The House That Vanished

CHAPTER VIII THE LAW PREPARES

THE big clock in the Sheffield courthouse was striking ten when three cars rolled up in front of the gloomy, old-fashioned building. Jay Goodling was returning with his squad from the house on Dobson’s Road.

A lone deputy came forward from the courthouse steps. He started to speak to the prosecutor. Goodling waved him aside in order to superintend the unloading of the steamer trunk from one of the cars. The deputy managed, however, to get a statement off his chest.

“It’s important, prosecutor,” he insisted. “It’s about your friend Lanford—”

“Where is Lanford?” questioned Goodling, suddenly turning about. “I want to see him. Is he here yet?”

“No,” returned the deputy. “He’s missing. Don’t know where he is. This reporter fellow is in your office.”

“Burke?”

“Yeah. Waiting to see you, prosecutor.”

Goodling bounded up the steps. Roy Parrell followed, and Harry Vincent did the same. Two deputies were hoisting the trunk; they decided to carry it to the prosecutor’s office.

When Harry and Parrell reached the rear office, they found Goodling already there. The prosecutor was staring at Clyde Burke, who was resting wearily in a chair beside the desk. Doctor Claig was standing beside the reporter.

“Where’s Lanford?” Goodling was demanding. “What’s happened to him, Burke? What’s happened to you?”

Clyde’s clothes showed that he had been in a scuffle. The reporter’s sleeves were ripped; his suit was mud-stained. His face showed bruises.

“Lanford has been abducted,” interposed Claig, quietly, before Clyde could explain. “He and Burke had a battle with some fellow whom they met outside of town. Lanford was carried off.”

“By whom?” questioned Goodling, savagely.

“By Croy,” replied Clyde. “The big fellow that you and Lanford saw at the missing house.”

“Let me have the details, Burke.”

CLYDE gave them. He told of the fight; his subsequent fall from Croy’s sedan. He stated that he had walked into town; that he had arrived at half past nine to find the prosecutor absent.

“Half past nine?” questioned Goodling. “That was half an hour ago. Why wasn’t I informed sooner?”

“You were up at Yager’s,” said Claig. “There was no way to reach you, prosecutor. I advised Burke to rest here until you returned.”

“And you started no search for Lanford?”

“There was no use. You had taken all your men except one; and I supposed that you wanted him to stay here.”

“You seem to have an exaggerated idea of your authority, doctor.”

Claig smiled at Goodling’s outburst. With eyes gleaming shrewdly, the physician replied to the prosecutor’s harsh statement.

“On the contrary, Goodling,” declared Claig, “I did not usurp any privileges. I am merely a physician; not an officer of the law. The only advice that I could give was for Burke to rest until you returned. It was beyond my province to order a hunt for Lanford.”

Goodling could think of no retort. He was angry; but realized that Claig’s mild reproval allowed no criticism. Turning about, Goodling addressed the two deputies who had brought in the trunk.

“Everyone out to hunt for Lanford,” snapped the prosecutor. “Start from the traffic light on Elm Street. Follow out to the old Northwest Road. Look for a suspicious sedan; hunt a big man with a scarred face. By the way, where are the reporters?”

“Coming in,” replied a deputy. “They’re in the last car. Take ‘em along, shall we?”

“Yes,” decided Goodling. “Burke and Vincent both represent the press. They’re enough to be here.”

Momentary silence followed the departure of the deputies. A train was chugging from somewhere beyond the courthouse; its clanging bell told that it was pulling out of town. Goodling spied the trunk. He opened it and began to examine the papers in the tray.

“Look at this,” he said suddenly. He had found the envelope. “Addressed to Myra Dolthan, in Paris. This is her trunk, all right.”

“I knew that from the initials,” returned Parrell, indicating the end of the trunk. “The L stands for Lucille — the girl’s middle name.”

There were footsteps in the hall. Goodling looked up to see a tall, dignified man, whose thin gray hair topped a straight forehead. The arrival’s face was a kindly one; yet trouble showed upon its drooping lips.

Behind the newcomer were two others. One was a solemn, long-faced individual of slight build; the other was a cabby from the station. The cabby was burdened with two heavy suitcases.

“Rufus Dolthan!” exclaimed Parrell, springing forward to greet the gray-haired man. “I am sorry, sir. I should have met you at the station. But there has been trouble here.”

DOLTHAN’S kindly eyes had narrowed as they spied the trunk. The gray-haired man noticed the foreign papers in the opened tray.

“Myra’s?” he questioned, in a worried tone. “You have traced her, Parrell?”

“Yes,” nodded the private detective. “This is Mr. Goodling, sir. He can explain better than I.”

Rufus Dolthan bowed. He turned to the long-faced man behind him and gave an order.

“Pay the cabby, Souder,” said Dolthan. “Have him take our luggage to the hotel. After that, you may join me here.”

Souder nodded and went out with the cabby. Dolthan sat down in a chair. Goodling took his seat behind the desk; then introduced Claig, Harry and Clyde.

“Matters are still unsettled,” explained Goodling, to Dolthan. “Nevertheless, I was about to summarize what we have learned. Therefore, Mr. Dolthan, your arrival enables you to hear of certain unfortunate developments.”

“Concerning my niece?” questioned Dolthan, anxiously.

“Only indirectly,” replied Goodling. “First of all, Mr. Dolthan, we had evidence of strangers in this vicinity. Two nights ago, a man named Lanford and myself entered an unknown house and there met a man named Kermal.”

“Taussig Kermal?”

“Yes. He could hardly have been any other person. We also met a young woman who answers the description of your niece, Myra. She warned us to leave.”

“She seemed well?”

“Yes. Her concern was for us; not for herself.”

“Of course. Of course. Kermal would be according her the best possible treatment. The scoundrel will have to maintain her confidence until after she is of age.”

“SO I understand from Parrell. But to resume, Mr. Dolthan, we had not, until tonight, gained any trace of the house or its occupants. Then events commenced.

“First, regarding Lanford. He was driving into town with Burke” — Goodling indicated the reporter — “and they encountered a man in a sedan. Lanford recognized the fellow as Croy, a servant of Taussig Kermal.

“Croy was a powerful fighter, as I can testify. He carried Lanford away; he dropped Burke on a road outside of town. Hence we were not immediately acquainted with what had happened.

“I was holding conference here. A squatter named Hector Yager entered and told of dealing with a man called Blissop, a servant of Kermal’s who was murdered. Before Yager could complete his testimony, shots were fired through this window. Yager was slain under our very eyes.”

“Incredible!” exclaimed Dolthan. He shifted, his chair away from the window. “A murder — here in your own office! Did the assassins escape?”

“They did,” returned Goodling. “We started out to Yager’s. We heard gunfire; we encountered a fleeing car. That led us to investigate a house that had not been properly searched before, since it was not on the old Westbury road.

“We discovered it to be the mystery house. We found dead men there; and we located this trunk that belonged to your niece. But the house was deserted; its lavish furnishings removed. Kermal, Daggart, Croy — all were gone; and Myra also.”

Goodling arose and paced the office. He stared through the blackened window. He shrugged his shoulders; he was sure that no lurkers had returned. They had dealt with Yager; another visit here would have been folly on the part of the assassins.

“I have come to certain conclusions,” stated Goodling, “despite the fact that some details are vague. It is obvious that Kermal and his underlings fled that house after they had dealt with Lanford and myself.

“Apparently Blissop, knowing Kermal’s game, had planned to blackmail his master. He must have arranged for pals of his to come to the house tonight. Probably he chose Yager’s shack for the rendezvous. That is why he gave Yager money.”

Goodling paused to look toward Parrell. The private detective nodded his accordance. Goodling resumed.

“Kermal ordered Blissop’s murder. He removed everything to some new hideout. The trunk was forgotten. He sent men of his own to get it. On the way, they stopped here. Croy, scouting about, must have reported that a conference was due.

“Kermal’s ruffians saw Yager through the window. They fired three shots, killing Yager; then they dashed away for a quick trip to the old house. Blissop’s pals, meanwhile, had arrived at Yager’s. Finding the squatter gone, they went to the old house.

“The two groups met. They battled; we arrived at the finish. We gained the trunk as evidence. But dead men cannot speak; and living rascals have escaped.”

JAY GOODLING stopped, dejectedly. Rufus Dolthan, however, was quick to interject a hopeful comment.

“Perhaps,” he exclaimed, “those fugitives have gone to join Kermal. Their trail would lead you to his new hiding place.”

“No.” It was Parrell who spoke. “Those fellows were covering up. They wouldn’t hop back to Kermal’s. They weren’t hicks; they came from New York. Kermal must have called them in on the deal.”

“We have one lead,” decided Goodling, thoughtfully. “I refer to Croy. He must have gone to join Kermal. What is more, I believe that the new headquarters is close by.”

“What makes you think that?” questioned Dolthan.

“Croy being close at hand,” replied Goodling. “That is one point. Another fact: they moved a whole lot of furnishings. They would not have wanted to travel after daybreak; hence they could not have gone a great distance.

“Moreover, the move was an emergency one. They were taking chances being in that empty house and they probably were wise enough to have another hideout picked for a pinch. What is more, Daggart was wounded. Kermal would have to think about him.

“Our search will continue. I intend to scour the entirely county for traces of Kermal and his subordinates. No time will be lost.”

“No time can be lost!” exclaimed Dolthan, rising. “Myra must be found within the next few days. As soon as she becomes of age, Kermal’s plot will be completed. Myra is his dupe, just as her father was. The grasping scoundrel will trick her into signing away her wealth.”

“Do you think that the girl’s life is in jeopardy?” queried Goodling.

“Yes and no,” replied Dolthan, his tone troubled. “So long as Kermal thinks he’s within the law, he will prefer to have her live. But if he is trapped; if crime is pinned upon him, he is rogue enough to resort to murder. As he had done already.”

“Then our search may bring trouble,” declared Goodling, seriously. “Yet it is our only course.”

“It must be carefully conducted,” warned Dolthan. “Search thoroughly for Kermal; but when he is found, make no immediate attack against him.”

“A good plan,” agreed Goodling. “Naturally, Kermal would not murder Myra unless he knew his game was finished. Only an open attack would drive him to such a deed. I believe, Mr. Dolthan, that it would be best for you to stay in town, so that we can discuss matters when the emergency arrives.”

“I shall do so.” Dolthan turned to Souder, who had quietly returned during the discussion. “Souder, call my home in New York. Have Wurling drive here at once with the limousine. Tell him to bring Hazzler, also.”

“ONE moment, Mr. Dolthan,” asserted Parrell. “Maybe you need your chauffeur and your valet since you intend to stay a while; but I need helpers, too; and they are more important. If I’m to work on this case with Mr. Goodling, I ought to have a few of my investigators on the job.”

“Perhaps, Parrell,” reproved Dolthan, “Mr. Goodling does not want your assistance. My intentions were to send you back to New York. The search for Myra is now in the hands of the law.”

“But I was trailing Kermal,” insisted Parrell, in an indignant tone. “I came here to look for him. It’s rather tough to be let down just when the game begins to open.”

“Your search was for Myra,” declared Dolthan. “We suspected that she was being influenced by Kermal. But Kermal, then, was known to us only as a rogue. At present, we know him for a criminal. A murderer. It is a matter for the authorities.”

“I should welcome cooperation,” put in Goodling, as he saw Parrell’s dejection. “Parrell is a good man, Mr. Dolthan. If you care to retain him, I can certainly use him and his experienced investigators. They can be sworn in as deputies.”

“Very well,” agreed Dolthan. “Give Souder the names of the men whom you want, Parrell. When you call New York, Souder, arrange for Wurling to bring Parrell’s operatives with him.”

Comment ended. Goodling arose. He decided that there was no need of further conference. He stated that he would push the search that had already begun.

Rufus Dolthan left for the hotel, accompanied by Souder and Parrell. Doctor Claig suavely decided that he was going home. Harry and Clyde went from the office while the physician was still holding a brief chat with the prosecutor.

Both agents were anxious to hear from The Shadow; to make their reports regarding the evening’s episodes. For they knew that in the search for Myra Dolthan, The Shadow, alone, could accomplish more than a host of others.