The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XVI THE ZERO HOUR

IT was a quarter of eleven when Clyde Burke stopped in front of a door on the second floor of the Weatherby Hotel. The reporter rapped for admittance. A voice called for him to enter. Clyde stepped into the living room of the only suite that the hotel boasted.

Rufus Dolthan was seated in an easy-chair. His kindly face seemed haggard; yet his restlessness was a sign that he still possessed stamina. Clyde noticed that the gray-haired man was clutching the arms of his chair, as though to suppress a maddened desire for hopeless action.

Roy Parrell looked chunky as he stood beside Dolthan’s chair. The detective’s wise face possessed a glumness. There was a third man in the room: Jay Goodling. The prosecutor’s youthful countenance seemed aged with worry.

“We are talking matters over, Mr. Burke,” informed Dolthan, in a wearied tone. “It is terrible, this suspense. As you know, Myra’s fate may be decided within a few hours. My word!” He turned appealingly to Parrell and Goodling. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“We can only wait, Mr. Dolthan,” returned Goodling. “I’m positive that this county still harbors those criminals — Kermal and his fellows — and I believe that in spite of Lanford’s letter. Remember, sir: Fred Lanford is my closest friend. This situation grieves me deeply.”

“But Kermal may murder Myra—”

“And Lanford also, if it suits him. They are both in grave danger, wherever they are.”

“And you, Parrell” — Dolthan spoke sharply to the detective — “you have failed me in this crisis. I have paid you well, because millions are at stake. Have you no suggestions whatever?”

Parrell shook his head. He, too, was becoming restless. Clyde could see desperation in the detective’s air. Idly, the reporter drew a new pipe and a package of fine smoking mixture from his pocket. He extended the package to Parrell.

“Fill up, old man,” suggested Clyde. “A good pipe smoke clears the cobwebs. That briar of yours is a sweet one.”

Parrell nodded and began to fumble in his pocket. His pipe was missing. Goodling made a remark.

“Your pipe is over in my office, Parrell,” he said. “I believe that you left it on my desk.”

“I’ll walk over with you while you get it,” put in Clyde. “How about it, Parrell?”

Clyde had filled his own pipe and was lighting it. The aroma of the tobacco brought a nod from Parrell. Clyde had chosen a mixture well filled with perique. The odor was effective.

TOGETHER, reporter and detective left the hotel and reached Goodling’s office. Parrell was silent during the walk; he stared glumly after turning on the lights and noting no pipe on the prosecutor’s desk.

“Goodling must have been seeing things,” he grumbled. “I wonder where I could have dropped that briar. Let’s see—”

“Didn’t you have it this afternoon?” queried Clyde. “When you were in the station wagon with Carter?”

“That’s right, Burke,” recalled Parrell. “The old bus is parked alongside of Mr. Dolthan’s limousine, isn’t it? Let’s take a look over there.”

They left the courthouse and approached the station wagon. Parrell produced a flashlight and looked about the front seat. He saw no sign of the pipe; but he noticed a space between the seat and the side of the car. He drew the seat forward.

“Here’s the pipe, all right,” exclaimed the detective. “But say — what’s this?”

The diary was lying below the pipe. Harry Vincent had planted them effectively. Parrell opened the book with his left hand while he held the flashlight with his right. A sudden cry came from his lips.

“This book is Myra Dolthan’s!” blurted the detective. “In the girl’s handwriting. Here, in Claig’s station wagon. She must have dropped it. Say, Burke didn’t Claig tell Carter he might have a tough time starting this old bus?”

“That’s what he said,” nodded Clyde. “I heard him.”

“But Carter had no trouble,” added Parrell. “Say, Burke — do you remember an old sedan up in Claig’s garage?”

“The one that was jacked up?”

“Yes. Did it look anything like the boat that Croy was in the night he snatched Lanford?”

“A whole lot, Parrell. But I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Claig’s sedan looked out of use. It could have been the car Croy was in though. Maybe it was the car.”

“Come on.” Parrell grabbed Clyde’s arm. “We’re hopping up to see Dolthan and the prosecutor! Pronto.”

They hurried into the hotel and took the stairs on the run. Parrell barged into Dolthan’s living room and thrust the diary into the hands of Myra’s uncle.

Excitedly, the detective told how they had made the find. He added the comments that Clyde had given concerning the old sedan in Claig’s garage.

“This is incredible!” exclaimed Goodling. “A man of Doctor Claig’s reputation would not assist criminals. I cannot believe that he aided them in their departure from the old house on Dobson’s Road.”

“He has done more than aid them,” retorted Parrell. “He is harboring them. Why do you think we haven’t been able to locate Kermal? I’ll tell you why — it’s because he’s hiding out in the one place we’ve never looked. In the upstairs part of Claig’s house!”

“But — but—”

GOODLING stopped short as he spluttered. This suggestion of Parrell’s was a powerful one. The prosecutor realized suddenly that those upper stories of Claig’s old sanitarium afforded every advantage as a refuge for Kermal and his band. Nevertheless, the prosecutor finally shook his head.

“I have too much faith in Claig,” he asserted. “He has lived hereabouts for years. Even supposing that he has listened to crooks, why should he commit the folly of using his own property as their lair?”

“He didn’t,” returned Parrell. “Not at first. Who do you suppose wised Kermal to that old house where you and Lanford first went? How did Kermal learn of it?”

“Someone hereabouts could have told him.”

“That’s just it. And who would be most likely? Doctor Claig. You’re right, prosecutor; he didn’t want to jeopardize himself by letting Kermal use his own place. He didn’t at first. He steered Kermal to the house on Dobson’s Road. But when the emergency landed, he brought the works to his own hang-out. It was the only way out in the pinch.”

“Parrell is correct,” declared Dolthan, with a dignified nod. “Men of repute will do much, prosecutor, when they see an opportunity for huge wealth. We can consider Doctor Claig more charitably than we can Taussig Kermal. Claig was tempted by a fiend’s offer. He allowed himself to become a party to crime.”

Dolthan’s heatless words were convincing. The gray-haired man showed sorrow rather than anger. A thought came to Goodling; he himself expressed the next statement in the argument against Claig’s integrity.

“Fred Lanford’s letter,” mused the prosecutor. “It seemed genuine; yet it indicated that he was trying to lead the trail away from here. Fred would not have allowed Kermal to influence him. Fred was encouraged by someone in whom he had confidence.

“Doctor Claig could have influenced Fred Lanford. What is more, Claig could have sent that letter to New York, so someone would return it here. As I review this case, I realize that Claig has shown unusual interest in it. Too much interest for one who is merely a retired physician.”

“He bluffed us yesterday,” asserted Parrell. “Up there on his porch. Acting as a blind. Offering Carter his station wagon.”

“And Myra a prisoner in his house,” groaned Dolthan. “Her day of doom approaching.”

“Craig is as crooked as Kermal,” barked Parrell. “Why try to be easy with him? He’s the fellow, right enough, who jabbed you and Lanford with the hypodermic, prosecutor. Being a doctor, he’d have had a needle with him. He’s a crook—”

“Calm yourself, Parrell.” It was Dolthan who interrupted. He had risen from his chair and was surveying the others with dignity. “Doctor Claig may not know the depths of Kermal’s schemes. We can learn the physician’s story later. Our present duty is to rescue my niece and this poor chap, Lanford.”

“Right!” agreed Goodling. “We’ll get to the bottom of this business. I’ll gather thirty men; we’ll smash into Claig’s if necessary.”

“ONE moment.” Dolthan’s raised hand stopped Goodling as the latter was about to pick up the telephone. “Tell me, prosecutor, where are these men whom you intend to summon?”

“Out guarding the roads,” returned Goodling. “I’ll have them all in here and on their way to Claig’s within two hours.”

“That will be too late.” Dolthan’s tone was solemn. “It is already eleven. At midnight, Myra becomes of age. Kermal will force her to sign away her wealth the moment that she is legally twenty-one. Her life will then be at stake.”

“That’s true,” added Parrell. “What’s more, prosecutor, Kermal will have to kill her in a pinch. He’ll bump Lanford, too, if he knows his game is up. He’ll know it, right enough, when a whole squadron comes banging in on him.”

“We must use strategy,” announced Dolthan. “Moreover, we cannot spare another precious minute. Tell me, prosecutor, have you no men available here?”

“There’s a deputy named Derry downstairs,” replied Parrell. “But I’ll need him to round up the men on the roads. We certainly should arrange to cut off any flight by Kermal.”

“Positively,” nodded Dolthan. “That move will be essential, prosecutor. But in the meantime, we must arrange some immediate action. Come, come, Parrell” — Dolthan turned to the detective — “show your ability, man. How can we surmount this emergency?”

“We’ll have to consider Doctor Claig first,” responded Parrell promptly. “He’s the blind. If we can get past him easily, we’ll be where we want. Listen, prosecutor” — he swung to Goodling — “do you remember how Claig invited us to stop in any time?”

Goodling nodded.

“I told him, too,” continued Parrell, “that we might need him as physician for Mr. Dolthan?”

Again Goodling nodded.

“That’s our bet then,” decided Parrell. “You and I can drive up to Claig’s. He’ll let us in, all right. We’ll tell him Mr. Dolthan is very ill.”

“Won’t Claig wonder?” queried Goodling. “He will want to know why we did not call him by telephone.”

“We’ll explain that, prosecutor. Tell him that Mr. Dolthan claims he doesn’t want to see a doctor. Worriment over Myra. Claig will fall for it.”

“And accompany us down here? That would give Kermal an opportunity to suspect a ruse on our part.”

“We won’t leave the place. We’ll corner Claig and cover him. Then our way will be clear. We’ll go upstairs and pounce on Kermal. He’ll think it’s Claig.”

“But there are only two of us, Parrell. I cannot get deputies on such short order.”

“I have three operatives here. Trained detectives. We’ll take them along in your car. They can follow us in.”

GOODLING’S expression showed prompt enthusiasm. He urged Parrell to the telephone. The detective began to call the rooms in which his men were staying. Goodling turned to Dolthan, who offered a further suggestion.

“Use strategy, prosecutor,” urged Dolthan. “Lives are at stake. Would that I could accompany you. Indeed, I shall follow you and Parrell; but of course, I shall remain far enough away not to excite suspicion.

“Parrell has never seen either Kermal or Myra. Of course, you have — that night you were at the old house — so that will satisfy for immediate identification. But when I see them also, there can be no doubt.”

“It’s best to have you close by, Mr. Dolthan,” assured Goodling. “After all, once we are actually upstairs in the house, there is no reason why you should not approach.”

“Souder!” called Dolthan. The long-faced man appeared from the other room. “Summon Wurling and Hazzler at once. We are going out in the limousine.”

Souder nodded and went to the telephone, which Parrell had relinquished. Clyde Burke, silent until now, found chance to speak to Jay Goodling.

“How about myself, prosecutor,” asked the reporter. “All right if I tag along in my coupe. I’ll keep far enough away from the house.”

“All right,” agreed Goodling. “What about this friend of yours, Vincent? Are you taking him with you?”

“I can. He’s asleep in his room right now.”

“Better wake him. Then he’ll be accounted for. I don’t want anyone coming up there unexpectedly to bungle our work.”

Souder had finished his call for Wurling and Hazzler. Goodling took the telephone to speak with Derry, the deputy who he had left in the lobby. Clyde hurried from the room; in the hallway he ran into two of Parrell’s husky subordinates, coming in response to the detective’s call.

Passing the fellows, Clyde dashed up the steps to the third floor. The way was clear; but time was short. The Shadow’s plan had worked; unexpected visitors would soon be at the home of Doctor Leo Claig. In the brief interval that remained, there would be important work for The Shadow’s agents to perform.