The Four Signets

CHAPTER IV. THREE OF THE FOUR

EARLY that evening, a tall, ungainly man ascended the high steps of an uptown residence. He rang the old-fashioned bell and waited until a tall, dry-faced servant answered it. The caller laughed as he entered the vestibule.

“Hello there, Timothy!” he greeted, with a poke at the servant’s liveried ribs. “How’s tricks? The boss waiting to see you?”

“Mr. Zurick is in his study, sir,” replied Timothy, with dignity. “He said that you should wait in the parlor, Mr. Mallan. You may read the evening paper during the interim. I placed it upon the parlor table.”

“Thanks, Timothy,” responded Mallan, dryly. “Here’s the hat and coat. See you later.”

With this expression, the ungainly visitor walked in to the parlor and sprawled himself in an old-fashioned chair. He picked up the newspaper. His eyes fell upon the same two paragraphs that Philip Lyken had read that afternoon.

A smile appeared upon his broad lips as Mallan read the brief comment about the Dolger estate. Then the fellow began to peruse the account of the police raid that had marked the death of Luke Zarby and his bank-robbing crew. The story seemed to please Mallan. He chuckled as he reached the end of the paragraph and read the statement that no one had escaped Joe Cardona’s raiders. The chuckle ended in a guffaw just as Timothy reappeared.

“Hello, Tim,” laughed Mallan, rising. “Boss ready?”

“Yes, sir,” stated the servant, coldly. “Mr. Zurick will see you. And my name, sir” — the servant seemed severe — “is Timothy.”

“That’s right,” chuckled Mallan, as he followed the servant, “and my name’s Edmund. But I’m not proud of it. So you’re Tim to me and I’m Ed to you. How about it?”

Timothy made no reply. He merely opened a heavy, paneled door and ushered the visitor into the study.

Ed Mallan walked into the room; Timothy closed the door and departed.

The room had a sobering effect upon Ed Mallan. It was not the somber fittings that produced the change; the occupants of the study were the ones who made the ungainly visitor stand in gawky silence.

SEATED at a long table were three men. Mallan knew the one at the head; he was Lucius Zurick. Old, with face like parchment, yet keen of eye and possessed of vigor, Zurick had always impressed Mallan.

The others — Mallan had never seen them before — were suitable companions. One was a long-faced chap with a bald head who sat bolt upright in solemn dignity. The other was weary-faced and stoop-shouldered; but his eyes, like Zurick’s, were stern and searching.

“Sit down, Mr. Mallan.” The order came in a crackly tone from Lucius Zurick. “Take the chair there at the end of the table. These gentlemen are my associates. Guy Laverock” — he indicated the long-faced man — “of whom you have heard me speak. And this gentleman” — Zurick waved a scrawny hand toward the weary-faced individual — “is Harbrook Kent, whom you have also heard me mention.”

Mallan bowed abruptly. He took the chair and sat silent. Laverock and Kent were studying him as one might inspect an object in a museum. Mallan felt nervous as he watched them. Finally, the two seemed satisfied. They turned to Lucius Zurick.

“This is an important occasion, Mallan,” stated Zurick, in abrupt fashion. “I have informed my associates of your report. I thought it best, however, that you should repeat the information. And by the way, Mallan” — there was dryness in Zurick’s crackle — “I think it would be best if you began by telling my friends a bit about yourself. Tell them about your first interview with me; the night I hired you to work for me.”

Ed Mallan shifted up in his chair. His chest swelled and a smile appeared upon his face. Mallan considered himself imposing when he adopted this attitude. Though middle-aged, with bushy brows and gray-tinged hair, he took pride is his youthful appearance. As a matter of fact, his long-jawed countenance was not unhandsome, but his sophisticated grin, with its flash of gold teeth, destroyed much of the effect that Mallan was anxious to create.

“I CAME out here three weeks ago,” began Mallan, in a bluff, but methodical tone. “Response to a special inquiry from Mr. Zurick here. First question he asked me what cases I handed. I told him anything and everything.

“What I told Mr. Zurick then goes for you other gentlemen now. I said: ‘I’m Ed Mallan. D’you know what that means?’ Mr. Zurick says: ‘I’d like to know.’ So I told him. I said: ‘Ed Mallan ain’t no cheap dick. When you’re hiring him, you’re getting the equal of the best.’”

Mallan paused emphatically. His gold teeth sparkled. They showed well in this light. Mallan knew it, because he caught similar flashes from the hands of the three men whom he faced.

Zurick, Laverock, Kent — all were wearing heavy gold signet rings that threw a glitter every time a hand turned beneath the light.

“I leave it to you,” resumed Mallan, noting the signets only in terms of his own gold teeth. “Was that a brag? I’ll say is wasn’t! I don’t claim to be the best private detective that any one could hire. All I say is, I’m equal to the best. The other guy can say the same. If he can prove it, I’ll grant it.”

“Very well, Mallan,” interposed Zurick. “Just proceed with a brief resume of some of your past activities.”

“You want to hear ‘em again?” Mallan seemed pleased. “Well, I ain’t mentioning no names. I’m just telling what I told Mr. Zurick. I got one motto. That’s told in a single word: Results.

“If I got to get something, I get it! One case I told Mr. Zurick about. Fellow been getting blackmail threats from a good-for-nothing friend of his. But this blackmailer wouldn’t send no letters, see? What’s more, he’d never talk without making sure there was nobody around.

“So we invited him up one night. I was there. My client raised a howl; says he’s being blackmailed and calls the police. They show up. The blackmailer laughs; says we’ve got nothing on him. I says to search him. They do and they find a gat. That meant the cooler for the wise guy.

“Well, I’ll make the story short. The guy didn’t make no trouble after that. He’s still wondering how he came to have the gun. Never wised up that I planted it on him in the elevator.

“Take out-and-out crooks. I know lots of them. If I’ve got a job that they can do, I hand it out to them. Plenty of mugs would go to jail if I said the word; but I don’t squawk. They’ve got their business; I’ve get mine. Suppose I’ve got to get evidence out of some office. D’you think I’d crawl in there myself? No. But there’s plenty of second-story men ready to take the job. Fifty bucks and up.

“And about frame-ups. Some guys are clumsy. I ain’t. My frame-ups count. Take in hotels, for instance. To begin with, the ordinary hotel dick is a guy—”

“That is sufficient, Mallan,” interrupted Zurick. “I merely wanted my associates to gain a first-hand acquaintance with your method. Are you satisfied, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” replied Laverock, in a rumbling tone. “Mr. Mallan appears to be a trifle unethical, but—”

“He follows one admirable formula,” chimed in Kent, with a wheezy drawl. “Live and let live — so far as his acquaintances are concerned.”

“Let us say,” crackled Zurick, “that he believes that the end justifies the means.”

ED MALLAN watched the signet rings glimmer. He felt pleased. He took these dry remarks as compliments. Hunched back in his chair, he heard Zurick ask for his report. Mallan’s grin broadened.

“Mr. Zurick here,” stated the private detective, “told me to cover Philip Lyken, the jeweler. I’ve been doing it. He said in particular to watch out for any visit by a man named Dolger. Well, I hit double luck to-day.

“Two Dolgers came to see Lyken. One was Perry Dolger; the other was Zane Dolger. The guys looked phony from the time they showed up. So I slid in to look at some jewelry and heard them tell their names to the clerk.

“He sent them up to see Lyken. They were there about fifteen minutes. Then they came down. Went away. My opinion is this. Whatever they had to say to Lyken, it wasn’t much. Couldn’t have been, because they weren’t there long. But maybe they’ll be back.”

The faces of the three listeners had sobered. They began to buzz among themselves. Zurick was questioning the others; they were nodding approval as he made suggestions that Mallan could not hear.

The detective sat back and watched the gold rings glimmer. At last, Zurick spoke.

“Mallan,” he said, “we three men are philanthropists. We have devoted our lives to aiding those who are in want. Our motives are of the highest. The very highest. There is one other man who was formerly associated with us. He, too, is a philanthropist. His name is Elwood Phraytag.”

“I’ve heard of him,” nodded Mallan. “Blind fellow, ain’t he? Gave some dough to an institute. Wanted to help others like himself.”

“That is correct,” stated Zurick. “However, Phraytag has now retired from active pursuits. He no longer attends the meeting of our group. He is one of us; but” — Zurick pondered, then added — “we may say that his period of usefulness is ended.”

“I get you,” returned Mallan.

“Some time ago,” resumed Zurick, “we acquired certain funds that once belonged to Tobias Dolger. Those funds must be protected. We do not care to have any one know of them, particularly the heirs to the estate.”

“That’s simple enough,” agreed Mallan. “There ain’t much dough for those Dolger boys, is there?”

“No,” stated Zurick, coldly, “but that is our concern, not yours. The point, Mallan, is that we do not care to have any one trace the funds in question. We three — Laverock, Kent and myself — can not be directly traced. But there is one man whose part in the acquisition of the funds might be learned.”

“Who’s that? Phraytag?”

“Yes. He conducted the actual negotiations. What is more, he committed an indiscretion. He gave a certain clue to the jeweler, Philip Lyken. Hence Phraytag might be traced through Lyken.”

“And you fellows through Phraytag.”

“Yes. Therefore” — Zurick wagged a finger — “we must see to it that the Dolgers learn nothing from Lyken. Your report, Mallan, indicates that they are on the trail but that they have not yet learned what they want to know. We are leaving it to you to see that they get no further.”

MALLAN pondered. He scratched his head as he began to picture the jewelry store. He had seen Lyken; he had learned much about the man and his shop. He was considering just what methods the three philanthropists would accept.

“There are various measures,” stated Zurick, in his harsh crackle, “that might be used to deal with Lyken. One is bribery. That has already been used, in a sense, to keep him silent.

“The second is to approach him; either through offers of cash or through the direct threat to make him yield his secret. You could do that, Mallan. If Lyken would refuse to talk to you, even under pressure, it would stand that he would not talk to the Dolgers.

“Should that test be undesirable, or should it fail, there is a third alternative. We could adopt some measure that would prevent Lyken from again meeting the Dolgers. That, in the final analysis, would be the most effective. However, it presents certain problems. My experience, nevertheless” — Zurick’s tone was withering — “has taught me that the most difficult problems can invariably be solved.”

Guy Laverock arose. The others became silent. Laverock nodded to Kent, who also prepared for his departure. As spokesman for the two, Laverock turned to Zurick.

“Suppose, Lucius,” rumbled Laverock, “that we leave you with Mallan. Alone, the two of you can certainly strike upon the proper method to deal with Lyken.”

“We can rely upon your discretion, Lucius,” wheezed Kent, “and Mallan, by his past history, certainly appears to be a man well-fitted to accomplish whatever is required of him.”

“Spare no expense,” added Laverock, as he reached the door and opened it.

“Much is at stake,” reminded Kent.

The two departed, closing the door behind them. Timothy appeared and helped the two philanthropists into their hats and coats. He showed them to the door; then went into the parlor and sat sedately in a chair to await a call from his master.

TWENTY minutes later, Timothy heard the study door open. He arose and hurried in that direction.

Lucius Zurick had finished his conference with Ed Mallan. He was making a final statement to the detective.

“It is only half past eight,” said Zurick. “It is early, Mallan. I advise you to act tonight.”

“Sure thing!” grinned Mallan.

Zurick smiled dryly as he watched Timothy show the detective to the door. When the pair reached the vestibule, the philanthropist went back into his study. Hence he did not see the friendly punch that Mallan gave the servant on departing.

“Good night, Tim,” chuckled the detective. “See you later, old socks.”

There was reason for Mallan’s jocularity. The detective was still grinning when he hailed a cab. Mallan was ready for the task that lay before him; and he had a right to be. For his left hand, thrust deep in the pocket of his coat, was crinkling a thick wad of bank notes. Cash that he had received from Lucius Zurick.