The Key

CHAPTER XX ATTORNEYS SPEAK

“STATE your case, Markin.”

Commissioner Weston was the speaker. He was the central figure in a group that occupied the study of Lester Dorrington’s Long Island home. Weston had taken the chair behind the lawyer’s desk. On his right front sat Kelwood Markin; on the left, Lester Dorrington himself.

Joe Cardona was on guard at the central door, directly opposite Weston. Tharxell and Howland were seated in a corner. The study, a paneled room with luxurious furnishings, had been turned into an inquisition chamber.

“There lies the evidence.” Kelwood Markin pointed emphatically toward the desk, on which lay the mechanism found in the old man’s fire place. “It proves that an attempt was made upon my life.

“I am a lawyer who was approached by a client of Lester Dorrington’s, namely, Rufus Gilwood. I was given the key to a safe deposit box that presumably contained funds for distribution. That box was empty after Gilwood’s death.

“Three lawyers have been murdered. Verbeck, Durton, Keith — their deaths indicate that they, like myself, were approached by clients of Lester Dorrington. We have even decided upon the particular clients in question. You, commissioner, hold the threaded facts in this astounding case.

“I affirm that Torrence Dilgin, who died in Rio de Janeiro, was the last of the clients whom Dorrington swindled. I believe that Dilgin tried to speak before he died — to name Verbeck as the man who held his key. I believe that Edwin Berlett, returning to America, was murdered before the other victims.

“Lester Dorrington is a master schemer. He sent his clients to different lawyers, each with a key to a safe deposit box. Dorrington robbed those boxes. I, like the other lawyers, was duped. In Dilgin’s case, however, Dorrington feared exposure, because of the notoriety which involved the death of Edwin Berlett.

“Forced to slay Hugo Verbeck, he decided to continue. He used a gangleader, Whitey Calban, to do his dirty work. When Calban was killed, he had no other agent. He was forced to use measures of his own to do away with me. We know that Dorrington must have placed the mechanism in my fire place. I demand his arrest. I state the charge. Murder!”

GRIM silence succeeded. Lester Dorrington had not flinched. Virtually a prisoner, he seemed waiting for Kelwood Markin to be done. After the tense pause, he turned to Weston.

“You may speak,” ordained the commissioner.

“These facts are interesting,” announced Dorrington, in an easy tone. “They bring out points that had previously puzzled me. Kelwood Markin is right. There is a master schemer who has designed death. A crooked lawyer swindled millionaires by robbing their safe deposit boxes and letting other attorneys be the dupes.”

Howland was taking down the statement in shorthand. Dorrington did not appear to be perturbed. He paused impressively; then resumed.

“The crook was evidently a remarkable schemer,” declared Dorrington. “Our friend Markin has reasoned well; but his chain of thought ceases too abruptly. Let us picture this human spider, spinning his web. He chose innocent lawyers to whom he sent millionaires. But he did not stop there.

“He foresaw the danger of exposure. He feared that the men who held the keys might testify against him. So he went further than Markin has stated. He was too wise to handle the estates of the millionaires whom he swindled. He gave them advice; they followed it. He sent each of them to a different man so far as the keys were concerned; but he sent all of them to the same lawyer to handle their estates!”

Profound silence greeted this persuasive sally. Dorrington’s cold logic was a refutation to Markin’s accusations. The criminal lawyer proceeded with his case.

“I was the attorney whom the schemer picked to make out the wills. I, too, was approached by clients whom I did not expect. I, an attorney who handled criminal cases, was amazed when such men as Parkinson Watts, Hector Mell, and Torrence Dilgin came to me regarding their wills.

“I knew that some one must have sent them. I could not place the man. They gave me no information. So I accepted their fat fees and felt grateful. But all the while I was looking for a game. I was trying to find the hidden lawyer who stood behind the scheme.

“Torrence Dilgin died suddenly in Rio. Then came murders in New York. Ace Feldon told me that Whitey Calban was spreading my name among gorillas. I realized that the slain lawyers might be concerned somehow with the mysterious estates. Knowing nothing of the safe deposit boxes, I could not fathom the actual game. I appreciated but one important fact: namely, that my own safety was in danger.

“I was to be the goat for murder. I handled my cards as best I could. I had my suspicions, but my story, should I tell it, would have seemed more astounding than Markin’s. All the while that I have been maintaining silence, I have been looking for the real crook in the game.”

AGAIN, Dorrington paused. This time, he looked from man to man and finally steadied his gaze upon the commissioner. He put a question to Weston.

“May I count,” he asked, “upon no interruptions, no matter how absurd my story may seem at its beginning?”

“Yes,” came the assurance.

“Very well.” Keenness showed on Dorrington’s cadaverous countenance. “I wondered until recently why Torrence Dilgin had made me attorney for his estate. Dilgin already had the services of a competent corporation lawyer, namely, Edwin Berlett.

“When the Dilgin Corporation sent Berlett to Rio, he did not seem pleased with the assignment. I called upon an ex-stool pigeon — Squeezer Tifkin, to whom I had been of service — to make sure that Berlett actually departed on his plane.

“Berlett went to Rio. Then came the news of Dilgin’s death; following it, the report of Berlett’s assassination and the burial of Dilgin’s body at sea. The two occurrences made me think. A boatload of passengers saw the lowering of Dilgin’s coffin, but not one had seen the South American killers throw Edwin Berlett overboard.

“Sigler, old Dilgin’s secretary, was slain in the fight that was supposed to have spelled the end of Edwin Berlett. I saw an answer. Sigler may have known too much. Maybe he was the man the killers sought to slay. Who hired the killers? I knew the answer. Edwin Berlett!”

Gasps came from about the room. There was logic in Dorrington’s revelation. None could deny it. The smooth-talking lawyer, however, had not yet finished. Wagging an emphatic finger, Dorrington declared:

“Edwin Berlett never left Pernambuco. I was sure of it. I knew that he was crooked, even though I did not know his exact scheme. When murders began, I felt that he was in back of them. I was sure that he had arranged crime before leaving New York.

“Following my theory, I had Squeezer on the job, watching planes that came in from the South. One night, Squeezer came back to Manhattan because a plane was overdue. He went out to the airport later, but too late. The passengers had landed. Nevertheless, he found names and listings. He learned that a passenger calling himself Edmund Talbot had gone to the Hotel Goliath.

“Squeezer watched the hotel lobby. He caught a glimpse of this Talbot. He recognized the man as Edwin Berlett. Tonight, Berlett left the hotel. Squeezer lost his trail. Berlett has not yet returned; but I am positive that he will be back. I had not intended to inform the police of Berlett’s presence in New York, until I was sure that the man was performing crime. Tonight was the first time that he was at large.

“Under present circumstances, however, I am forced to release my accusation. I agree with Kelwood Markin. An insidious crook swindled millionaires and made attorneys his helpless dupes. My plea is this: I am the greatest dupe of all. To offset that, I have named the murderer. Edwin Berlett.”

COMMISSIONER WESTON sat as stolid as a statue. Not a breath stirred within the paneled room. Berlett’s own actions, particularly his pretended death aboard the Southern Star, were damaging accusations. Weston could see that the whole case rested on a single deed: the capture of Berlett himself.

“What’s the room at the Hotel Goliath?” demanded the commissioner. “We’ll watch the place for Berlett’s return. We’ll get him and we’ll make him talk. Six men, Cardona—”

The commissioner stopped short as a voice came from the side of the room. A door in the paneling had stood ajar. None had noticed it during the past few minutes. That door had opened.

Upon the fringe of the rug stood a stocky man whose eyes were peering from beneath heavy brows. In his hand, the newcomer held a revolver. From the spot where he stood, the muzzle of his gun covered the entire group.

It was Lester Dorrington who announced the man’s identity. Weston and the others gasped as they realized that for the second time tonight, an accused man faced his accuser. Quivering, his calmness gone, Dorrington blurted forth the name:

“Edwin Berlett!”