The Living Joss

CHAPTER II. THE MEETING

FOUR men were gathered about a circular table. The room in which they were seated was a built-in sun porch of a large mansion, a fact easily recognizable by the windows that flanked three sides. Behind drawn shades, the quartet was holding a quiet discussion. A vacant chair, however, signified that the group expected another member.

In the largest chair, the one which might well have constituted the head, was a weary, gray-haired man some seventy years of age. His shoulders were bowed, his face was pale, but kindly. His thin hands rested upon the edge of the table.

“Will we have to wait much longer?”

The old man asked the question in a quavering voice as he looked at his companions.

“I hope not, Mr. Schofield,” came a reply. “We will allow just a few minutes more; then we can proceed.”

The old man nodded. At that moment, a servant entered the sun porch and addressed the elderly individual.

“Doctor Zelka is here, sir.”

“Tell him to come in at once.”

The reply did not come from the old man. It was made by a middle-aged gentleman seated at his right — the same one who had made the previous remark. He evidently played the part of Schofield’s spokesman.

All eyes turned toward the door. The middle-aged gentleman arose and went in that direction. The door opened, and a sallow-faced man entered and bowed to the group as he delivered a smile intended as a greeting, despite its unpleasant twist.

“You are Doctor Ward Zelka?” questioned the middle-aged man.

“Yes,” replied the visitor, extending his hand.

“I am Westley Hartnett,” said the middle-aged man. “I am Barton Schofield’s attorney. This, Doctor Zelka, is Mr. Schofield.”

He led the visitor to the head of the table, where the old gentleman reached up to shake hands. Hartnett turned to continue the introduction.

“Blaine Goodall,” he said to Zelka. “He is the president of the Huxley Corporation.”

Zelka received the handshake of a tall, square-jawed man who had the physique of an athlete.

“And David Moultrie,” continued Hartnett.

The visitor clasped hands with a wiry individual whose teeth showed in a wide-lipped grin. David Moultrie’s countenance was chiefly mouth.

Introductions completed, Westley Hartnett conducted Doctor Ward Zelka to the empty chair. Still standing, the attorney looked about, as though suspicious of eavesdroppers. The drawn blinds reassured him. He studied the members of this group, as though preparing for an important discussion.

All looked toward Hartnett. Blaine Goodall was thoughtful; David Moultrie grinning. While old Barton Schofield still sat passively at the head of the table, Doctor Zelka drew a cigarette from his pocket and inserted it in the end of a short, goldbanded holder.

NO one noticed an imperceptible motion of one window shade. Hands from the outer darkness had raised the sash. Eyes were peering through a narrow crevice at the bottom of the blind. Unsuspected ears were listening to this conference.

The Shadow, master of the night, had arrived.

“Our discussion,” began Hartnett, “involves the affairs of the Huxley Corporation. Mr. Goodall, as president of that concern, approached my client, Mr. Barton Schofield, and requested this conference.

Mr. Schofield agreed to it.

“This meeting, gentlemen, is actually a secret assemblage of the principal shareholders in Huxley Corporation stock. I, therefore, go on record as expressing my disapproval of it at the outset. You may speak now, Mr. Goodall.”

Westley Hartnett took his chair beside Barton Schofield, and held a whispered conversation with his client. Blaine Goodall, the corporation president, arose. Chewing his lips in nervous fashion, he addressed the other men.

“Mr. Hartnett is right,” he said lamely. “This meeting is irregular, but I was induced to arrange it. The story is simply this. In about three months from now, Amalgamated Enterprises will make a strong bid for the controlling interest in Huxley Corporation. It will be possible, at that time, for a group of majority holders to sell their stock at a price equivalent to what Amalgamated Enterprises would pay for the entire acquisition, if forced to buy shares on the open market.

“Amalgamated Enterprises has the impression that the controlling interest of Huxley Corporation is in the hands of a small group headed by Mr. Barton Schofield. In fact, they are ready to believe that Mr. Schofield himself has more than fifty per cent of the Huxley shares. Such, however, is not the case.

“While I was wondering about this matter, I was approached by David Moultrie” — he indicated the largemouthed man — “who had already spoken to Doctor Zelka. Mr. Moultrie is a gentleman who deals in corporation stocks. He stated that Doctor Zelka, like Mr. Schofield, held blocks of Huxley shares. He suggested that we form the group which is believed to exist.

“Mr. Schofield and Doctor Zelka will pool their interests. I am to keep silent on Huxley affairs while Mr. Moultrie buys up loose shares. We will then have the controlling interest that we seek.”

David Moultrie arose as Blaine Goodall ceased speaking. With his leering grin, this fellow followed up the conservative statements of the corporation president.

“Let me get to work,” he suggested, “and I’ll buy up Huxley shares for next to nothing. If Goodall here keeps quiet, it will be soft. I’ll make it look like Huxley is going to the dogs—”

“In other words,” interposed Hartnett, his eyes blazing, “you plan to manipulate Huxley stock — to deceive the present shareholders—”

“Yes!” asserted Goodall. “That’s just what I can do. I can swing it for two million dollars’ profit — maybe more — and your client there will get his big cut out of it.”

“One moment,” ordered Hartnett, rising. “I have discussed this matter with Mr. Schofield. He is a man of integrity, a retired banker, whose name has never been smirched by any stigma. Mr. Schofield is willing to go into the open market, to buy Huxley shares on a legitimate basis, and thus to acquire a controlling interest. But to follow the scheme that you suggest — that would be an outrage! There is your answer, Moultrie!”

“Yes?” Moultrie grinned. “Try it! That’s where I’ve got you blocked. Doctor Zelka, here, holds enough stock to give me a start. Go out and try to beat me, Hartnett. I’ll kill your game. I’ll drive Huxley stock into the ground. You’ll be holding a stack of worthless shares. You’ll never get control for Barton Schofield!”

For a moment, stock manipulator and attorney faced each other with challenging gazes. Old Barton Schofield was perturbed. Blaine Goodall was trying to restore a friendly feeling. Doctor Ward Zelka calmly puffed his cigarette. His sallow face registered enjoyment of the situation.

SINGULARLY enough, it was Zelka who finally gained the floor after a series of epithets had been hurled by both Hartnett and Moultrie. The sallow-faced man spoke in a raspy voice that brought attention in his direction.

“Why speak of integrity?” he demanded. “It is not at stake. Here is the situation in a nutshell. One man, with a good start, could quietly gain control of Huxley stock. I could be that man. Barton Schofield could be that man.

“However, David Moultrie seized upon the idea ahead of us. He needed one of us; he wisely decided to line up both. He came to me with opportunity, which I accepted. I advise you, Mr. Schofield” — Zelka was speaking directly to the old man, not to Westley Hartnett — “to do the same.”

“Hear that?” queried Moultrie, turning to Hartnett. “The doctor, here, is talking sense. I let Mr. Schofield in on the game because I figured he would listen to reason. He could go after the idea alone. Sure, Schofield could. So could Doctor Zelka. I could take a stab at it myself, starting from scratch. But the only wise way to work it is all together.”

A silence; then Blaine Goodall took the floor. The president of the Huxley Corporation was nervous as he issued a plea for cooperation.

“Can’t we come to some agreement?” he questioned. “This places me in an embarrassing situation, gentlemen. I, alone, am conversant with the facts. Unless something is done, I shall have to act in my official capacity — to make known to the public that Huxley Corporation is dealing with Amalgamated Enterprises.”

“Make it known,” ordered Westley, while old Barton Schofield delivered a weary nod of approval. “It will rectify your present mistake, Goodall. You are dealing with two men of questionable reputation.

“Moultrie, here” — the lawyer’s tone was scathing — “is a crooked stock manipulator. As for Doctor Zelka, I have delved into his past. He is not a practicing physician in New York. He has no recognized status. Why?”

“A question?” asked Zelka, with narrowed eyes. “I can answer it, Mr. Hartnett. I am a man of some means. I have chosen a life of travel in preference to the retired existence of a medical practitioner.”

“Travel?” jeered Hartnett. “Yes. I know of that, Doctor Zelka. You have been in Europe, through the Orient, even in South America for a time. There are some cities — in fact, some countries — which would not give you a healthy reception if you returned.”

“Quite so,” agreed Zelka suavely, as he lighted another cigarette. “An American traveling abroad frequently finds himself confronted by unfortunate circumstances which do him an injustice.”

“Yes?” queried the lawyer. “Talk to Mr. Schofield about that, Doctor Zelka. My client, too, has traveled extensively during his long and useful life, but he has never encountered any of those unavoidable situations of which you speak. Integrity! You would do well to make it your watchword, Doctor.”

It was David Moultrie who took up cudgels for the accused physician, but Doctor Zelka calmly waved the man down. Turning to Blaine Goodall, Zelka put a quiet question.

“How soon,” he asked, “will you be forced to make the announcement of which you speak?”

“Two weeks from tonight,” returned Goodall. “That is the longest that I can wait.”

“That will be sufficient,” decided Zelka. “Let us part friends, gentlemen. We will give Mr. Hartnett a chance to confer again with Mr. Schofield. Perhaps, with sober consideration, they will reverse their decision. If they do, Mr. Hartnett can make the fact known to Mr. Goodall, who, in turn, can inform Moultrie and myself. Of course, should we come to the agreement which Moultrie and I desire—”

“I’ll hold off the announcement indefinitely,” agreed Goodall, “provided that I know the deal is going through. But failure to get together throws me back to my duty to the Huxley Corporation.”

“I understand,” nodded Zelka, with a smile. “Come, Moultrie. We are leaving.”

The physician extended his hand as a token of no ill feeling toward Westley Hartnett. The lawyer accepted it.

“Sorry about the personalities, Doctor Zelka,” he said. “But so far as the arrangement is concerned, I can tell you now that none will be effected.”

“Think it over,” urged Zelka, shaking hands with old Barton Schofield. It was impossible to tell whether his remark was made to the lawyer or to the retired banker.

Following Zelka’s example, David Moultrie shook hands all around. The two men left the room. Blaine Goodall remarked that he must be leaving, also. Westley Hartnett summoned a servant; old Barton Schofield arose wearily and started upstairs, leaning upon the attendant. The old banker always retired early in the evening.

ONE window shade gave a feeble flutter as the sash beyond it was silently lowered. Outside the house, a phantom figure moved strangely through the darkness. It traveled swiftly across the blackened lawn, and reached a coupe that was parked on a secluded lane beside Barton Schofield’s Long Island mansion.

Another coupe shot by the entrance of the lane. David Moultrie and Doctor Ward Zelka were departing in the former’s car. Zelka had come here by taxi; Moultrie was taking him back to the city.

The hidden coupe moved. It swung into the road, and its dim lights glimmered. Far behind, it took up the trail of the distant tail light which indicated Moultrie’s car.

A laugh sounded in the darkness of the following automobile. A sinister sound, that mirth caused a hollow echo within the confines of the coupe.

The Shadow, unseen, unknown, had listened well tonight. He had heard the schemes of two conniving men; and he had also heard the answer which had blocked their plans.

The Shadow knew!