecil Armsbury. “That is the name you have been using. You are Duke Larrin — smooth crook who has worked in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, along the Riviera.

“Like most men who have turned to crime, you have spent all that you have made. Europe is no longer open to you. But you remembered that your old self — Martin Havelock — had an uncle. You thought that you might be my heir. You came to find out.

“Thirty thousand dollars! Bah! A paltry sum for a crook like Duke Larrin. I lost my respect for you when I saw you, as a vulture, hovering by to wait for me to die. That is why I put you to the test — to see if you would deal in murder.”

Martin Havelock stared as he heard these words. A new expression had appeared upon his uncle’s face — a look that showed a strange approval. Before the young man could voice a question, Cecil Armsbury spoke again.

“You were my heir,” declared the old man. “Thirty thousand dollars would some day have been yours — had you balked at the chance to murder me and lay the blame on someone else.

“But you made good in the test. You showed that murder was in your category of crime. You are my heir no longer, Martin. You will be my partner — an equal sharer in a sum that will exceed a million dollars!”

Armsbury’s face was gleaming. Martin Havelock wondered if his uncle had gone insane. The cunning look on the old man’s face might be that of a maniac; on the contrary, it showed amazing craft.

“To kill me, Martin,” resumed the old man, with a cackle, “would be folly. Your crime would rest upon you. Whatever you might reap would be lost. There are reasons. But to become my partner — ah, there lies opportunity.

“I have been awaiting your arrival from Mexico ever since I gained this information.” The old man tapped his envelope with his revolver. “For I had need of a partner of Duke Larrin’s caliber. I merely required a test of your nerve.”

With a gesture of new friendship, the old man placed both revolver and envelope upon the table. Each had been a threat — one of death; the other of exposure. Martin Havelock, however, ignored them. His uncle smiled approvingly.

“You are with me, Martin,” he stated.

“For half a million?” The young man laughed. “Sure thing. How did you find out that I was Duke Larrin?”

“A friend who went to Mexico discovered that you were not living there. I thought, perhaps, that crime was in your blood. The friend learned that you had been in three European capitals. Through another man, I checked what was known about the famous international crook, Duke Larrin. I learned sufficient to identify him as you.”

“I quit the Duke Larrin stuff for a while.”

“Because you knew it was becoming unsafe.”

“Yes. I landed back in Mexico — my hide-out — nearly broke. That’s why I—”

“Why you came here. It was clever of you. A wise step, Martin. It has paved the way to wealth for both of us.”

“Through theft?”

“Yes. Murder, also.”

“What is our game?”

“To acquire objects,” smiled Armsbury, “that are worth nothing.”

HAVELOCK stared. Again he felt the impression that his old uncle had lost his mind. Armsbury saw the look and chuckled.

“Articles worth nothing,” repeated the old man. “That is why they must be gained. You may think that you are clever, Martin. You cannot match your uncle. I have left a trail of strange swindles in my path. Once it is covered, our way is clear to tremendous gain. Theft and murder are required.”

The old man arose with surprising agility — a further proof that his presumed illness had been a pretense.

He crossed the living room and locked the door. Striding to the far wall, he reached into the huge fireplace and pressed a hidden switch.

Martin Havelock stared as he saw the rear of the fireplace slide upward like a panel. The space revealed was of considerable size. Stooping, the old man entered. He turned and beckoned. Havelock joined him.

Armsbury pressed another switch. The floor of the fireplace descended like an elevator, into blackness.

Then came light — a dim glow that showed a small vaulted room. An iron door lay beyond. Armsbury led the way. He pressed at the side of the door. It slid away and showed a crypt beyond.

Into this larger chamber went uncle and nephew. Their footsteps awoke hollow echoes in the dim crypt.

Each wall had a door. Cecil Armsbury opened the farther one. His nephew gasped at the sight of gleaming objects that flashed even in this dull light. Golden Buddhas with glittering emerald eyes; strange scrolls of yellow metal; these were samples of the treasure that lay revealed.

“STOLEN goods,” chuckled Cecil Armsbury. “Spoils from Chinese palaces; from Hindu temples; from Persian mosques. Some are worth much because of the precious metal and jewels which they contain.

Others have value because of their rarity. The time has arrived, Martin, to turn the contents of this crypt into cash. But before we can do so, we must steal — and slay!”

“Why?”

“Because of my past!” Armsbury gripped his nephew by the arm and spoke in a cackle that was harsh within the confines of the crypt. “I have sold treasures in the past. I have gained fame as a discoverer of unknown relics. But in my dealings with men who had wealth to spend, I used cunning methods.

“I sold them fakes! The jeweled Vishnu from Hyderabad” — the old man paused to raise one finger — “was the first. The golden panel from the Temple of Heaven in the Forbidden City. That was the second. The sacred scroll from Kaaba, in Mecca” — Armsbury was chuckling — “was the third. Last of all, the collection of antiquities which I sold to the Egyptian Museum.

“All are impositions. I manufactured those supposed treasures. I gained large sums through their sale. I kept my real treasures for myself. Now, however, I am faced with exposure. Should my swindles be discovered, all would be lost. My reputation would be ended.”

The old man paused in solemn fashion. Martin Havelock nodded with understanding.

“You mean,” declared the nephew, “that your first step must be the regaining of the fraudulent items that you have placed in other hands.”

“Exactly,” stated Armsbury. “More than that: the fake treasures must be destroyed and their owners eliminated. Theft and murder must come from someone other than myself. The first three items that I have named are owned by individuals. Those men must die when their treasures are taken.

“The antiquities in the museum can be regained last of all. No one need die when they are stolen; but there, Martin, we can play a double game. With the fake items, we can also steal real treasure — objects of fabulous wealth — which are in the Egyptian Museum along with the fake antiquities. The trail will be ended. The road to millions will be ours!”

Martin Havelock was sober. His uncle watched him narrowly, as though divining the young man’s thoughts. A smile flickered on Cecil Armsbury’s face even before the nephew spoke.

“Suspicion,” declared Havelock, “is to be kept from you. Yet I — as your nephew—”

“Cannot commit the crimes,” interposed Armsbury, with a cunning grin. “But as Duke Larrin, the international crook, you have every opportunity. Your task will be to form a band of clever workers. This crypt will be your headquarters. Here, as the leader, you can give your orders and send the henchmen forth upon their work!”

STRIDING across the crypt, Cecil Armsbury opened a door at the side. He pointed to a darkened corridor which formed a long tunnel leading from the crypt.

“This will be the mode of entrance,” declared the old man. “The shaft to my living room will remain unknown to your band. I shall not appear. You will live quietly in my home, as my nephew, Martin Havelock.

“But as Duke Larrin, crook supreme, it will be your part to launch crime so baffling that no one in all New York can ever suspect its source!”

Chuckling, Cecil Armsbury faced his nephew in the crypt. A leering smile appeared upon Martin Havelock’s lips. Uncle and nephew — both were crooks of a kind. They saw alike. The time had come to act.

Amazing, baffling crime was in the making; its font was to be this hidden crypt where only men of evil could assemble. Cecil Armsbury had found the man he needed. Lives were at stake and the schemes of these potential murderers were buried as deeply as the crypt itself!