The Four Signets

CHAPTER XIV. THE PHILANTHROPISTS MOVE

THE next evening, Lucius Zurick came down the stairs of his house at precisely eight o’clock. He stopped as he neared the ground floor. He stared at Timothy, who was standing in livery at the doorway of the parlor.

“What are you doing here, Timothy?” quizzed Zurick, harshly. “I told you that you could have this evening off. Why are you on duty?”

“It was inconvenient, sir,” came the response. “I decided to stay here at the house; but I did not wish to disturb you, sir.”

“Very well,” snorted Zurick. “But do not count upon another evening free instead of this one. I am receiving visitors tonight; I intended to let them in myself. But since you are on duty, you may answer the door as usual.”

“Very well, sir.”

“I am going into my study. Usher Mr. Laverock and Mr. Kent in there. Mallan goes in the parlor when he comes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ten minutes later, Guy Laverock arrived. Timothy conducted him to the study. Harbrook Kent put in an appearance a short while afterward. He joined the other philanthropists.

Then came Mallan. The detective kidded Timothy as usual; and the servant withdrew in dignity. He went to announce Mallan’s arrival. At Zurick’s order, he brought Mallan in with the others.

When he had closed the door of the study, Timothy returned to the parlor as he had on previous nights.

But when he had seated himself in a corner of the room, the servant performed an action that would have astonished Lucius Zurick. He reached beneath a radiator and produced a pair of earphones. He clamped them to his head.

Timothy was at the listening end of a wire that ran from study into parlor. His action indicated that this was a dictograph hook-up. A microphone was catching all that was said in conference. Timothy was listening to all that occurred.

IN the study, Zurick was talking to Mallan. There was no hostility, no uncertainty tonight. Laverock and Kent were wearing expressions that showed anxiety. Zurick was coming straight to the point of what he had to say.

“We need your services again, Mallan,” declared the chief of the three. “We thought — the other night — that all was well. We assured ourselves later that our secret had been preserved. But we were wrong. Our treasure has been stolen!”

Mallan grinned sourly. He felt an equality, almost a superiority, where these men were concerned. The egotistical detective was somewhat pleased to learn that the philanthropists had encountered trouble after dispensing with his services.

“Although I destroyed your reports,” resumed Zurick, in a harsh tone, “I have not forgotten certain facts. It is obvious that Philip Lyken must have spoken to the Dolgers. They, in turn, decided to make use of his information.

“Death did not eliminate Elwood Phraytag. He carried his secret to the grave. Literally, I mean. Phraytag” — Zurick was giving Mallan the full information for the first time — “was the owner of a signet ring, like mine.”

Pausing, the philanthropist raised his left hand. Mallan stared as he noted the sparkle of gold. Turning his head left, then right, he saw Laverock and Kent raise similar rings to view.

“The signet,” crackled Zurick, “held our secret. We thought it safe, buried with Phraytag. But we have discovered — I, at least have learned — that the ring was taken from the mausoleum where Phraytag’s body lies.”

“You have been there?” questioned Mallan.

“Not to the mausoleum,” returned Zurick. “But I know that the ring must have been stolen. For I have visited the secret strong room where our wealth was kept. There, I found evidence of robbery. So I have assumed that the information came from Phraytag’s coffin.”

“Humph!” grunted Mallan. He stared at the three philanthropists. “Well — I figured you were headed for something like this. Why didn’t you wise me up to the whole business? I thought you fellows were smart. I’m finding out that you’re dubs.”

The comment passed without argument. The three philanthropists were willing to take it without resentment. Mallan grinned and spoke further.

“I could have snagged that ring off Phraytag,” he assured them. “But you hadn’t told me about it. I thought that with the guy dead, that was enough to keep your secret buried. Now you’re talking about a hiding place.

“Say — why didn’t you put me there to cover it? I’d have looked after the dough for you. Guess you thought I knew too many crooks, eh? Well — I only tell birds like that as much as is good for them. I do the real work myself. I only use birds from the underworld to help me out when I need them.

“Now I suppose you want me to get the dough back, eh? Calling in Ed Mallan as a pinch hitter. Well — the set-up don’t look bad. It’s a sure bet the Dolger boys grabbed the swag. Probably stowed it in that old house where they’re living.”

“We have assumed all that,” stated Zurick. “What we want, Mallan, is a suggestion of procedure. How can we regain those funds? Possession is a strong point.”

“Yeah? Maybe. Maybe not. You had the dough, didn’t you? Well, you lost it. The Dolgers have got it now. That don’t mean they’re going to keep it.”

“But if—”

“The ‘ifs’ don’t matter. I know what you’re going to say. Let it drop. You want the dough. Well, we’ll go and get it.”

“We?”

“Sure! It’s your dough, ain’t it? You dropped me out of it, last trip, because you didn’t like the way I worked. This time there won’t be any squawk. When I go after the dough, you’ll be right on hand — the three of you.”

THE philanthropists exchanged uneasy glances. Mallan grinned. He was getting the kind of revenge that pleased him. He waited for objections. Zurick put one.

“We can not attack the Dolgers,” crackled the old philanthropist. “If stealth is concerned, four are a burden compared to one. You have boasted, Mallan, of your ability—”

“And I’m bragging some more,” interrupted the detective. “I’m telling you that the easy way to grab back that swag is to walk in and get it.”

“But the Dolgers may prove dangerous—”

“Not after I’ve fixed things so they won’t be. That’s the only catch. Clearing the way. That’s what I’ll do tonight, while you bozos sit back and stay out of it.

“Whatever happens between now and to-morrow — well, I won’t be in it. When to-morrow night comes, I’ll be able to walk right into that Dolger nest with you gents following. And if the Dolgers are still there” — Mallan paused to deliver a gleaming grin — “we won’t have any trouble with them.”

“You are talking cagily, Mallan,” observed Zurick, in a tone that seemed commending. “I can divine that you have certain plans that you believe will work. Very well. This time, we shall rely upon you to the full. I assume that you wish to proceed in your own fashion.”

“That’s it,” chuckled the detective. “You’re a good guesser, Mr. Zurick. Well — are you three on? Do I go ahead, the way I want, leaving it up to you to follow—”

“This is a crisis,” nodded Zurick. “Under the circumstances, Mallan, I am willing to obey your lead.”

“I agree,” rumbled Laverock.

“And I,” coughed Kent.

“That part’s settled then,” decided Mallan. “Now let’s get to the point about money. What’s it worth to you — in cash — for me to take this new job?”

“Ten thousand dollars,” declared Zurick.

“How soon do I get the dough?” inquired Mallan.

“Tonight,” assured Zurick. “We are willing to pay you the sum in advance, as proof that we intend to back you to the limit.”

“Make it twenty grand,” said Mallan, decisively.

Laverock and Kent were about to make a protest. Zurick motioned them to be quiet. He studied the detective narrowly. Then, without a word, Zurick arose and went to a safe in a corner of the room. He opened the steel door, found a large cash box and counted out stacks of currency.

“Here you are, Mallan,” cackled the philanthropist, placing a large stack of bills in the detective’s hands.

“I am sorry that I must ask you to take some fifties and twenties in order to make up the total.”

“That’s all right.” The detective ginned and rolled the bills into several wads that he stowed in different pockets.

“I’ve got the dough; I’ll deliver the goods. It’s a sure bet the Dolgers are laying low with that swag they grabbed. I’ll give them the surprise of their young lives. Leave it to Ed Mallan. So long, gentlemen. You’ll hear from me later.”

With that, the dick turned and swaggered from the room. When he reached the hall, Timothy appeared carrying his coat and hat. The detective still wore his grin as he departed from the house. Timothy closed the door.

OUTSIDE, Ed Mallan strolled a half block, then hailed a cab. He spoke to the driver, using a wise-voiced growl. He asked if the taximan knew anything about Brooklyn. The fellow nodded.

“Ever hear of Zemo’s hock shop?” questioned Mallan.

“Yeah,” returned the cabby. “Over near the Whitelight Theater, ain’t it?”

“That’s the place,” replied Mallan. “Well — that’s where I want to go. Zemo’s hock shop. In a hurry. Got some junk I want to take out of hock before he closes.”

Back in the house, the three philanthropists were still in conference. Their discussion ended. Laverock and Kent left; Timothy saw them out of the door. Zurick said good-night to his servant and went upstairs.

Timothy’s actions then became brisk. In quick, efficient fashion, the servant gathered up the wire that connected the ends of the dictograph hook-up. He moved out into the kitchen, opened a closet door and stowed the apparatus in a small bag.

Turning out the light, Timothy rustled in the dark. A few minutes passed; then a tiny flashlight blinked. It showed the servant’s livery hanging in the closet. A whispered laugh sounded. Something swished in darkness. A figure departed from the house.

This was the aftermath of the strange spying on the part of Lucius Zurick’s old servant. It proved that the house had harbored an impostor. A mysterious visitor had deceived Zurick as well as the philanthropist’s guests.

The real Timothy had gone off duty. Some one — lurking here — had heard Zurick’s order to the servant.

That mysterious some one had been The Shadow.

A master of disguise, the secret interloper had borrowed Timothy’s discarded livery after the servant had left. He had made himself up to pass as the servant. In the dull illumination of Zurick’s home, the disguise had proven indetectible.

Before the conference, The Shadow had planted his dictograph. He had heard every word. He had listened to Mallan’s hinted plans and had also caught the comments of the philanthropists before and after the dick’s arrival.

The Shadow had no need to trail Ed Mallan. Nor did he require the aid of agents. He had learned the turn that crime had taken. He knew the one place where new action would be due. The Shadow was on his way to the old mansion wherein the Dolger cousins harbored the treasure that they had gained.