The Garaucan Swindle

CHAPTER XIII. BARTH GETS ADVICE

IT was late the same evening when Commissioner Wainwright Barth appeared at his favorite habitat, the exclusive Cobalt Club. With head thrust forward from his gawky shoulders, he stalked through lobby and lounge, nodding to members who greeted him.

Peering eaglelike through his pince-nez spectacles, Barth was the picture of egotism. In fact, since his appointment to the post of police commissioner, Barth had become — in the opinion of Cobalt Club members — the most conceited person in that highbrow meeting place.

Wainwright Barth was something of a mystery. He had always possessed considerable wealth. This had been attributed to a legacy. He had gone in for banking, with some success; he had been connected with various enterprises. Always, he had played the role of arbiter. He had become a force in politics, championing reform.

Keen in his attacks on crime, Barth had long fancied himself as the logical candidate for police commissioner. Time and again, he had striven to gain that post. The appointment of Ralph Weston had quieted his ambition.

A new administration had been elected. Barth had pushed himself for the coveted post. It had been refused, for Weston was the type of official who could please all factions. Then had come Weston’s acceptance of the offer from Garauca. Other aspirants for the commissionership had dropped from the picture. Only Wainwright Barth remained. He had been appointed.

Even that had been a lucky break. Barth knew the new mayor and had helped in his election. Barth knew Weston and had kept the old commissioner’s friendship, for Weston had never taken Barth seriously. A commissioner had been needed quickly; the post was only a temporary one until Weston returned. Thus Wainwright Barth, man of many callings, self-styled criminologist, egotist supreme, had become police commissioner of New York.

Barth was too wise to play hob with existing departments. He liked authority; he was a keen worker. He knew that his former banking connections had been a point in his favor, because of the unfinished investigators that Weston had begun. To-night, he felt elated to think that the first big crime since his appointment had been a bank robbery. For Wainwright Barth had the idea that he could bring such a case to a satisfactory conclusion.

Barth was looking for some one as he strolled about the club. He wandered down into the grill room and stood there, peering from table to table. He heard a quiet voice beside him. He turned to face Lamont Cranston.

“Ah!” Barth’s expression showed satisfaction. “I was looking for you, Cranston. Come in. Sit down. Let’s have a bite to eat.”

“Very well.”

BARTH was elated as he took a chair at an isolated table. He knew that Lamont Cranston was a friend of Ralph Weston. He wanted to impress Cranston. He peered through his pince-nez at the quiet-faced personage seated opposite him and smiled wisely.

“Read this,” declared Barth, triumphantly, as he passed some typewritten sheets to Cranston. “Tell me what you think of it, after we have ordered something to eat.”

“What is it?” came the question.

“A report on the robbery of the Founders Trust Company,” stated Barth. “A complete, well-rounded theory. It does not hold a flaw.”

The waiter brought the order while Cranston was going through the report. This had been prepared by Joe Cardona. The detective had done a complete job of it. Moreover, he had added statements regarding Dobey Blitz.

“The last part is purely speculation,” remarked Barth, as he took the sheets from Cranston. “Cardona seems to think that a gun-fray at Blitz’s indicates that some one was on the man’s trail. Therefore, he deduces that the same trailer followed Blitz to the subway.

“That portion of the report is doubtful. But the first part, based upon actual investigation at the scene of crime, and the statements made by Tobias Hildreth — those gave us a theory that is more than a theory. It is what I term a reconstruction.

“We were aided by suggestions from Gorton Jodelle. He is a private investigator, hired by Hildreth and working, in a sense, for the insurance company that stood the bank’s loss. Well, Cranston, what do you think of it? Could Weston have done better?”

“I don’t know,” was Cranston’s quiet rejoinder. “Weston had a habit of overlooking facts.”

“You don’t infer—”

“That you have overlooked some? Yes. I do.”

“What, for instance?”

“Let us consider facts beginning with the robbery,” suggested Cranston. “First, the matter of Lucas, the patrolman. What was he doing off his beat?”

“Following the robbers,” replied Barth, promptly.

“Ah, yes,” mused Cranston, “I suppose they were holding a torchlight procession, with placards and banners stating that they intended to rob the Founders Trust Company.”

“Don’t banter,” put in the police commissioner. “This is a serious matter, Cranston.”

“Of course,” agreed the millionaire. “Too serious to begin with a false assumption. Inasmuch as the thrust on the bank was made from the new subway, we can regard that as their starting point of operations, can we not?”

“Admitted.”

“Very well. Then there was no reason why they should have acted suspiciously until after they reached the subway entrance. That is three blocks off the beat patrolled by Lucas. He would not have seen them going in the subway entrance.”

CRANSTON was drawing diagrams upon a sheet of paper. The dead patrolman’s beat was mentioned in the report. Cranston made a note of his statement; Barth, despite himself, was forced to agree.

“Let us pass Lucas,” suggested Cranston. “Next we have the matter of Rowley. The report says that the burglars went out of their way to murder him. He was upstairs. They were after the lower vault. Why did they bother to go up and get him?”

“He might have heard them downstairs.”

“Yes. He could have come down; then they would logically have killed him. Still, he might have turned in an alarm if he had heard a noise. So it was good procedure to go up and get him. But in so doing, the burglars must surely have seen the upper vault. Why did they ignore it?”

“The report tells you why,” asserted Barth, triumphantly. “They probably thought that they had all the real swag after they had rifled the lower vault.”

“Yes? Well, well. These burglars were quite stupid for clever men. They should have known — almost to a penny — the exact amounts in each vault.”

“How so?”

“Because they had the combination to the lower vault. When they demanded it from Zellwood, they should have gained the combination of the upper vault also. They should certainly have learned from him which vault contained the greater amount of funds.”

“Perhaps Zellwood stalled them.”

“Perhaps. We can say more than ‘perhaps.’ He must have told them that all the funds were in the lower vault and given them that combination only. Is that your idea?”

“It seems the only logical answer.”

“Then why,” questioned Cranston, “did Zellwood fail to make a complete job of it? He knew that a robbery was coming. If he wanted to serve the crooks, he would have told them all. If he wanted to serve the bank, he could have transferred most of the funds from the lower vault into the upper.”

“He was dealing with clever men,” insisted Barth. “He feared them. If they had found but little in the lower vault, they would have suspected him of double-crossing them. They murdered him anyway, Cranston.”

“So they did. Why do you think they killed him?”

“To prevent him from double-crossing them; also so that he could not demand his share of the swag after he had reached a place of safety.”

“They feared a double-cross. Good. Since you have given credit for that, we can go back to the beginning of the scheme. There was a brain behind that robbery. We agree on that point?”

“Absolutely.”

“Very well. The brain forced Zellwood to give the combination of the vaults. I say ‘vaults,’ because this master mind would not have been satisfied with one. Yet only the lower vault was opened. Therefore, the robbers must have been satisfied with the swag that it contained.”

“Apparently.”

“So Zellwood evidently managed to put across one lie. He must have sold the brain the idea that the real swag lay in the lower vault; and he must have given an idea of the amount. When the vault opened so easily; when the robbers found the swag as stated, they took it for granted that Zellwood had given exact information. They looked no further.”

“That sounds logical, Cranston.”

“It is entirely illogical. The brain would certainly have ordered an opening of the upper vault, just to make sure.”

“So he would.”

“Then why did the robbers neglect the upper vault?”

“Perhaps Zellwood gave them the wrong combination, hoping to save the funds upstairs!”

“Then why did he not give them the wrong combination to the lower vault as well?”

BARTH looked bewildered. Cranston was smiling. He had talked the police commissioner into a confused circle. Barth did not know what to think of the Zellwood angle.

“The brain must have learned that Zellwood double-crossed him,” decided Barth. “That was why he ordered Zellwood’s murder.”

“The report,” reminded Cranston, “says that Zellwood must have been murdered before the train reached Washington. It speaks of two suspicious characters who stepped off at Baltimore. That was before the time of the bank robbery.”

“Well?”

“The brain could not have known that Zellwood double-crossed him. Not at the time when Zellwood was killed. Any double-cross would have shown up at the time of the robbery.”

Again, Barth sat speechless. He thought of the theory hatched by the combined efforts of Joe Cardona and Gorton Jodelle. Whenever he tried to put a mental plug in one loophole, another opening appeared.

“We agree upon the existence of a brain,” remarked Cranston, smoothly. “Let us endow that brain with real criminal purpose. Let us suppose — as the report suggests — that he gained information from Zellwood, on the afternoon of the cashier’s departure.

“Everything depended upon Zellwood’s reliability. Unless the cashier had given precise information; unless he had fixed the time lock on the vault, the robbery could not have been completed.

“Obviously, the brain would want to dispose of Zellwood; but not until the man’s usefulness was ended.

Zellwood was useful up until the completion of the robbery. If Zellwood had double-crossed the brain, the only step would be to grab him; to make him tell the truth that he had failed to give. Am I clear?”

“Positively. You are talking facts this time, Cranston. I follow you.”

“So the brain” — Cranston paused as though picturing another paradox — “proceeded to dispose of a man who was still vital to his scheme. He had Zellwood killed before the robbery. He threw away all chance of making Zellwood talk again if there was a hitch in opening the bank vault.”

Sarcasm had dominated Cranston’s tone. Barth sat sober. He picked up the report sheet and clutched it as a drowning man might seize a wisp of hay.

“Remember these questions,” reminded Cranston. “First: what brought Lucas into the case? Second: why did the burglars slay Rowley, remain long enough to extract the bullet from his body, yet fail to tackle the upstairs vault? Third: why was Zellwood killed before his information had been put to the test?”

“Zellwood had to be put out of the way,” protested Barth, weakly. “He was dangerous.”

“Two men were on his trail,” returned Cranston. “They had until morning to kill him. They could have received word further along the line.”

Barth nodded. He reached out to receive the sheet of paper that Cranston handed him. It held the three questions, along with the diagram that showed the neighborhood of the rifled bank.

“What is your theory?” questioned the commissioner, narrowly. “What have you to offer?”

“Nothing,” smiled Cranston. “You are police commissioner, not I. You merely asked me what I thought of the report. I have told you. It has but one point of merit.”

“Ah! You grant that much. Where does the merit lie?”

“At the very end. The part that you were willing to reject. Cardona’s theory that some one might have been on the trail of Dobey Blitz; and that Dobey, therefore, might have led the robbers.”

“Absurd!” ejaculated Barth. “There is no proof of any connection.”

“None except the nature of the battles. Both were mysterious. They showed the influence of an unseen fighter.”

“Who, for instance?”

“The Shadow.”

WAINWRIGHT BARTH sprang to his feet. His face was purple as he yanked away his spectacles and waved them at the man before him.

“Poppycock!” exclaimed the new commissioner. “Do you expect me to believe this fol-de-rol that I have heard about a terror of the underworld? A being like The Shadow could not exist. The Shadow is a myth.”

“Calm yourself, commissioner,” urged Cranston, quietly. He, too, had arisen. “The club rules prohibit all unnecessary noises. You are disturbing some of the ancient fossils who have come to the grill room for their crackers and milk.”

Barth looked about. Three elderly gentlemen were looking up from tables, annoyed expressions on their faces. Without a word, Barth took Cranston’s slip of paper and tore it into fragments. He let the pieces flurry to the floor.

“Balderdash!” he growled. “That is what I think of your absurd ideas, Cranston. You talk in circles and you prove your incompetence by prating of an impossibility — The Shadow. I prefer to stand by this” — he waved the folded report in front of Cranston’s nose — “for these theories were propounded by men of sound experience; not by a dabbler in crime detection, as you appear to be.”

The commissioner stalked from the grill room. Lamont Cranston seated himself and lighted a cigarette.

His lips wore a thin smile as they puffed wreaths of smoke. Though he wore the visage of Lamont Cranston, this calm-faced personage was thinking with the brain of The Shadow.

The Shadow had made his thrusts against crime. He had begun a new campaign. He had gained facts and statements that he wanted. For the report that Barth had shown to Cranston was filled with useful information, such as the finding of the bodies; the news concerning Zellwood’s death; the statements made by Hildreth about the stolen funds.

The Shadow was sifting all that he had read. He was separating facts from theories. He was testing facts themselves, to decide which one might be fraudulent. In his attempt — as Cranston — to stimulate Barth’s mind, The Shadow had actually worked in his own behalf.

Questions must be answered. Seeming paradoxes must be explained. Cross-purposes needed new examination. The Shadow was summing up these problems. His mind was traveling beyond the steps that Joe Cardona and Gorton Jodelle had suggested.

The Shadow was looking for the brain. He was seeking to catch the train of thought that had caused some master mind to move into the field of crime. A soft laugh came from thin lips as Lamont Cranston was seen to stroll from the grill room of the Cobalt Club.