The Killer

CHAPTER III THE SECRET LIST

WHEN Pascual opened the door, a slender, dapper man entered. He was swarthy in complexion; his pointed mustache, black as his hair, gave him a foreign look. This was Luis Santo, the Mexican investigator.

Santo bowed and extended his hand as he approached Harland Mullrick. The American returned the clasp and motioned Santo to a chair. Seating himself, Mullrick uttered a single word:

“Begin.”

Santo threw a nervous glance toward Pascual. He looked at Mullrick inquiringly, doubting the advisability of talking over important matters before the servant.

“Speak English,” suggested Mullrick. “Pascual does not understand the language sufficiently to follow it.”

“Very good,” purred Santo, in perfect English. “Your language will serve our purpose, Senor Mullrick. I have been using it exclusively since my arrival in New York.”

Mullrick remained passive. It was obvious that Santo did not suspect the real reason why Mullrick had decided that English should be used. Jerry Herston, listening from the other room, would not have understood Spanish, had he heard it.

“I have made good my promise, senor,” announced Santo proudly, his face gleaming with a smile. “In Mexico City I told you that I, with my knowledge of government affairs, could locate those who were in Durango during the regime of Porfirio Diaz. I have found them, senor. They are four.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mullrick.

“Their names,” continued Santo, “are here. This list tells all of them. Each you will see, senor, is from a different walk in life. For instance—”

Mullrick held up his hand. He took the sheet of paper and studied the names, which bore notations under them. He nodded as he read.

“I have given you the names,” remarked Santo. “I have given you the addresses where they can be reached. More than that, senor, I have told you how each came to be in Mexico.”

“I am reading it, Santo,” reminded Mullrick. The Mexican remained silent, watching Mullrick’s rigid face. As he looked at the list, Mullrick held it close in front of him and studied it word by word. The list read:

DELIBERATELY, Harland Mullrick folded the list. He looked at Luis Santo. The Mexican smiled. He could see the question that was coming.

“Without mentioning these names,” remarked Mullrick, “may I ask why you have placed them in the order given. Why did you not start with the final name — which is obviously the most important?”

“Because, senor,” returned Santo, “I have put them as you should see them. If you have a proposal to make to one of these men, you should begin with the first; then the second—”

“Agreed,” interrupted Mullrick. “I see your point, Santo, and it is a good one. You are sure that all these men are familiar with Durango?”

“Absolutely,” responded the Mexican. “All of them spent some time in the Sierra Madre Mountains. I am sure, also, that they do not know of each other.”

“Why not?”

“Because those of the Diaz regime would have kept Americanos apart. He was a great man, Porfirio Diaz; great because he had wisdom.”

“You have spoken to any of the four?”

“No, senor. I was clever not to do that. I learned about them secretly. Remember, senor, I come from Mexico, a land of intrigue and cabal. You have paid me well.”

“Yes,” agreed Mullrick, “and you have rendered the service I required. Your work is ended, Santo. When do you return to Mexico?”

“Tomorrow, senor,” answered Santo. “I go as passenger on the steamship El Salvador, sister ship of the Yucatan, upon which I presume you arrived tonight.”

“Very good,” commented Mullrick. “You have obtained suitable accommodations?”

“Stateroom 45, on Deck B,” returned Santo.

“Excellent,” remarked Mullrick, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I wish you a most pleasant trip.”

As he finished speaking, Mullrick calmly tore the folded list. Luis Santo, exclaiming in sharp surprise, half arose from his chair in protest. Mullrick, smiling, continued the tearing process.

“The names,” he said, “are firmly planted in my mind. The addresses, also, and the data which you so capably provided. I shall remember all of them.”

Rising, Mullrick walked to a window, unlocked it, and raised the sash. He tossed the fragment of paper into the breeze. The pieces scattered in all directions. Mullrick laughed as he closed the window.

“Memoranda,” he remarked, “prove useful after negotiations have been completed. Should the first man be the one whom I require, I shall forget the others. If he proves unsatisfactory, I shall jot down his name, that I may cross it from my final list.”

Extending his hand to Luis Santo, Mullrick wished the Mexican bon voyage, and accompanied him to the door of the apartment. Pascual was there to open the door. The dapper Mexican investigator departed.

RETURNING to the living room, Mullrick called softly to Jerry Herston. The ex-detective came from the adjoining room. Mullrick smiled as he spoke to his friend.

“What do you think of Luis Santo?” he questioned.

“A smooth worker,” was Herston’s comment.

“Yes,” agreed Mullrick, “and a necessary one. He was the one person in Mexico City who could do the work I wanted. There were others, but they were untrustworthy.”

“This bird looked kind of cagey himself.”

“He is.”

“Suppose he should blab.”

“I have thought of that. Nevertheless, it will not matter after he reaches Mexico City. I shall have the information that I require by that time.”

Mullrick pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket. He spread it out, and showed Herston an item printed in Spanish. The ex-detective could not read it; Mullrick explained.

“A copy of the Mexican City newspaper, La Libertad,” he said. “My name is there. It mentions that I have been granted exploration duties by the government in reference to mining developments. Read here: seis meses; that means six months. It is the way they state that I have received what amounts to a concession.”

“Then when you go back to Mexico, you—”

“I shall go promptly to Durango. Jerry, I have traced the route of those Villa followers. I know facts that the Mexican government does not know. Given six months, I can find those lost mines on my own.”

“Then why,” queried Herston, “are you bothering yourself with these Americans?”

“Because of this newspaper item,” declared Mullrick. “It has started things. It will be followed by others. Suppose I return to Mexico and start looking for the mines. Within a few weeks, one of these chaps is likely to get wind of it. Anyone who has ever been to Mexico keeps tabs on Mexican affairs.”

“And if one of them gets wind of it?”

“While I am looking for the mines? It would be a cinch for him to throw obstacles in my path. Bandits could be bought. My work would be delayed. The option would expire—”

“And then?”

“The wise American would deliberately appear in Mexico City and gain the option which I failed to exert. I have set a precedent, Jerry, something which is new to the present regime. That is why I want to deal with these men before they get real news from Mexico.”

“But why, if they could double-cross you?”

“Jerry, as soon as I can get exact information from one of the four, the other three will be helpless. I shall have positive assurance of where the mines lie. I can inform the Mexican government. My concession will be established.”

“That looks like the best way out. Unless—”

“Unless what?” Mullrick’s question came abruptly, as Jerry Herston paused.

“Unless,” repeated the ex-detective, “you picked off these four wise guys. If they were out of the picture, nobody could bother you when you went to Durango.”

“Jerry,” said Mullrick, in an easy tone, “you talk as though you were in Mexico, where it is not overly difficult to dispose of those who are troublesome.”

“Mexico!” snorted Herston. “Say — it’s got nothing on New York. You tell me the name of any guy you want bumped off. I’ll see that he—”

“We can discuss such subjects later, Jerry,” interposed Mullrick, with a smile. “Some time we can compare the merits of various ways of murder: bold attack in contrast to finesse. For the present, however, I have special work upon which you must concentrate.”

“What’s that?”

“You saw my visitor, Luis Santo. I placed him purposely so that you could observe his face. He is stopping at the Tribune Hotel. Tomorrow night he boards the steamship El Salvador. He will occupy Stateroom 45, on Deck B.”

“I heard him say that.”

“I have no further use for Santo. He can do me no service from now on. It is possible, however, that he might do me harm. Indirectly, of course. For instance, someone might approach him and offer him inducements to remain in New York.”

Mullrick’s tone had become serious. He was staring significantly as he spoke. His words had taken on the sound of orders.

“Stateroom 45, Deck B,” said Mullrick thoughtfully. “Suppose, Jerry, that you visit the steamship El Salvador just fifteen minutes before the boat sails. Make sure that Luis Santo is in his stateroom. If he is not there, look about the boat until the last shore call sounds.”

“And if he is there—”

“Make sure that he is still aboard the boat when it pulls out from the pier. I am leaving it to your judgment, Jerry.”

“That suits me. You’ll know tomorrow whether or not Santo went out on the El Salvador.”

The conference was ended. Jerry Herston, who had now replaced Luis Santo as Harland Mullrick’s agent, left the apartment. Mullrick accompanied him to the door.

Returning to the living room, Mullrick stooped and picked up the copy of La Libertad which had fallen to the floor. He tossed the journal upon the table, and strolled into the adjoining room, a meditative smile upon his lips. He had set his new agent to watch the departure of the old.

Pascual passed through the living room. When the servant was out of sight, the blackness in the corner stirred. The Shadow’s tall form materialized from darkness. It glided to the center of the room.

The Shadow’s gaze noted the copy of La Libertad. The tall figure turned and swept from the apartment. Pascual, reentering the living room a few moments later, observed no sign of the departed visitor.

SOME time afterward, a click resounded in the corner of a black-walled room. A blue light glimmered upon the polished surface of a table. Long, white hands appeared beneath the glow. Upon the third finger of the left sparkled an amazing gem which sent shafts of fire glittering upward from depths of ever-changing hue.

That fire opal — a jewel known as the girasol — was the token of The Shadow. The bluish light, with its mysterious flickering, denoted this room as The Shadow’s sanctum, the hidden abode in which the master formulated his plans.

A clipping fell from an envelope. The hands raised it while unseen eyes studied its Spanish wording. That clipping was a duplicate of the item in La Libertad which Harland Mullrick had shown to Jerry Herston.

This explained how The Shadow had gained his inkling into the affairs of Harland Mullrick. Provided with clippings by his agents, The Shadow kept contact with affairs in foreign lands, as well as the United States. Any mention of facts that might lead to cross-purposes involving crime were of interest to The Shadow.

Upon a white sheet of paper, The Shadow inscribed a coded message in ink of vivid blue. He folded this note and deposited it in an envelope. He addressed the wrapper with another pen.

The light clicked out. Sullen darkness resulted. A soft laugh whispered through the gloom. Its tones arose, then faded. Dying echoes ended. Silence prevailed. The Shadow had departed from his sanctum. His hand would be seen again — in the affairs which concerned Harland Mullrick!