The Python

CHAPTER II THE PYTHON’S WILES

CHUCK, in his chat with Bevo, had used some specific terms. He had spoken of a “flash-back” in response to a call that Doc had made. He had later referred to “blue lights blinking”; as if the two references had signified the same occurrence.

They did. In fact, while Bevo remained on lone guard over The Shadow, blue lights were blinking another flash-back. A man was watching them.

Stationed at a window of a darkened apartment in the Fifties, this individual was staring across a low sweep of buildings toward a loft building that stood near the East River.

A corner of the loft building was visible from the apartment window; and that was the spot that the watcher noted. As he kept observation, corner lights blinked slightly. Their signals came in quick succession. They paused, then blinked again.

Then the blinks had ceased. A satisfied chuckle sounded in the gloom of the apartment. Footsteps moved toward the door; a hand turned the knob. The apartment occupant stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.

Standing in the light, the man from the apartment appeared youthful and immaculate of attire. Though the assurance of his face indicated his correct age as nearly forty, most persons would have considered him as being much younger. He was sleek, well-groomed; his tuxedo fitted him to perfection.

There was poise in this man’s manner as his lips formed a calculated smile. His face, white-complexioned beneath his light-brown hair, was one that pretended frankness. His actions gave the semblance of a dress rehearsal as he nonchalantly adjusted a cigarette in its holder, applied a flame from a sterling-silver lighter.

This man’s name was Albert Thurney, a fact which he revealed as he stepped away from the apartment door. For the action removed his figure from a name plate which contained a cut-out center of one of Thurney’s calling cards.

Donning a Derby hat that he carried with him, Thurney went to the elevator.

WHEN he reached the street, Thurney stepped into a cab that the doorman hailed for him. Giving the driver an address near the East River, Thurney settled back to puff his cigarette.

As the cab rolled along an avenue, he looked out and upward — toward a window on the fourteenth floor of the apartment building. That window, on the topmost story, represented Thurney’s own apartment.

He had chosen it because it afforded a view of the distant building with the blue lights. Riding in the cab, Thurney could gain no immediate glimpse of that glare. But as the taxi continued eastward, he sighted it three or four times, thanks to partially open spaces. The lights were no longer blinking.

The cab reached a wide, secluded avenue, the last thoroughfare before the river. It stopped a few doors above a large apartment house, on the west side of the street.

Thurney alighted, paid the driver and strolled toward the house where they had stopped. As the cab pulled away, he changed his course. Crossing the avenue, he picked a three-story building on the corner. Ascending the steps, Thurney rang the doorbell.

The visitor knew this neighborhood. It was an exclusive section, newly developed and named Versailles Place. Several large apartment buildings had sprouted up from a dingy setting of abandoned tenement houses. The tenements, in turn, had been reconstructed into swanky apartments that commanded fabulous rentals.

The house which Thurney now stood before was the home of Danton Califax, a retired manufacturer who had foreseen the development of Versailles Place and had bought this property before values had jumped.

THE front door opened and a suspicious-eyed flunky surveyed Albert Thurney. The servant had seen the visitor before; and Thurney addressed him by name.

“Hello, Sykes,” greeted Thurney, in a suave manner. “Is Miss Califax at home this evening?”

“No, sir,” returned Sykes, gruffly. “Miss Califax has gone to the theater.”

“By the way, Sykes. Was it you who answered the telephone this afternoon? When I called Miss Califax?”

“Yes, Mr. Thurney.”

“Ah, yes. I thought I recognized your inimitable voice. So you were the fellow who informed me that Miss Califax did not wish to speak with me?”

“I obeyed the instructions that Miss Califax gave me. Moreover, Mr. Thurney, she told me to repeat another message should you chance to call here. Miss Califax does not care to see you in the future.”

Thurney’s smile retained its suavity. He eyed Sykes; and the fellow waited for him to speak. The door was half open. Looking beyond, Thurney could see a lighted hallway. At the rear was a peering face, that of another servant. Thurney caught a nod from the man whom Sykes did not see.

“Very well,” decided Thurney, in a nonchalant tone. “You may tell Miss Califax that I hope she will reverse her decision.”

Sykes nodded. Thurney turned about and strolled down the steps. Sykes watched him walk toward the avenue; then closed the door with a slam. Thurney looked about as he heard the bang. He sidled to the house wall, returned toward the steps, where he waited.

Soon the door opened. A stooped figure appeared there. It was the servant whom Thurney had seen at the rear of the hall. The man beckoned. Thurney entered.

The servant — a middle-aged man with a hard, wise face — was careful in his silent closing of the door. With a whisper he led Thurney through the hall. Together the pair ascended a flight of stairs.

THURNEY and his guide had reached the third floor. They stepped into a tiny corner room which had two windows. The hard-faced servant pointed to one window which faced the avenue. From there it was possible to see the loft building. Lights were no longer blinking.

Thurney smiled, a smile of gloating approval.

“You’ve done well, Warthrope,” stated the visitor. “And to think that I thought you timid! Of course I had to threaten you with some petty thievery that I knew about when you worked for your previous employer!”

“I never could guess that, Mr. Thurney. The Python must be—”

“Never mind the rest, Warthrope. The Python knew all. You have been honored, and I as his Coilmaster can state that you have done good work.”

Thurney paused, then continued suavely, “You are one of my men, Warthrope, and so is my valet, Warring. Both of you work under me. We all have our own special codes by which we know when to act. You are the only supporting Coil to a Coilmaster, Warthrope, who has a code list. The future speaks well for you.”

Warthrope swelled. “You mean, sir, that I could be a—”

“A Coilmaster? Yes. You have proven your usefulness. And now, is everything ready? The microphone?”

“It is,” acknowledged Warthrope. “The wires run in back of Mr. Califax’s filing cabinet and we will catch every word that will be said.”

“Good. And I understand that Jurrice will be here shortly.”

“Yes, very shortly.”

Warthrope stole over across the room and locked the door. Together they went toward a small radio set. There Warthrope unscrewed the cover and listened as he turned a dial. Faintly sounds came from below.

“Jurrice!” whispered Warthrope. “And Bornick!”

Thurney nodded. Together these aids listened for the words that were to come from the room below.