The Silent Death

CHAPTER I. EYES OF EVIL

THE lights of uptown Manhattan cast a vivid, fantastic glow when viewed from the window of the little office high in the towering Brinton Building. But the man who stood within the darkness of that thirtieth-floor room was not concerned with the spectacle of man-made brilliance. His eyes were focused upon the top stories of a huge apartment building across the street.

The apartment structure was capped by a penthouse, from which a few lights gleamed. One corner of the penthouse, which rose flush with the sheer wall of the building, was the spot which this unseen observer found most interesting.

A match glimmered in a cupped hand. As the flame ignited a cigarette, it showed a rough, hardened face.

The match went out, and the watcher puffed his cigarette. As the glowing tip descended from his lips, the man emitted an evil snarl that went well with his countenance.

A rap at the door. The man by the window flicked his cigarette through the opening. He closed the window and drew the shade. He hurried to the door and switched on the light just as a second furtive rap was given. The man within the room opened the door, to admit a hasty visitor.

The new illumination plainly revealed the two men as characters of a strangely different type. The individual who had been standing in the darkness was short and stocky a ruffian in all save dress. His well-groomed appearance did not fit his pudge-nosed, hard-lipped countenance, which bore a wicked, leering smirk.

The arrival, tall and stoop-shouldered, was a gray-haired man who possessed a marked dignity. His gaunt face showed firmness in spite of declining years. Only in one feature did he resemble the man who had been waiting in the office. His eyes, like those of the other man, gleamed with cunning and evil.

THE stocky, hard-mannered individual was the first to speak. In a voice which was suave, despite its harshness, he questioned the visitor’s identity.

“You are Thomas Jocelyn?”

“Yes,” responded the elderly man, still eyeing his questioner. “You, I presume, are Larry Ricordo?”

“That’s me,” answered the harsh-voiced man, with a grin. “Sit down and make yourself easy.”

Thomas Jocelyn seated himself in a chair beside a table in the center of the room. He leaned solemnly upon his gold-headed cane and stared at Ricordo.

“Where is Folcroft Urlich?” he inquired.

“The professor will he here soon,” replied Ricordo, while lighting another cigarette. “I came early — to open the office. Plenty of time yet.”

Jocelyn contented himself with the one question. He appeared nervous, despite his composed manner.

For several minutes, Ricordo stood expectantly, thinking that the old man intended to make a new inquiry. Finally, with a gruff laugh, Ricordo slouched into a chair.

“Well,” he remarked, “we’re all set. We’re going to see the wheels run round tonight. Picking this office was a cinch.”

As Jocelyn made no comment, Ricordo desisted after the one attempt to open conversation. He eyed Jocelyn almost contemptuously, but did nothing to arouse antagonism. When a firm knock sounded at the door, Ricordo leaped to his feet and went to admit the next visitor.

The newcomer completed an odd triumvirate. He was of medium height, dark-haired and of stern visage.

He wore a small hat, and his hair formed a flowing mop above a bulging forehead. His face, sallow and hollow-cheeked, resembled a living skull from which a pair of sharp, greenish eyes peered with evil gaze.

This man smiled broadly as he perceived the two already in the room. He threw off his overcoat and advanced with outstretched hand, his mouth forming an ugly, irregular slit as the smile continued.

“Ah!” croaked the new visitor. “Both here, eh? My friends, Jocelyn and Ricordo. You are both friends by now, I hope. That is well. We all have much in common.”

“Good evening, Urlich,” said Jocelyn, in a calm tone.

“Hello, professor,” grinned Ricordo. “All set. Want to see the lay?”

“Not yet” — the professor’s tone was reproving — “not yet. There is time to spare. It is well that we talk first.”

He seated himself and looked from one man to the other. Leaning back, still smiling, Professor Folcroft Urlich emitted a cackling laugh of satisfaction. It brought a grin from Ricordo, a nervous shrug from Jocelyn.

“So,” declared Urlich. “We shall see our first plan work, eh? We are obliged to Ricordo, eh, Jocelyn? He has arranged very well.”

“I do not relish it,” objected Jocelyn, in a testy tone. “This is not my business, Urlich. I do not disapprove of death, where it is necessary; but to be a witness—”

Professor Urlich held up his hand by way of interruption. Jocelyn subsided while Ricordo glared maliciously.

“You can end such qualms, Jocelyn,” stated the professor, “and it is well that you should do so at the start. That is one reason why I have summoned you here tonight. The other is that we may discuss our plans plainly. I want no misunderstanding later on.

“Death is my idea. To a scientist such as myself, human life is a mass. The ego must be forgotten. What is one life? Nothing. But one death” — as Urlich paused, the smile writhed snakelike across his lips — “may mean much to those who live to profit by it.

“Death means millions to the three of us. Millions! Do you understand, Jocelyn? Death paves our way — and I am the master who provides death. But one who provides death requires human tools. Ricordo has brought those instruments. Moreover, one who provides death wisely must have a chance for gain — and you bring that opportunity, Jocelyn.”

The dignified man nodded. He chewed his lips thoughtfully; then his eyes lighted as though the talk of gain had served as inspiration.

PROFESSOR URLICH leered as though he had read the old man’s mind.

“That we may all understand,” continued Urlich, lowering his evil tones, “I shall recapitulate the desires which have brought us together. For years I have taken life — seldom the life of human beings, I admit; but life, just the same. I do not quail at the thought of taking human life. To me, it is experimentation on a higher plane.

“Ricordo has chosen a career of crime. He is criminal by instinct, shrewd in all his dealings. He knows how to control and utilize men of the criminal type. Therefore, he is following his inclinations.

“You, Jocelyn, have profited by others’ losses. You call yourself a financier. You are actually one who traffics in the failures of those less fortunate. Your opportunity will be greater now; for where living men once blocked your schemes, dead men will not.”

Jocelyn shuddered at the frank terms, then smiled weakly. Professor Urlich seemed to possess an insidious influence over the financier — one which caused the man to forget his qualms despite himself.

“Simple plans are most effective.” As Professor Urlich proceeded with this statement, he drew a folded paper from his pocket. “Here is the list which you gave me, Jocelyn. It names more than a dozen big-moneyed men whose deaths will prove highly profitable to you, and therefore” — Urlich stopped to stare firmly at the man opposite him — “profitable to myself and Ricordo.

“Your part, Jocelyn, is to simply remind me of the strategic time for any such deaths. The rest lies in my hands — with the aid of Ricordo. You have named the first man. You will see him die tonight. I trust that your plans are made with all precaution.”

“They are,” declared Jocelyn, with a nervous laugh. “If Alfred Sartain dies tonight—”

“—when Alfred Sartain dies tonight,” put in Urlich, with his wicked sneer.

“With Sartain eliminated,” agreed Jocelyn, “I am sure of an immediate profit of at least five millions. He has practically agreed to refinance the Universal Chain Stores. I have large proxy holdings in the National Syndicate and in Amalgamated Stores. If Universal fails to gain the money that it needs, the concern will go into the hands of the receivers. My stocks will rise—”

“Sartain is the only salvation for Universal?”

“Positively. All depends upon him.”

“You will see him die tonight!”

Larry Ricordo was on his feet, rubbing his hands warmly as he heard these words. He swung toward Jocelyn, to add weight to Professor Urlich’s statement.

“You bet Sartain will take the bump,” he declared. “Say! Maybe you don’t know that I could be the biggest shot in New York if I’d wanted to stay in the racket. I dropped out because I saw bigger dough this way — without the chance of getting filled with lead by some other guy’s mob.

“I’m supposed to be out in the sticks — too hot for me here. But I’ve got a couple of real gazebos working for me. When Sartain comes into that penthouse of his, he’ll be covered—”

“One moment,” interposed Urlich, staring cold at the gang leader. “I told you that violence would be unnecessary, Ricordo.”

“That’s all right, professor,” responded Ricordo. “I’m not interfering with whatever plans you’ve got. Just playing safe, that’s all. Duster Brooks is planted as Sartain’s butler.”

“That I understood.”

“And I’ve got Slips Harbeck and a couple of gorillas in an apartment on the top floor. They won’t move unless we see that Sartain is going to get away. They’ll wait to hear from me.”

“Very well,” said Professor Urlich. “Nevertheless, your precautions were not needed.” Then, to Jocelyn:

“Ricordo is lacking in the technique of murder. During Sartain’s absence, the penthouse was renovated. Ricordo provided a competent supervisor in the person of Duster Brooks, who is acting as Sartain’s butler. Brooks had charge of the work. He is there tonight.

“Alfred Sartain will die — presumably from natural causes — due to my well-planned instructions.”

The professor glanced at his watch. He noticed that the time was nearly half past eight. He went to the wall, and turned out the light; then to the window.

“Come,” he ordered through the darkness.

THE other men approached. The curtain raised under Urlich’s touch. It was like the lifting of asbestos before a drama.

Silhouetted before the sparkling glow of the city lay the huge apartment building. The dim lights of the penthouse were the same as Larry Ricordo had viewed them. The corner was still black, and it was this spot that the professor indicated.

“There is the studio,” he remarked, in a low tone. “It is Sartain’s custom to retire there, alone. This will be his first visit upon his return. He is expected by nine o’clock, with his secretary. The chain-store representative will call at half past.

“Brooks has given us all the information. The documents are on Sartain’s desk for his consideration. There is no reason why he should depart from his usual custom. It is upon such simple, commonplace actions that all great deeds of hidden crime should be built.

“Your presence here will inspire your confidence in my powers. Ricordo has already evidenced his doubts. You, Jocelyn, may also be apprehensive. But as you witness each step, and hear me explain its cause, you will understand.”

The professor’s tone had taken on the quiet notes of a scientific lecture. His calloused words brought a grunted laugh from Larry Ricordo. Thomas Jocelyn shuddered. Nevertheless, the financier stayed as close to the window as did the gang leader. There was a fascination in that scene across the street.

“You will witness death,” repeated Professor Urlich, by way of conclusion. “Death undisturbed; death unsuspected; death that will be regarded as accidental. Ricordo may trust to guns and violence. I deal death with silent skill. That is the death that you will see tonight — and which will strike again and again. Silent death!”

The professor paused. The men by the open window remained motionless. Once more those insidious words sounded from the lips of Folcroft Urlich.

“Silent death!”