The Killer

CHAPTER V MEN SPEAK OF DEATH

THE next evening found Harland Mullrick comfortably seated in the living room of the apartment which Jerry Herston had obtained for his occupancy. The tall, stoop-shouldered man was reading the final edition of an evening newspaper.

He tossed it aside as the door of the apartment opened. Pascual entered. The servant hung his coat and hat in the clothes closet and closed the door.

“I have mailed your letter, senor,” he announced, in Spanish, as he entered the living room.

Mullrick, lighting a cigarette, nodded his approval. Pascual went into another room. Mullrick remained unmoving until he heard a knock at the outer door. Noting that Pascual was not at hand, he went to the door and opened it. Jerry Herston entered. Like Pascual, he placed his hat and coat in the closet.

As the two men walked into the living room, the outer door opened slowly. Peering eyes spied the backs of the moving men. A tall form glided into the entry. The Shadow gained his spot of observation.

“Well,” remarked Mullrick, “I’m glad to know that you made sure of Santo’s departure. Your telephone call last night was satisfactory. Even the tone of your voice proved that there could be no mistake.”

“I’m positive,” returned Herston. He stooped to pick up the evening newspaper. After a glance through the front-page columns, he added: “Lack of news is sometimes good news.”

“In reference to what?” queried Mullrick narrowly.

“Santo’s departure,” returned Herston dryly.

Mullrick did not betray a flicker of his eyelids. He stared calmly at his visitor, and put another question.

“Was there anything odd?” he quizzed. “If so, why didn’t you mention it last night?”

“I couldn’t over the telephone. I also decided to wait to see what happened later — or what might have appeared in today’s newspapers. The El Salvador is not far from land, you know.”

“Hm-m-m,” murmured Mullrick. “This sounds like a riddle. Give me the answer, Jerry.”

“I found the answer in Santo’s stateroom.”

“You went in there?” challenged Mullrick. “That was a mistake, Jerry! I told you to merely make sure that Santo was on the ship!”

“That’s why I entered the stateroom,” returned Herston. “I made sure that Luis Santo had sailed for Mexico.”

“You saw him — in there?”

“I found him. I was bothered at first; the idea of a dead body left in a stateroom was not what you called finesse. It was rather crude, I thought. However, the job had been well done. I decided that the disposal of the body was also arranged — to take place afterward.”

“You mean” — Mullrick displayed a sign of momentary nervousness — “that Santo had been murdered?”

“That’s it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so last night? Why didn’t you come here?”

“You told me to make sure that Santo sailed. He did. You wanted me to be sure that he didn’t leave the ship. He didn’t. There’s no harm done, because I entered the stateroom.”

MULLRICK was lighting another cigarette. He was losing his nervousness. A suave, though bitter, smile appeared upon his lips.

“You misunderstood me, Jerry,” he remarked. “I didn’t expect you to go to such extreme measures. I admit that Santo’s death is advantageous. It clears considerable worry from my mind. Nevertheless, I do not deal in murder.”

“It’s not my game, either,” retorted Herston.

“Admitted,” agreed Mullrick. “I’m not suggesting that you did the work, Jerry. Nevertheless, our conversation last night may have proven a trifle misleading. You know men who hand out death. You suggested that they were available. It was only natural that you should turn to one of them when I said that Santo could prove dangerous to my plans.”

Jerry Herston grinned broadly. He had not mentioned that he had seen Harland Mullrick on the pier. He did not intend to do so. He saw the turn of conversation. His accidental discovery of the dead body had been a shock to Mullrick. His statement of the fact had hardly been wise, he felt.

Mullrick, always subtle, had chosen a way out. The suggestion to lay the blame on unknown mobsters was a clever one. Mullrick had spoken the truth when he had brought up the reminder that Herston knew such men of crime. Cleverly, Herston followed the lead.

“Yes,” he said carelessly. “I have pals who would do most anything to please a friend — even to committing murder. I could name a few; but that’s not necessary. I keep my pals because I know how to keep mum.

“Of course, I like to look in on a good job and see that it’s been done right. I leave it to my pals to finish what they start. Just the same, I was worried some to see the body still laying there. Then I figured what was going to be done with it.”

“Yes?” inquired Mullrick. “What?”

“Overboard,” replied Herston tersely. “Every ship’s crew has its bunch that’s connected with the underworld. Particularly those South American boats. They’ve generally got a few tough gorillas who are hiding out. Those mugs would do anything for a century spot. One hundred bucks is a lot of money when you’re swabbing decks.”

“I see.” Mullrick’s tone expressed an understanding of Herston’s idea. “A couple of deck hands could have done the trick. Santo’s stateroom opened right on the deck. Lumps of coal — over the rail—”

“That’s it,” interposed Herston, in an assuring tone. “I was a little bit afraid, though, that there might have been a slip. It would be easy enough to fix a couple of men on the crew. But it’s kind of risky counting on them. That’s why I was interested in the newspapers. A wireless message from the El Salvador might have started a mean mess.”

“All’s ended well,” decided Mullrick smoothly. “Tell me, Jerry — just how was Santo killed?”

“Somebody grabbed him in the cabin,” declared Herston. “Took him by the throat and laid him on the floor. Looked like his head had been pounded against the edge of the bunk.”

“Hm-m-m. Rather a daring method.”

“With a little guy like Santo? You could have done it” — Herston caught himself — “say, I could have done it. Easy. Just like this.”

The ex-detective arose and made a gesture of pouncing on a victim. He smiled as he stood facing Mullrick, and assumed a knowing air.

“But take it from me,” asserted Herston, “the bird that did pull the murder was probably a big gazebo, built like a young truck. It would be a cinch for such a guy. Easier than for someone like — like me — even though I’m husky enough.”

Mullrick’s hands tightened. They showed power as they did. It was obvious that he was visualizing Luis Santo’s death in that lonely, silent stateroom.

“Thought I’d better tell you I was in there,” concluded Herston. “I’m working with you, Mullrick. You know me. It’s over; I’d rather you’d forget it. The less I think about it, the better.”

Mullrick nodded thoughtfully. Herston watched him carefully. The ex-detective was glad that he had turned the trend. He had no desire to lose Mullrick’s favor. He did not care to become, like Luis Santo, a man who stood in Mullrick’s way to fortune.

Herston’s eyes gleamed as they observed Mullrick reaching in his pocket. The tall man brought out a wad of bills. He peeled off twenty of hundred-dollar denomination.

“Here’s two thousand, Jerry,” he remarked, handing the cash to his subordinate. “It’s too bad that Santo was killed; since it can’t be changed, your information is worth money to me. It is nice of your friends to offer their services. However, when I require them, it would be wise to speak to me in advance. I can pay cash in advance when required.”

“Thanks, Mullrick,” responded Herston, as he pocketed the money. “I’ll just forget all that I saw down at the pier and on the boat.”

Mullrick was rising, to indicate that it was time for Herston to depart. He threw a shrewd glance as he heard Herston’s reference to the pier. If Herston had seen nothing but Luis Santo’s body, why had he mentioned the pier?

Herston did not realize the blunder he had committed. He was thinking of the cash payment that he had received. He was the first to move toward the entry; he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not see the motion of the outer door as it closed behind a departing form.

OUT in the corridor, Jerry Herston paused to again count the money. He regarded it as a tribute to his intelligence; his willingness to assume the blame of ordering murder. He did not realize that he had practically announced the fact that he had seen Harland Mullrick on the pier.

In fact, Jerry Herston, with all his self-confidence, could not match Harland Mullrick for keenness. Egotistically, this ex-detective, who knew the ways of gangsters and racketeers, thought himself a much sharper individual than he was.

As he walked along the corridor toward the elevator, he complimented himself on a new discovery — one that he should have weighed when he first considered Mullrick was the murderer of Luis Santo.

Jerry Herston had just now decided that Harland Mullrick probably had numerous connections, of whom he, Jerry Herston, was but one. There was Luis Santo — whom Jerry had seen. There were men on the El Salvador — whom Mullrick, knowing the boats of the Central American line, could easily have gained as henchmen.

Perhaps — the thought made Jerry smile wisely — there were others here in New York. Mullrick, Herston was convinced, had a few connections of his own in the underworld.

Had Jerry Herston seen Harland Mullrick alone in the apartment, he would have lost some of his surety. The man who had come from Mexico was pacing up and down the living room, engaged in serious thought. Harland Mullrick was making plans; those purposes had much to do with his future dealings with Jerry Herston.

There were eyes, however, that did see Mullrick. A figure had lingered in the hallway, unnoticed by Jerry Herston, who had been busy with his money counting. That figure had returned to Mullrick’s entry. The eyes of The Shadow were watching every motion of the man who had come from Mexico, studying every expression that flickered upon Harland Mullrick’s shrewd face.

Pascual entered the living room. Mullrick spoke to the servant, in a medley of Spanish and English.

“Pascual, amigo. The letter — you are sure that you have mailed it?”

“Si, senor.”

“Buenos. That is good. The lights — turn them off.”

Harland Mullrick strode into an adjoining room. Pascual, in his stolid fashion, extinguished the lights in the living room. While his back was turned, the figure of The Shadow stood plainly in the entry. It turned and glided softly through the outer door. The portal closed.

Pascual, turning to the entry where the last light remained, caught a motion of the doorknob. The servant hurried in that direction. He opened the door and peered into the corridor. He saw no one. He closed the door and turned out the entry light.

Outside of the apartment house, a figure appeared momentarily beneath a glare of light, then faded into a shroud of darkness. A soft laugh rippled from invisible lips. The Shadow had every word of conversation between Harland Mullrick and Jerry Herston.

Keenly, The Shadow had summed the situation not alone as it referred to the past, but as it regarded the future. He had also gained a definite inkling which Jerry Herston had failed to glean. That was the reference to the letter which Pascual had mailed. The Shadow knew the meaning of that letter.

Harland Mullrick had taken the first step in his plan to treat with those who could provide him with the information that he needed. Four men, each of whom could aid or balk the shrewd concession-gainer’s effort for wealth, were known to Harland Mullrick, thanks to Luis Santo, who had died last night.

Santo was dead because he knew too much. These men with whom Mullrick intended to treat as individuals also knew facts that concerned Harland Mullrick. What would be the result when the first of the four responded to Mullrick’s request for information?

The Shadow knew the answer. His grim laugh proved it. Death lay in the offing. Murder, as certain as that which had fallen upon Luis Santo, was looming in the immediate future.

When death threatened, The Shadow was needed. He was the master whose purpose was to prevent death, except when it struck those who deserved it. Yet in this strange chain of past and impending crime, The Shadow saw the skill that showed the crafty plotter.

The task which confronted The Shadow was one which would tax his powers to the utmost.

Murder was on the way, and chance would play a part which might render efforts futile, even though such efforts were produced by The Shadow himself!