The Key

CHAPTER XIX DEATH FAILS

“He tricked me!” Markin’s tone was querulous as the old lawyer stood by the living room door. “His method proves his scheming. Dorrington accused me to cover his path of crime. The man has cunning beyond all measure!”

“He’s a fox all right,” agreed Joe Cardona. “I never met one like him. He made a sap of me. He made it tough for you, too, Mr. Markin.”

“Stamping out of here in indignation,” snorted the old attorney. “Accusing me of conspiracy. I should have known it, however” — the old man’s tone was pitiful — “because of Dorrington’s amazing shrewdness. I tell you, commissioner, the man’s methods are ironclad. There is only one way to thwart him; that is through his arrest.”

“We still lack evidence,” affirmed Weston. “All we can do, Mr. Markin, is afford you the same protection that you have had in the past. You should, however, feel relieved. You remain unharmed despite the fact that Lester Dorrington was here.”

“I fear him more than ever,” declared Markin, nervously. “I sensed a menace all the time that he was here. The living room seemed charged with a living threat. I am afraid. Terribly afraid.”

“My men are on guard.”

“I fear danger from within. This house is not safe. I have only Howland with me.”

“Put a man inside, Cardona,” ordered Weston. “Meanwhile, we’ll get ready with a campaign to smoke out this man Dorrington. He’s got something that he’s covering. I could tell it by his tone, over the dictograph. I’m going home, Cardona.”

“All right, commissioner,” responded the ace. “I’ll be here another hour, going over those notes that Howland took. I’ll put a man inside before I leave.”

Weston departed. Markin, reassured by the promise of an inside guard, retired to his bedroom. Joe Cardona and Howland went to the study. They left the door open. Seated by the desk, Cardona had a view of the entire hall. Until his departure, the acting inspector was serving as Markin’s guard.

IT was half past nine. While Howland typed off his shorthand notes of the talk between Markin and Dorrington, Cardona strolled into the living room. Turning on the light, Joe pried behind the curtains. Just as he finished his inspection, he heard Markin call through the bedroom door.

“Who’s there?”

“Cardona,” returned Joe. “Everything all right in there?”

“Yes,” called Markin. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t forget the man is to be on duty.”

“I’ll remember.”

Cardona strolled back to the study. He sat at the desk and drummed while Howland typed. A monotonous half hour went by. At three minutes past ten, the telephone rang. Howland answered it.

“Hello…” began the secretary. “Oh, yes… Mr. Tharxell… Can you call in the morning? Mr. Markin has retired… Perhaps we had better not disturb him… Very well, sir, if the Stevenson case has been settled, Mr. Markin might be pleased to know it… Yes, I shall call him…”

The secretary left the study. Cardona watched him enter the living room. He could hear the dull sound of Howland’s taps upon the bedroom door. Then came a wild shout. Leaping to his feet, Cardona dashed toward the living room.

Howland had turned on the light. Gaining no response to his knock, the secretary had opened the tight-fitting door to the bedroom. From the hall, Cardona saw Howland struggling to drag Markin from his bed. The smell of illuminating gas was coming from the inner room.

Cardona joined in the rescue. Together, he and Howland dragged Kelwood Markin to the front hall. Cardona yanked open the front door and gave a whistle. Two detectives came on the run.

Howland was reviving Markin. The old lawyer’s eyes were bulging. His hands were moving feebly. Nevertheless, he was still alive. Gratified by that fact, Cardona dashed into the gas-filled bedroom and turned on the light. Holding his breath, the detective heard the hiss of escaping gas. He swung toward the fire place. Stooping, he plucked at the handle beside the gas-log and turned off the flow.

Back in the living room, Cardona gasped fresh air. On his next trip to the bedroom, he managed to unbar the iron shutters. As the detectives joined him, Joe sent one to call Commissioner Weston. Stooping by the fire place, Joe began an examination of the gas-log.

It was then that he uttered a startled exclamation. Clamped to the side of the gas log was a device that captured the sleuth’s attention. It was small, clocklike mechanism that issued dull, almost imperceptible ticks.

FROM the device projected an arm that ended in a tiny clamp. This had been attached to the key controlling the gas jet. Some one had placed the mechanism to do its deadly work. The set-up was so simple that it could not have required more than two minutes to affix it.

Joe unclamped the tell-tale machine and carried it to the door of the living room. The detectives arrived at his call, one bringing the news that Commissioner Weston was coming to the house at once. Kelwood Markin, recovered, but pale-faced as he leaned on Howland, also came in from the hall.

“Look at this!” cried Cardona. “It was set to turn on the gas jet. It must have been timed for ten o’clock — after you were asleep, Mr. Markin!”

Eyes stared in amazement. Yet there was one onlooker who experienced no surprise. The Shadow had glided from his hiding place behind the door to the study. Gazing from the hallway, he saw Cardona exhibit the deadly clockwork. Then, with a silent swing, The Shadow moved to the stairs and ascended toward the darkness of the second floor.

Ten minutes passed. Kelwood Markin sat slumped in a living-room chair while Joe Cardona talked to the detectives. Then came a ring at the door bell. Howland answered. Two men entered. One was Commissioner Weston; the other, George Tharxell. The two had arrived simultaneously.

“What’s happened?” demanded Weston, as he strode into the living room and saw the pallid face of Kelwood Markin.

Joe Cardona told the story. He displayed the clockwork instrument. Weston walked in and took a look at the fire place. He returned to the living room.

“That was put in here tonight!” stormed the commissioner. “Who was the man that did it?”

“Only three persons were in this room,” asserted Cardona. “We’ve got two of them right here now. Howland and Tharxell.”

“What brought you here?” demanded Weston, turning to Tharxell.

“I called just after ten,” replied the lawyer. “Howland told me he would awaken Mr. Markin. Then the call was interrupted. I heard shouts across the wire. I came here at once.”

“That’s right,” said Cardona.

“I found the receiver off the hook when I went to call you, commissioner,” said a detective. “I had to juggle to get the operator. The receiver’s on now.”

“One minute, commissioner,” asserted Cardona. “I heard that telephone call. It clears both of these men from suspicion. The fellow who clamped this machine on the gas-log intended to kill Mr. Markin. The clock is set for ten. All the murderer had to do was leave it. In the morning, we’d have found Mr. Markin dead.”

“Go on—”

“Well, Tharxell called up right after ten o’clock. He wanted to talk to Markin. If Tharxell had set this device, he wouldn’t have called up, would he?”

“Mr. Markin expected me to call tomorrow,” put in Tharxell. “I happened to get through with Stevenson early—”

“That’s right,” interrupted Weston. “We heard it over the dictograph. Proceed, Cardona.”

“Howland here,” resumed Cardona, “told Tharxell over the phone that Mr. Markin was asleep. He could easily have insisted that Tharxell hold the call until morning, like he was supposed to do. Instead, he went to rouse Mr. Markin.

“What’s more, I don’t think Howland was in the living room alone at any time. He helped me plant the dictograph here by the door. More than that, while we were looking for places, we happened to take a look at that fire place in the bedroom. This gimmick” — Cardona raised the mechanism as he spoke — “wasn’t there at seven o’clock. I’d have seen it if it had been.”

“Which leaves us one man,” announced Weston, sternly. “Lester Dorrington. Was he alone in the living room?”

“Yes,” rejoined Cardona. “When Mr. Markin came to get the key—”

“That’s it!” cried Weston. “The fellow was too bold for once. He thought he was alone with Markin. He didn’t know that we were listening in. Well, Markin” — the commissioner turned to the old attorney — “I’m sorry that this happened. But you’ve pulled through it — a few minutes of gas didn’t hurt you. You’re lucky; and what’s more, we’re lucky.”

Seizing the mechanism from Cardona’s hand, Weston held it before the eyes of all. The commissioner was impressive as he spoke.

“We’re going to Dorrington’s with this!” decided Weston. “This is the time the fox will answer questions. Here is the evidence of crime. Come, Cardona; we will take the witnesses with us to Dorrington’s home!”

Five minutes later, Weston and his companions had departed from the house. A light had been left on in the hall. It revealed the figure of The Shadow, coming from the stairs. The phantom shape merged with the darkness of the study.

A dial clicked a number on the telephone. Then came an eerie, whispered voice. The Shadow, speaking to Burbank, was giving orders to the contact man. The black-cloaked master was planning his own climax for the scene to come at Dorrington’s.