The Triple Trail

CHAPTER XX THE FIRST PART

“I AM SIGNET!”

Tully Kelk made that statement with emphasis as he rubbed his chafed wrists. He looked from man to man. From Cardona to Jurling; finally to Verne.

“I am Signet,” repeated Kelk, “and this is proof of it. The ring that I used in signing my correspondence to Stanton Treblaw.”

From his vest pocket, Kelk produced a signet ring which he handed to Joe Cardona. The signet bore the raised impression of a crown. Joe saw tiny dabs of red wax in its crevices. The ring had undoubtedly been used as a stamping seal.

Yet Joe remained a bit perplexed. He had seen none of the original letters; only copies brought by Jurling. Kelk noted Cardona’s puzzlement. He spoke again.

“I have further proof,” he stated. “Identifying cards in my pockets; bills of sale for art treasures. But first, let me tell my story. All that will come later.”

“Go ahead,” suggested Cardona.

Like Kelk, Joe was now eyeing Verne with some suspicion. The dapper man, leaning against the wardrobe trunk, appeared quite unconcerned. He was smiling easily.

“I have always been interested in the works of Benvenuto Cellini,” stated Kelk, “not only in the example of his goldsmith’s art, but also in his literary efforts. I have pored over Cellini’s autobiography time after time, reading between the lines of his story.

“For instance, Cellini told how he was once supplied with silver by the King of France, in order that he might make twelve statues: six Roman gods, and six goddesses. But Cellini relates that he finished the Jupiter only; and also made a silver vase. These objects were delivered to the king.

“Cellini’s explanation that he made the statue larger than intended, thus using a good portion of the silver, was one that I could not believe. Cellini was frequently underpaid; he might have made the statue somewhat larger as an excuse to get more silver for himself instead of the money that was not forthcoming.

“I believed that Cellini made all twelve statues; but delivered only the Jupiter. The king was deceived by the silver pretext but furnished no more of the precious metal. Thus Cellini was left with eleven silver statues, which he was forced to dispose of elsewhere than in France.”

Kelk paused; he studied his intent listeners, then resumed:

“Suffice it to say that my belief was correct. In Europe, I uncovered five statues which looked like survival of Cellini’s work. I purchased them by proxy. I paid little more than the actual value of the metal for them; for the owners did not suspect that they were Cellini’s.

“I acquired other objects, also. Many of Cellini’s known works have been melted down; any treasure that could be proven as Cellini’s craft would bring a huge price. But I needed that proof, and I could gain it only by finding mention of these objects, their dimensions and their values, in some unpublished manuscript of Cellini’s.

“Cellini wrote cagily in his autobiography. He frequently avoided direct facts, probably in fear that the full details of his life, when published, might bring trouble upon him. But Cellini, by nature a braggart, would hardly have failed to record those adventures that he had kept from his accepted life story.

“So I sought Cellini manuscripts. I found some and purchased them. But they did not contain the facts I wanted. I learned of the manuscript which Stanton Treblaw owned. I talked with a professor who had read portions of it. I knew that it contained the details I wanted.”

Again, Kelk paused. He smiled slightly, for he was coming to the matter of his correspondence with Treblaw.

“I AM a man of wealth,” stated Kelk. “I am unknown here in New York; but I am recognized as a millionaire in California, where my home is situated. I was willing to pay high for Treblaw’s manuscript; but I saw no reason why the old collector should gain exorbitant profit at my expense. So I wrote to Treblaw, as Signet, instructing him how to contact with me. He was to come to the Hotel Goliath; then insert an advertisement in the Classic.

“I was living at an apartment house called the Doswind. I saw Treblaw’s advertisement shortly after nine o’clock, for my servant had been buying the early editions as soon as they appeared. I decided to contact Treblaw that night. I called the hotel, learned his room number and had them ring him.”

Something dawned on Joe Cardona. The detective remembered that a call had come for Treblaw and had not been answered.

“Receiving no reply,” resumed Kelk, “I became worried. I decided to come to the Goliath in person. I did; and knowing that Treblaw was in Room 2536, I went directly to his room. The door was unlocked. I entered after rapping. I found Treblaw dead; the room was rifled.

“I was somewhat stunned. I left there in a daze. Back at my own apartment, I decided to call the hotel. I did so, advising them to send people to Treblaw’s room. The next day, I read of the murder in the newspapers.”

“That was when you should have called the police,” stated Cardona. “Go on, Kelk; now that you’ve started, we’ll hear you out.”

“I had no clue to the identity of Treblaw’s murderer,” returned Kelk. “I did not even know if Treblaw had the manuscript with him. The afternoon newspapers mentioned that you, Cardona, had gone to Droverton. I saw a notation concerning Treblaw’s secretary, a man named Wickroft.

“A thought struck me. Perhaps the manuscript was still at Treblaw’s home. I went there. I found easy access to a room on the ground floor. I began a search through Treblaw’s files, and was interrupted by Wickroft’s unexpected entrance.”

Verne was becoming tensely interested. Looks of partial understanding were showing on the faces of Cardona and Jurling. The latter, in particular, was eyeing Kelk with keen scrutiny.

“WICKROFT was yellow,” chuckled Kelk. “I parleyed with him; and in his nervousness, he talked too much. I saw at once that he was crooked; that he must have been a traitor to Treblaw.

“He began to blab and I found out promptly that he was the tool of some master criminal. Apparently he had taken orders only by telephone; for when he called me ‘chief,’ I realized that he thought I was the master crook, at Treblaw’s to check up.

“I played Wickroft perfectly. From his conversation, I learned that the big crook was after the manuscript but had not found it. I learned also that here was a possibility of the manuscript being in the possession of Silas Tilton.

“I saw a marvelous opportunity. Pretending that I was actually Wickroft’s chief, I ordered the man to visit Tilton. I went with him; Wickroft let me into the house. I listened in on his conversation with Tilton. The two went upstairs. I followed.”

“And then?” demanded Cardona, as Kelk paused.

“Then,” replied Kelk, “the raiders entered. I was in a front room when I heard the roar of guns. I made for Tilton’s filing room. I fired at some strange fighter who was garbed entirely in black. My shot was wide. I dived for cover to escape so formidable a foe. I fled.”

“Where to?”

“I stayed at a hotel that night. I read new accounts in the newspapers the next morning. Believing myself safe, I returned to my apartment. I have been there since, bewildered, afraid to reveal myself because I knew that desperate criminals might be seeking me.”

“Wickroft was killed in that raid at Tilton’s,” remarked Joe Cardona. “It looked like you framed him.”

“I did not,” assured Kelk. “I knew that Wickroft had already spoken to his real chief about Tilton’s. It appears that the master crook had arranged that raid on his own. Wickroft and I came in on it.”

“And Wickroft blabbed a description of you.”

“He did! I am not surprised. He probably thought that I — the man he took for his chief — had put him on the spot. But let me finish my story.”

Kelk paused a moment, to recall the plan that he had formulated after the affray at Tilton’s. Then he nodded. He remembered his exact impressions.

“I REALIZED,” he explained, “that if the crooks had managed to get the manuscript — either in that raid, or afterward — they would have to acquire my art treasures also. So I waited, hoping that the police investigation would bring quick results.

“I figured that the crooks might advertise to Signet, for the master mind must have learned much from Wickroft. I watched the Classic. Last night, I read an advertisement addressed to Signet. I did not answer it.

“I looked in the Classic again this evening. Imagine my amazement when I saw an answer signed Signet! I thought it over; then I decided that the master crook must have seen the request advertisement also.

“Naturally, by replying as Signet, he could bring the owner of the manuscript to him. G 1472 meant this hotel room. So I came here, intent upon meeting the man in person. I found this fellow Verne alone” — Kelk shot a glance toward Verne — “and began to talk with him. Not having the manuscript, I decided to capture him. As a bluff, I charged him with having the manuscript already. I scored a hit.”

“You did,” admitted Verne, quietly. “But I never thought that you were Signet; I thought you were the big crook, here to uncover Signet.”

“Wait a minute,” challenged Cardona, suddenly. “You’ve changed your tune, Verne.”

“Yes,” added Jurling, ranging up with his revolver. “You are the scoundrel that we want. Trying a bit of a bluff yourself, eh?”

“What do you think, Mr. Kelk?” asked Verne, turning to the sallow man. “They were about to take you away a prisoner when I spoke in your behalf.”

Cardona stopped Jurling just as the light-haired man was about to clap a hand upon Verne. Kelk was pulling papers from his pockets. He handed them to Cardona.

“These will identify me,” said Kelk. “I see that you now recognize that I am Signet, But about this chap” — he turned to study Verne — “I confess that I am puzzled. He is right when he states that he spoke in my behalf.

“I like fair play. I gained my chance to talk because of Verne’s insistence. As I recall it, he mentioned that he had some further testimony of his own. Why not let him give it?”

“All right,” decided Cardona.

The detective had drawn a revolver and was keeping an eye on Verne. Pocketing Kelk’s credentials with his free hand, Joe motioned Jurling back. Jurling retired toward the outer door. He was holding a revolver also. Kelk strolled across the room and sat down.

Still leaning against the opened front of the wardrobe trunk, Montague Verne smiled in confident fashion. Kelk’s part in past episodes had been explained. Kelk was Signet without doubt. It was up to Verne to state his own identity.

Facing three men who looked like inquisitors with their steady gaze upon him, Montague Verne began to relate the circumstances that had caused him to play the feigned part of Signet.

And The Shadow, from his hidden watch-post, remained to hear new revelations that his findings had told him would be forthcoming.