The Four Signets

CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHOWDOWN

“PRETTY near time for that private detective to show up. He said he’d be here at nine o’clock.”

The comment came from Zane Dolger. He was pacing back and forth across the library floor. His statement brought a nod from Perry, who was seated in a corner of the room.

“Wonder what he’s got on his mind?” queried Zane. “Cardona recommended him. I couldn’t do anything but say he could come here.”

Zane paused to puff furiously at his pipe. Perry was unconcerned. He smiled as he noted his cousin’s anxiety. He added a comment of his own.

“Don’t worry, Zane,” Perry advised. “Probably the fellow’s putting up a bluff. I got a line on him — after you mentioned his name. He’s hard-boiled, but pretty much of a hokum artist.”

“You found out something about Ed Mallan?” Zane seemed surprised by the statement. “From whom, Perry?”

“From Jackling,” returned Perry. “Called him up at his office late this afternoon. He had heard of the fellow. Mallan runs a small-time detective agency. That reminds me” — Perry glanced at his watch — “there’re two things we’d better do before Mallan gets here.”

“What are those?”

“Upstairs” — Perry made a nudge with his thumb, indicating a trip to the secret room — “to make sure all’s right. And another call to Jackling. That’s my job.”

“You mean Jackling may know more?”

“Yes. I told him we were thinking of hiring Mallan as sort of a bodyguard, on account of last night’s experience. He said he would get more data on the fellow.”

Perry beckoned, strolling toward the front door of the library as he spoke. Zane followed. They reached the front hall. Perry looked about for Rowland. Not seeing the servant, he pointed to the stairs, indicating that Perry should make the trip to the third floor.

In staring, Perry had looked straight toward the rear passage. Had Rowland been standing by the side door of the living room. Perry would have spotted him. But Perry did not see the form that actually was present.

Shrouded in the gloom, a part of the hazy passage, The Shadow was standing silent. Keenly though Perry gazed, he did not sight the cloaked intruder. Perry watched Zane go up stairs.

TAKING advantage of the heir’s brief lack of watchfulness, The Shadow opened the door of the library and entered.

Hardly had the black-clad visitant closed the door behind him before he heard footsteps coming from the front hall. Perry was returning to the library.

Instead of returning to the passage, The Shadow chose another door. This led to a small, windowless room in a corner of the library.

The space to which The Shadow took had probably once been used for the storage of books. Its door opened inward against the wall. A molding ran about the small room; this was fitted with hooks, set at intervals of several inches.

Inside, The Shadow swung the door shut just before Perry arrived. Listening from the passage, he had heard Perry’s statement regarding a call to Jackling. Peering from his new place of concealment, The Shadow saw Perry pick up the telephone and dial a number. The young man stood waiting for a response. None came.

Perry’s back was toward The Shadow. The heir did not turn until after he had hung up the receiver, ending the useless call. At that instant, there was a sharp ring of the front doorbell. Perry stood waiting; the ring was repeated. Angry because Rowland had not responded, the young man strode out through the front door of the library.

Perry did not answer the door. Instead, he walked to the main stairway and called for Rowland. The servant did not respond; but Zane appeared at the top of the steps.

“Where’s Rowland?” demanded Perry, as the door bell rang for a third time.

“Not up here,” replied Zane. “In the kitchen, I guess. That must be Mallan.”

“I’d like to know—”

Perry stopped as footsteps paddled from the rear passage. Rowland appeared and delivered a sheepish grin as he saw Perry’s wrathful face.

“Sorry, sir,” said the servant. “I was dozing. In the kitchen—”

“Answer the door,” broke in Perry. “If it’s Mr. Mallan, usher him into the library.”

Motioning to Zane, Perry walked into the library. His cousin followed. Perry, about to speak, glanced suspiciously toward the door of the little room. He opened it, pressing the barrier flat against the wall. He saw that the room was empty.

The Shadow had departed his hiding place during Perry’s absence.

“What’s the matter?” queried Zane.

“Just wanted to make sure this room was empty,” responded Perry. “We’ve got to play our hands close. Listen. We’ll stall this dick. Find out what he knows.”

“You lead, Perry. I’ll follow.”

“You’ve got your gun?”

“Yes. Right here.”

Perry tapped his pocket; he nudged Zane to act naturally. Already, footsteps were coming through the outer hall. Evidently Rowland was bringing the visitors in by the side door of the library.

The door swung open as the heirs turned. In stepped Rowland, his face staring. The servant’s arms were half upraised. At a gruff command — given before Perry or Zane could make a move — Rowland stepped aside and backed to the wall.

Stalking rangily inward, with long arm thrust forward, came Ed Mallan.

The detective was pointing a revolver, moving it to cover both the Dolgers. Behind him, spreading out to form a row, followed the three philanthropists. Each of the trio also had a weapon.

“Stick ‘em up!” growled Mallan. “Stick ‘em up — and keep ‘em up!”

The heirs obeyed; as they did, Zane uttered a gasp. His deep breath formed a single word, addressed to his cousin:

“Look!”

PERRY stared. Like Zane he saw the gleam of gold, as conspicuous as the shine of nickel-plated revolvers. The glistening flashes came from the left hands of the men who had entered with Mallan.

The cousins were staring at the signets worn by the three philanthropists. They were in the power of the unknown enemies who held the very secret that they had gained!

“Foxy birds, eh?” quizzed Mallan, in a snarling tone. “Well — you pulled a boner this trip. I’m the guy you were waiting for: Ed Mallan. That’s me. Coming here to talk things over. Guess you thought I was a dick with a bluff.

“Well, I’ve got more than bluff. I’ve got three bozos with me who came along just to hear you little boys speak your piece. Sent the old flunky out to let me in, did you? Well, I covered him the moment I walked in. Brought my friends in after me.

“Know who they are? Well — I’ll tell you. They’re the gents who want the stuff you swiped. Come here to get it — and I’m here to see that they do. We’re here for a showdown!”

Perry shot a look toward Zane. It commanded silence. Mallan grinned as he saw the glance. The detective lowered his revolver while the philanthropists covered the heirs.

“Not going to talk, eh?” quizzed the dick. “Going to keep mum, are you, big boy?” He stared at Perry; then looked toward Zane. “What about you, Little Rollo?”

No response. The philanthropists appeared anxious, despite their stern expressions. Mallan, however, was unperturbed. He began to talk in a harsh, challenging tone.

“Listen, you mugs,” he barked, “you’re crooks! What’s more, you know it! You committed robbery. We’ve got plenty on you. But all these fellows want is what belongs to them. Savvy? Come on! Spill it! Where’s that box-load of dough?”

Perry stared defiantly, and Zane copied his cousin’s example. Mallan’s tone became a fierce snarl. The detective was breaking forth with threats.

“I could plug you rats full of lead!” he snarled. “I’d be thanked for it if I did. But I’m going to make you talk. If you don’t—”

MALLAN did not complete the statement. He heard a frightened gasp. He turned to note Rowland. The servant was quaking, ready to speak.

“Keep the wise guys covered,” said Mallan to the philanthropists. “All right, flunky. You know something, eh? Spill it.”

“The box” — Rowland’s voice came fitfully — “the box — it’s upstairs. I think. In the secret room that was used by my old master—”

“Have you seen it?” quizzed Mallan.

“No, sir,” blurted the servant, “but it must be there. Don’t— don’t shoot the young masters, sir. I can show you the room. They— they’ve been there—”

Perry hissed an interruption. Rowland quavered. Mallan laughed. Deliberately, he pocketed his revolver.

He motioned Rowland toward the door.

“Keep these mugs covered,” said Mallan to the philanthropists. He pointed to Perry and Zane. “They’ve got a hide-out. That’s why they’re playing dumb. But old faithful here knows about it. I won’t need a rod to handle him. Come on, bozo. Say — what’s your name?”

“Rowland, sir.”

“Better than Timothy” — Mallan paused to flash a gleaming grin at Lucius Zurick — “so come along, whiteface. Let’s see this secret room you’ve been talking about. If the box is there, I’ll let you help me lug it downstairs.”

Rowland preceded the detective to the door. The servant seemed completely cowed.

Perry, grim-faced, glared at the three philanthropists. He was wondering what stuff they were made of.

He saw.

Zurick’s parchmentlike features were unyielding. Laverock’s upright form bespoke determination. Kent, though slouched, was as stern as the others. Perry made no move; nor did Zane.

But the elder heir began to speak. His words became scoffing. He took advantage of the interim while all were waiting to hurl accusing words at the captors.

“Smug fellows,” he challenged. “Coming here for what you call your rights. Actually defying the law. Trying to get back cash that never belonged to you. I can tell by your faces what you are.

“Hypocrites!” Perry hurled the denunciation. “Hypocrites! No — the term is too good for you. Thieves! That’s what you are. Well, you’ve played your game. You think you’ve won it. But you’re wrong. All wrong! Listen” — Perry’s tone was a harsh growl — “and take my advice. Drop those guns that you are holding. Pay heed to what lies close behind you. Do you understand?”

The last words were slow. Zane knew their meaning, for he was staring at the door behind the three philanthropists. Zurick, Laverock and Kent — they understood also; for their guns dropped from their numbed fingers.

Seven creeping men had come in from behind. Uncouth ruffians had sneaked upon the philanthropists while the three were listening to Perry’s sarcastic accusations. Each of the three signet wearers could feel the muzzle of a revolver thrust against his back.

Hands came up as the three dropped their guns. In response to jeering orders, the philanthropists backed against the wall. Zane stared bewildered. Perry laughed coarsely as he made an ironical introduction.

“Allow me,” said Perry, indicating two of the ruffians, then bowing to the philanthropists. “I wish to introduce my friends — Hoot Shelling and Greasy Karn. They have aided me in the past; and they have come to assist me once again.