The Killer

CHAPTER XV UNDER COVER

AT eight o’clock in the morning, Harland Mullrick, attired in dressing gown, was scanning the front page of a morning newspaper. Glaring headlines screamed murder.

The death of Sidney Cooperdale, former member of archaeological expeditions, was a startling event. The introduction of a venomous snake into his home through the medium of a hollow cane denoted the hand of an insidious murderer.

Mullrick reread the story. It did not contain details regarding the naja haje, or Egyptian cobra. Professor Scudder had not arrived at Cooperdale’s until after the departure of the reporters who had covered the story.

Nevertheless, the news men had stressed the fact that the suspected murderer was a man who wore a gray fedora. They had caught up Cardona’s train of argument, and had stressed the testimony given by Lowder, Cooperdale’s servant.

Mullrick noted one paragraph in particular. It included a statement made by Lowder. The servant had told the police that he had heard his master call someone in New York. It was accepted that this must have been the man with the gray fedora.

Mullrick laid the newspaper aside. He stared from the window. The day was clear and placid; this, to Harland Mullrick, was not enjoyable. The world seemed too fresh. Mullrick, whose thoughts frequently centered on the morbid, did not like it. He felt no exuberance.

“Pascual!” Mullrick called to his Mexican servant. “Prepare breakfast. Did you arrange for those evening newspapers to be delivered here at noon?”

“Si, senor.”

“Bueno.”

Mullrick seated himself beside the living-room table. He did not intend to leave the apartment until after the later newspapers had arrived. He wanted to know more of Lowder’s testimony.

Mullrick had assumed, last night, that Cooperdale had been alone when he had called by telephone. The fact that Lowder had overheard Cooperdale summon a guest to his home was something that required closer study.

While he waited for breakfast, Mullrick began to drum upon a book that lay on the table. He suddenly became aware that it was the volume on the Aztec conquest. He opened the heavy book and removed the folded sheet of paper. Underneath the crossed-out names of Roy Selbrig and Burton Blissip, he wrote:

Sidney Cooperdale.

With a nervous laugh, Mullrick slowly crossed out this name. It marked the passing of the third man who knew the secret location of the lost mines of Durango. Mullrick still held the paper. Then, with a bitter smile upon his lips, he carefully inscribed the name of the fourth:

Donald Gershawl.

While he gripped the paper with his left hand, Mullrick clenched his right fist. He stared fiercely at the final name — the only one uncrossed — then gripped the paper as though about to tear it. At that moment, Pascual called. Hearing the servant’s quick footsteps, Mullrick dropped back in his chair and placidly refolded the sheet of paper.

“El desayuno, senor.”

Pascual gave the announcement of breakfast from the doorway of an adjoining room. Mullrick arose. As Pascual turned, Mullrick dropped the folded paper in the Aztec volume and closed the big book.

The telephone bell tingled while Mullrick was eating breakfast. It was Jerry Herston on the wire. The ex-detective’s voice was anxious.

“Have you read—”

“Yes,” interrupted Mullrick suavely. “I have read the morning newspaper.”

“I’m not kidding you, Mullrick,” came Herston’s worried tone. “This is going to kick up trouble. That fellow Lowder — the hat—”

“Don’t worry, Jerry. Remember, I was with you last night! I met you after dinner. Let’s see — what time was it?”

“Call it seven o’clock. Listen, though. If that telephone call Lowder is talking about was to you, it’s time you began to worry for yourself. He might have heard your name.”

“Never mind, Jerry,” laughed Mullrick. “Give me another call later on in the day. Along toward evening. We’ll have dinner together.”

A LOOK of anxiety began to appear upon Mullrick’s face as the man from Mexico went back to finish his cup of coffee. Something that Jerry Herston had said annoyed him. It was the reference to the fact that Lowder might have heard his name.

Mullrick now remembered that Cooperdale had used his name over the telephone. As Mullrick recalled it, the pronouncement had been made at the finish of the telephone call. This dominating thought became more pressing. Mullrick began to dress immediately after breakfast.

“Pascual,” he ordered from his bedroom. “Call Senor Herston’s hotel. Tell him I would like to speak to him.”

The Mexican went to the telephone. He had learned sufficient parrot English to make a call of this sort. He returned with the information that Senor Herston had gone out.

“It doesn’t matter,” decided Mullrick. “I’m going out, too. I’ll be out a long while, Pascual. I’ll call you on the telephone. If Senor Herston calls or comes in, tell him to wait to hear from me at his hotel.”

“Si, senor.”

Glancing from the living-room window, Mullrick chanced to see a policeman walking by on the other side of the street. The officer was looking toward the apartment house. Mullrick drew back from the window. He was nervous. He went to the entry and put on his hat and coat. He departed abruptly.

As he reached the street door, Mullrick regained his composure. He peered out and saw that the policeman was not in sight. He decided that his apprehensions were at fault. He turned, as though intending to go back to his apartment. Then, with a short laugh, he decided to stroll abroad.

MORNING waned. Shortly before noon, a steady-faced man appeared at the Belisarius Arms. It was Detective Jim Clausey. The sleuth entered the building. He noted Mullrick’s name in the lobby. He went up to the fourth floor.

As he approached the door of Apartment 4H, Clausey stepped back out of sight. The door opened, and Pascual stepped out to pick up a newspaper that had been delivered.

Clausey caught a flash of the Mexican’s face. The detective, however, was not observed by Pascual. Clausey grinned. He had a hunch that if Harland Mullrick were inside, he might come out; if outside, he might come in. Clausey decided to wait.

The detective had learned Mullrick’s address and telephone number through inquiry at the telephone company. The name was an unusual one: the sight of a Mexican servant convinced Clausey that he was on the right trail. Clausey still detailed to the hunting of Slugs Raffney, did not have to report at headquarters for the present.

It was his plan to make sure that Mullrick was back in the apartment; then either act or inform Cardona. When he had left the little town of Kewson, Clausey had placed Lowder in charge of a detective who had come out from Manhattan. The servant had made no further statement.

Clausey’s vigil proved to be a long one. As hours passed, there was no sign of Mullrick.

There was a reason, had Clausey possessed the keenness to consider it. The first editions of the afternoon newspapers had made a tremendous story of the Cooperdale murder. They had linked Penang, Egypt, and Mexico into a wild tale of death by night. The wile of the Orient, the riddle of the pyramids, the secrets of the Aztecs: all formed a mystery that was without an equal.

The police were on the trail of the man who wore the gray fedora. Marked as a triple murderer, he was labeled a fiend. Yet gray soft hats still dominated Broadway. The clew, although a fine play-up for newspaper columns, was actually of little use to the police department.

Nevertheless, Harland Mullrick, somewhere in Manhattan, had read those screaming reports. He was not concerned about his gray hat. He was, however, disturbed by the hue and cry which might bring disaster to his plans for Mexican wealth. He was staying away from his apartment.

As dusk arrived, Harry Vincent took up his station across from the Belisarius Arms. He, like Jim Clasey, was awaiting Harland Mullrick’s return. There had been no watch by day. Burbank had heard Mullrick say he was going out, and the listener at the dictograph had reported to The Shadow.

Burbank was still listening. The Shadow, moreover, had no present concern. He was awaiting Harland Mullrick’s next move. There was still a fourth man whom Mullrick had upon his list.

Standing by a little restaurant, Harry Vincent saw Jerry Herston enter the apartment house. That did not require a report. Herston could have but one destination: Mullrick’s apartment. Harry understood that someone else was taking care of matters there.

But as Harry watched, he saw another man step from a car parked a short way up the street. He observed a heavy, stalwart man following in Herston’s wake.

The fellow looked like a gangster. This was news that must be sent to Burbank. Harry stepped into the restaurant and quickly phoned the contact agent. Burbank received the report in his quiet fashion.

Harry Vincent stepped from the restaurant. He sensed that trouble might be brewing. He knew that Burbank would relay his message to The Shadow. The black-garbed master would soon be on his way to view the unexpected complications which were about to happen at Harland Mullrick’s abode!