The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XVIII COUNSEL FOR DEFENSE

UPSTAIRS in the luxurious room, Taussig Kermal was seated at his desk, totally unaware of the coup that had been made downstairs. The lawyer had faith in Doctor Claig’s ability. The arrival of late callers had not perturbed him.

Moreover, Kermal had a reason for covering the slight concern that he did feel. Fred Lanford was present in the room, watching him from a chair. Croy was present also; the big servant had brought Lanford here only a few minutes before.

“Miss Dolthan will soon be with us, Lanford,” declared Kermal. He looked up from the desk, where his hand was resting upon a written document. “I just sent Daggart to summon her. There are matters which I should like you to hear when they are discussed.”

“Concerning her estate?” inquired Fred.

“Yes,” replied Kermal. “This document on my desk is a will. It stipulates that her entire wealth is to go to certain charities. I want her to read it before twelve o’clock; you will have opportunity to do the same. Then you can sign as a witness when she affixes her signature.”

Kermal looked toward the door to the hallway on the left. Daggart had not reappeared; Kermal seemed perplexed. He turned his shaggy head and delivered a command to Croy.

“Possibly Daggart misunderstood my order,” said the lawyer. “Go and summon Miss Dolthan, Croy. Then hunt up Daggart. He should be here also.”

The ugly-faced servant nodded and made his departure. This time Kermal showed anger as he glared toward the door on the right.

“What is keeping Claig?” he questioned. “He should certainly not be dawdling at this late hour. If he has patients, why does he not hurry them from his office?”

“They might become suspicious,” replied Lanford.

“What does it matter?” demanded Kermal. “In twenty minutes we shall be ready to call your friend Goodling and invite him here in person. Claig knows that as well as I.”

“Maybe he has an emergency case to hold him up.”

“Never mind, Lanford. Here is Claig now.”

The door was opening as Kermal spoke. Claig’s figure came into view; the doctor stared, pale faced, then stumbled into the room, impelled by a thrust. As Kermal came to his feet, Goodling bounded through the doorway. With leveled gun, the prosecutor covered the lawyer.

FOR a moment, Kermal appeared ready to spring forward in resistance; then Parrell and the detectives bobbed into view. Revolvers glimmered; Kermal sank back in his chair, glowering. Fred Lanford sprang to his feet, to give greeting to his friend.

“Fred!” cried Goodling, with enthusiasm. “You’re safe. Tell me — what about the girl — is she all right?”

“Myra Dolthan?” returned Lanford. “Certainly, Jay. How did you happen to get up here? Mr. Kermal wasn’t going to call you until after midnight.”

Goodling eyed Lanford in perplexity. Fred grinned as he thumped the prosecutor on the shoulder.

“It’s all jake, Jay,” assured Lanford. “You got my letter, didn’t you?”

“Certainly,” retorted Goodling. “It said you were in New York. Instead, you’re here. That sounds bad for a start.”

“Not when you know the facts,” laughed Lanford. “Miss Dolthan is not a prisoner. She is staying here of her own volition. I have talked with her. That dead man, Blissop, was not murdered. He tried to kill Daggart. Croy had to shoot him.”

“What about Yager?”

“Yager? Who is he?”

“A squatter living out on Dobson’s Road. Shot dead in my office, the same night that you were abducted.”

LANFORD stared. Parrell pressed forward and delivered a contemptuous laugh. He stared at Kermal; then at Claig, who was backed in a corner near the desk.

“Bluffed Lanford did you?” quizzed the detective. “I thought maybe that would be your game. But you didn’t have nerve enough to let him know you’d rubbed out Yager.”

“I had nothing to do with Yager’s death,” retorted Kermal, in a harsh tone. “It was unnecessary to mention it to Lanford. It would have confused him.”

“Have your men cover these doors,” said Goodling, to Parrell. “I’m going to have this out with Kermal. Those two rogues, Daggart and Croy, are somewhere about. We must be ready for them.”

With that, the prosecutor swung toward the desk. In challenging tones he delivered an ultimatum to the shaggy-headed man who stood beyond.

“Your assassins slew Yager,” accused Goodling. “You and your accomplices are guilty of two murders, Kermal. We have come to remove Myra Dolthan from your custody. Also to arrest your confederates. Tell me where they are.”

“Speak up, Claig,” rasped Kermal, turning to the lawyer. “This is your house. These persons have entered without warrant. Order them to leave. Prosecutor or no prosecutor, Goodling has no right here.”

“I am investigating the deaths of Blissop and Yager,” stormed Goodling. “I am here also to find Myra Dolthan. Unless—”

He paused as he saw the paper on the desk. Snatching it up, Goodling began to read the lines that Kermal had written. The lawyer chuckled.

“That,” he explained, “is the will that Myra Dolthan will sign at midnight. As you see, Goodling, it leaves all of her property to recognized charities. It stands as proof of my sincerity. I am the girl’s legal guardian and will be” — he chuckled as he glanced at a clock on the desk — “for fifteen minutes more. I refuse to have you interview her until after midnight. She will be here at any moment” — Kermal paused to glance toward the door — “and I shall advise her both as guardian and counsel.”

GOODLING looked a trifle puzzled as he dropped the will back on the desk. He stared at Kermal; then swung to Lanford. That young man nodded.

“It’s on the level, Jay,” Lanford told Goodling. “Give Kermal a chance to explain. Doctor Claig will back up his statements. Kermal is working to protect Myra Dolthan. Her real enemy is her uncle, Rufus Dolthan—”

Roy Parrell leaped forward in angry interruption. In maddened loyalty to his employer, the private dick thrust his stubby revolver toward Lanford.

The gesture brought a sharp bark of challenge from Goodling. Apologetically, Parrell stepped back and lowered his revolver. Taussig Kermal was prompt to make the most of the detective’s action.

“See that?” demanded the lawyer. “Parrell knows the truth. That’s why he made his slip. Use your brains, Goodling. Tell those fellows to put up their guns; then I’ll tell you something.”

The lawyer was leaning with both palms on the table; his position rendered him helpless. Goodling glared at Parrell and motioned for the dicks to put away their guns. The detective, anxious to hold the prosecutor’s favor, nodded to his men. Revolvers went into pockets.

“You have asked me about Yager’s death, Goodling,” announced Kermal, in his deep tone. “I swear that I had nothing to do with it. I ask you to hear my defense; I can promise you it will be brief. I admit that Blissop was slain by Croy, in the house on Dobson’s Road. Blissop, however, tried to kill Daggart; the latter’s wound is proof of that fact.”

“To which I can testify,” put in Doctor Claig. “Kermal is right, Goodling.”

“I consider you a murderer.” Goodling spoke steadily as he faced Kermal. The prosecutor was holding his .38 in readiness. “Nevertheless, I shall accept the supposition that Blissop’s death was justifiable. But Yager’s death was murder—”

“One moment,” interposed Kermal. “Follow the story from the time of Blissop’s death. Shortly after that, Goodling, you and Lanford came to my house. The two of you put up a fight. We overpowered you. Had I been a murderer, I would have slain you then.”

“You feared to kill us,” retorted Goodling. “We were well known in Sheffield.”

“So was Yager,” reminded Kermal, with a nod of his shaggy head. “Your logic does not hold. But here is the main point, Goodling. You and Lanford had seen Blissop’s body; there was every reason why you could make trouble for us. We had a chance to dispose of both of you by the simple expedient of coasting your coupe into the swollen creek beside the broken bridge. Yet we spared your lives.”

KERMAL had delivered a strong argument; it was one that coincided with the facts that The Shadow alone had considered, of all those who had investigated this case. An exclamation of agreement came from Lanford.

“That’s straight, Jay,” argued the prosecutor’s friend. “Kermal’s no murderer. If he was, he’d have gotten rid of us.”

“Your own friend understands, Goodling,” asserted Kermal. “Moreover, when he encountered my servant Croy, a few nights ago, Croy made no effort to injure him. Croy brought Lanford here a prisoner; that is true. After that, however, I offered Lanford freedom. He preferred to stay here.”

“Is that right, Fred?” questioned Goodling.

“Absolutely,” returned Lanford.

“But Yager was murdered,” asserted the prosecutor, swinging back to Kermal. “And if you ordered his death, you—”

“I would have been a fool,” interposed Kermal, with a convincing nod. “I had an explanation for Blissop’s death. I had proof that I meant you and Lanford no ill. Lanford himself was here with us, ready to favor our cause. My hands were clean.”

“Then who—”

“Who murdered Yager? The facts should be obvious to anyone who has heard me speak. Thugs murdered Yager; they fled afterward. But they acted at the order of those who were seeking to defeat me in my protection of Myra Dolthan. They were ordered to kill Yager because he had talked with Blissop.”

“Talked with Blissop?”

“Yes. Because Blissop had turned traitor against me. He knew whom I feared. He must have told Yager the facts. Had Yager talked, the real crooks would have been exposed. One name would have been revealed in its true light — the name of the man who seeks the life of Myra Dolthan — the name of the girl’s own uncle, Rufus Dolthan!”

GOODLING stood transfixed. Roy Parrell was staring straight at the prosecutor, too tense to make a move while Goodling held that ready gun. Taussig Kermal clenched a massive fist and drove it fiercely against the surface of the desk.

“Rufus Dolthan!” he denounced. “But his crooked game is at its end. He came here hoping that the law would find his niece, so he could see that she was slain before she came of age. A dozen minutes more; his opportunity will be ended.

“Fool that he is! Instead of coming here himself, he sent an underling, Roy Parrell.” Kermal turned and pointed squarely at the detective. “Roy Parrell, head of a fake investigation agency, a poor tool in the hands of a supercrook. Keep him covered, Goodling; he put his gun away too soon.

“Parrell is yellow. He won’t call for help from those fake dicks of his. He’s afraid that you will shoot him if he does. Hold them where they stand, Goodling. Call Croy and Daggart, Lanford. Bring Myra Dolthan here. It is almost midnight.”

Lanford started toward the door at the left. Croy had left it ajar. But before he had taken four steps, Lanford halted. Like the others, Goodling included, he whirled about to face the door at the right of the room.

A fiendish chuckle had issued from that half-opened barrier. Into the room was stepping a gray-haired man, his face no longer one of dignity.

Rufus Dolthan, revolver in hand, was covering Jay Goodling. Behind the leering fiend were others: Souder, Wurling and Hazzler; three servants as venomous as their master, all with guns.

As counsel in his own defense, Taussig Kermal had won his argument with the county prosecutor. But Jay Goodling could no longer act in Kermal’s behalf. Rufus Dolthan and his servants had stepped in to gain the control that Roy Parrell and his aids had lost.