The Key

CHAPTER XVII THE BAIT

“I WAS a sap, that’s all.”

Joe Cardona was rueful as he made the admission. Two listeners heard his statement. One was Commissioner Ralph Weston; the other was Kelwood Markin.

The trio had assembled in the old attorney’s living room. Though it was not yet five o’clock, the room was illuminated by lamps. Closed shutters and hanging draperies cut out all daylight.

“I went back to headquarters,” said Cardona, “feeling like a fool. I was ready to choke a reporter who butted in while I was there — Burke of the Classic. Then I got your call, commissioner, saying to meet you here.”

“I thought it wise to hold conference with Mr. Markin,” declared Weston, “even though we did have to disturb his afternoon nap. The death of Kingsley Keith most certainly appears to be another link in the chain of crime. Particularly since you found a safe deposit key in Keith’s office.”

“One that Thaddeus could not identify,” nodded Cardona. “It belongs to a box at the University Trust Company. So far as I can see, Keith was another of the dupes.”

During the short, gloomy silence that followed, Ralph Weston’s face clouded. The commissioner stared hard at his ace detective.

“You had a good reason for seeing Dorrington,” said Weston to Cardona, “but your results were by no means satisfactory. Let me see that report again, Cardona. You are sure that you remembered all the details of your conversation?”

“Just about,” returned Cardona, bluntly. “If I was trying to ease it for myself, I wouldn’t have left it as raw as it is. Dorrington twisted me just the way he wanted. I wasn’t in his office to accuse him of murder. He talked suspiciously about himself. Had the jump in everything he said.”

“Dorrington is crafty,” asserted Markin, wisely. “That is why I fear him. This house, commissioner, is my citadel. I have not been out of it since murder began. My only visitor has been George Tharxell, the one man I can trust, excepting Howland.”

“You’re sure of them?” quizzed Cardona.

“Yes,” stated Markin. “Nevertheless, I feel ill-at-ease even though I am protected—”

The old lawyer broke off. A ring at the door had made him start. The three men sat silent; Weston ceased reading the report that Cardona had given him. A rap at the door; Howland entered at Markin’s summons.

“Mr. Tharxell,” announced Howland. “Shall I show him in, sir?”

“At once!” exclaimed Markin. “I had not expected him so soon. Perhaps he has the information that I told him to get.”

A QUIET man of methodical appearance was ushered into the living room. Markin introduced Tharxell to Weston and Cardona. He pointed his partner to a chair. Tharxell sat down, produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Markin. The old attorney’s face lighted.

“It’s here!” he exclaimed. “It fits!”

“What’s that?” quizzed Weston.

“Dorrington’s activities in handling estates,” replied Markin. “I told Tharxell to look up the records. Dorrington is a criminal lawyer. Estates are not ordinarily in his line. During the past five years he has not handled more than a dozen of any consequence.

“It occurred to me, commissioner, that I had opened Rufus Gilwood’s safe deposit box less than one week after the old millionaire had died. Verbeck did the same with Torrence Dilgin’s box. Tell me” — Markin turned to Cardona — “what about Durton’s key? What about Keith’s? Did you find out when they were used at their respective banks?”

“Yes,” returned Cardona. “The banks told me the particular dates on which each of those keys were brought with papers of identity. Keith’s is there in the report, commissioner—”

“Twelfth of December, two years ago,” announced Weston.

“And Durton’s was used in June of the same year,” recalled Cardona. “June the ninth, as I remember it.”

“Let’s see,” chuckled Markin, running his forefinger down the list. “Ah! Here we have them. Parkinson Watts, the importer, died on the fifth of June that year. Hector Mell, Wall Street wizard, died on the seventh of December.”

“Then Watts,” exclaimed Weston, “was the man who gave the key to Durton. Mell was the dupe who handed one to Keith!”

“It appears so.” Markin passed the list to Weston. “It seems more than mere coincidence, commissioner. “There are not many estates in Dorrington’s list.”

“A lucky point,” decided Weston. “It looks like malice aforethought. A criminal lawyer — like Dorrington — handling a few choice estates. Why would millionaires have gone to him?” Weston’s nod was the answer to his own question. “This is a useful point, Markin. It bears out your beliefs regarding Dorrington.”

Handing the list to Cardona, the commissioner arose and paced the floor. He made no objection to George Tharxell’s presence. Since Markin had taken his partner into confidence, Weston did the same.

“Your visit was a bull,” said Weston, to Cardona. “Nevertheless, it has done no harm. I should like to talk to that man, Dorrington. I should like to hear him speak.”

“Why not call on him, commissioner?” questioned Markin. “He is crafty enough to know that he is under suspicion.”

“Never invade the enemy’s terrain,” declared the commissioner, “until you are sure that his defense is weakened. Make him come to you.”

“Request him to come to your office.”

“No. He would be too well prepared.”

“Meet him somewhere then. Place him in a position where he is at a disadvantage. If you could only force him to join you at one of those places where crime was done at his bidding!”

“Verbeck’s or Keith’s!” exclaimed Cardona. “Say — there’s a real idea. I’d like to talk to Dorrington like I would to any crook—”

“To try the third degree, I suppose,” interposed Weston, coldly. “Very tactless, Cardona. Very. The suggestion is absurd. Nevertheless, it has the germ of an idea. If we could coax Dorrington to talk with some one who could match his cunning, under circumstances that would hold him at disadvantage in—”

“How about here?” broke in Cardona. “Get him here to talk with Mr. Markin!”

CARDONA swung toward Markin. The old lawyer’s face was a study. It showed eagerness to get at Dorrington; but with the expression came evidence of fear. The latter reaction gained predominance.

“No!” protested Markin. “No! It is most unreasonable. I am the one man who could testify to Dorrington’s undoing. He needs my death more than Verbeck’s — more than Durton’s — more than Keith’s—”

“But his fangs are gone,” interrupted Weston. “Whitey Calban is dead. So is Ace Feldon.”

“He may have other underworld connections,” warned Markin. “Should he come here, with assassins at his heels to—”

“He would betray his own guilt.”

Markin’s trembling ceased at Weston’s quiet, emphatic statement. A gleam of prospective hope showed upon the old attorney’s face. Sagely, Markin nodded.

“That is true,” he agreed. “Your men outside are my protection. Yes — Dorrington would enter alone; the others would have to follow. I would like to talk with him. The idea appeals to me — if only you could both be here. That, however, is impossible.”

“Do you want us present?” put in Cardona. “Or would it do if we were listening in?”

“How would you listen in?”

“With a dictograph.”

“Where?”

“In the bedroom.”

Markin shook his head. He looked toward the closed door at the end of the room.

“Dorrington would suspect,” he protested. “The bedroom would not do.”

“How about the study?” asked Weston. “The place where Howland sleeps?”

“It’s close enough,” added Cardona. “We could be in here inside of five seconds if any trouble started.”

“That would do,” agreed Markin, in a thoughtful tone. “Yes it would be an excellent arrangement. I see merit in the plan. Real merit. There is only one objection.”

“What is that?” questioned Weston.

“The mental hazard,” responded Markin. “I cannot let Dorrington know that I fear him. I must feel confident that he is not accompanied by thugs.”

“We’ll be here; a squad will be outside.”

“I know. But if Dorrington sees that I am virtually in hiding, he will be contemptuous. He must not find me cowering in this room. He must not know that I am afraid to leave the house.

“Suppose, commissioner, that I arrange an appointment with Lester Dorrington. Suppose I managed to bring him here — to this very room. Could you call first and take me out with you? Could we watch the house, to make sure that Dorrington came unaccompanied?”

“Certainly.”

“I could have Tharxell here meet Dorrington. Howland could usher Dorrington into this room. The door is thick. You, commissioner, could enter with and join Inspector Cardona in the study at the end of the hall.”

“That would enable you to overcome the mental hazard?”

“I believe so.”

“Good. Then you are ready to follow our suggestion.”

“Yes.”

AS proof of his decision, Kelwood Markin reached for the phone book. He found the number of Lester Dorrington’s office. He dialed and asked to speak to the attorney. It was after five o’clock, but Markin evidently learned that Dorrington was still at his office, for the old lawyer’s face showed a pleased gleam.

“Hello…” Markin’s tone showed but the bare trace of a quaver… “Mr. Dorrington?… This is Kelwood Markin, attorney… Yes, of Markin and Tharxell… I have a matter to discuss with you, Mr. Dorrington… No, no, not a criminal case. This concerns an estate… A deceased client. It is a matter of long standing, yet one that I feel should be taken up between us.

“Tomorrow?… At your office?… Hardly, Mr. Dorrington. I am retired… Yes, living at my home. I seldom go downtown. I thought perhaps you might come here to see me… Good… Could you come this evening?… Excellent… At eight o’clock, if you can make it… Not later than half past eight… I invariably retire before half past nine. I’m getting to be an old man, Mr. Dorrington…”

The receiver clicked. Kelwood Markin, his face elated despite the excitement which had gripped him, was staring toward Weston and Cardona.

“That will bring him!” exclaimed the old lawyer. “I shall discuss the Gilwood case with him. I shall get into ground that will prove treacherous to him. You must place the dictograph at once, inspector.

“Can you call for me before eight o’clock, commissioner? Good. I shall give instructions to Howland. As for you, Tharxell, you must also arrive about eight o’clock. You will receive Lester Dorrington. We can discuss business for a few minutes after I come in. Your presence will give me confidence. Then you can leave at my bidding.”

Kelwood Markin arose. The others followed suit. George Tharxell departed. Weston and Cardona prepared to leave. The detective said that he would send up the men with the dictograph at once. He remarked that they would come in a telephone company car. The men outside would be instructed to let them pass.

“You stay here, Cardona,” decided Weston. “See that the job’s done right. Call headquarters and give the orders to the men.”

“All right, commissioner.”

Weston left the room. Howland showed him to the door. Markin beckoned to Cardona.

“You can call from the study,” suggested the attorney. “Then you can also arrange the room for your occupancy. After that, we can come back here and pick the place for the microphone.”

The two men left the living room. Howland returned from the front door and went back to the study. Silence prevailed within the confines of the living room. Then came a rustling of the curtains by a window.

BLACKNESS came from the heavy hangings. The form of The Shadow stood revealed. Gliding forward, the cloaked intruder crossed the living room, reached the hall and noiselessly ascended the stairs.

The Shadow had been tipped off by Clyde Burke. He had arrived here secretly; he had been an unseen listener during the conference. He was leaving by the exit in the roof, for the empty house some doors away.

The bait had been set for Lester Dorrington. Kelwood Markin, veteran lawyer, was to meet with the attorney upon whom suspicion rested. The law would listen in while the two men talked.

Half past eight. The Shadow must return before that appointed time should he, like Weston and Cardona, intend to hear the details of the coming conference. Kelwood Markin had become the bait; Lester Dorrington the fish; but in the offing was a hidden danger: Edwin Berlett.

Where Weston and Cardona counted upon a duel of wits between two keen-brained lawyers, The Shadow could foresee the entrance of a third. Brutality — gang murder — was an epoch of the past.

Strategy and hidden cunning were the factors that must bring the climax. Markin had accepted a definite course of action. Dorrington, playing his intelligent part, had agreed to the appointment. Berlett, to figure in the game, would have to make a move.

Three keen attorneys: one, retired; the second, active in his practice; the third, a man supposedly dead. These were the men whose cards would be played tonight!