The Unseen Killer

CHAPTER XXI. NEW DEDUCTIONS

A BUZZ of comments broke loose when Crofton’s story was completed.

Crofton did not open his eyes, even though some remarks were criticisms of his statement. He was tired.

He was willing to rely upon The Shadow to substantiate the story that he had given.

“A hoax!” exclaimed Findlay Warlock. “Professor Lessep was no swindler! This wild tale is an insult to his memory!”

“I doubted the professor,” put in Marryat Darring, “but not my own senses. I struggled with the Unseen Killer myself. If Crofton was not my assailant, who was?”

“Murder has been done,” announced Barth. “Only an invisible criminal could have accomplished those killings.”

Joe Cardona made no comment. He was puzzled. Barth looked at him; the detective merely shook his head. The commissioner reiterated his previous statement.

“Only an Unseen Killer could have done these crimes. Lessep — Hildon — Amboy — Norgan—”

“Odd deaths,” came a quiet interruption. “Yet ones that do not belie Crofton’s story.”

Barth turned to Cranston. It was he who had spoken.

“Can you explain those killings?” challenged the commissioner.

“Possibly,” rejoined Cranston, with a quiet smile.

“How?” demanded Barth.

“Lessep, to begin with,” remarked Cranston. “No bomb was thrown at him. He died by a special device planted in his little office. One so clever that it passed unsuspected.”

“How do you know that?”

“I found a used lamp bulb in his desk. I happened to try it. The bulb was not burned out.”

“This is no time for a hoax!” cried Barth. “What did such a bulb have to do with Lessep’s death?”

“It proved,” returned Cranston, “that there must have been some purpose in its removal. For instance, a special bulb, screwed into the lamp above Lessep’s filing cabinet. One that was left loose—”

“For what purpose?”

Cranston stepped across the room. He unscrewed a light bulb in its socket, leaving it loose. The others watched the demonstration, particularly Joe Cardona.

“Picture Lessep coming into his laboratory,” remarked Cranston. “To get those photographs. The last act he was to perform. He tries the light switch” — the speaker demonstrated — “and no light results. He decides to remove the bulb, thinking it burned out.”

Cranston’s long fingers began to turn the bulb. They stopped, apparently noting its looseness.

“A loosened bulb,” he remarked quietly. “Lessep decides to screw it tight before removing it. He does so. Contact forms and—”

“He gets light,” put in Barth, as the lamp came on.

“No,” returned Cranston. “Not with the bulb that was placed there. That bulb was a bomb, its mechanism hidden by the frosted glass.”

“Ready to blow when the current hit it!” cried Cardona. “That’s the story, commissioner! I see it!”

“DID you suspect this at the time?” demanded Barth, speaking to Cranston.

“Yes,” was the reply.

“Why, then,” asked the commissioner, “did you fail to mention it?”

“Because I suspected all that Crofton has told us. I knew there could be no Unseen Killer. Deducting from that basis, I knew that Professor Lessep had himself taken the lever from his machine; that he had typed the threatening note found on his desk. Lessep was a fanatic. I could well believe—”

“That he planted the bomb himself? As a means of suicide?”

“Yes. At the same time it was possible that an enemy had placed the bomb. I suspected one of two men. Lessep was dead. It was best to wait.”

“Why?”

“In case the real killer would show his hand. So that he could be trapped in actual murder.”

“You should have advanced your theory, Cranston. Hildon — Amboy— Norgan—”

“All died through their own errors.”

“How so?”

“The killer did reveal himself,” explained Cranston, “by his first notes. To Hildon, Amboy, and Norgan. Had they acted sanely, and informed you of the threats, I would have told you what I had learned. But they were avaricious. They had gained wealth by legalized crime. They kept their secret. Hildon died.”

“Can you explain his death?” demanded Barth.

“I have a theory,” said Cranston, quietly. “A sound one.”

“Of how a visible killer could have left Hildon’s room?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By the side window.”

“Impossible! It was locked on the inside. The panes were intact.”

“Exactly. But suppose” — Cranston paused and adopted a tone that was almost speculative — “suppose some one had climbed to the porch roof outside the window. While Hildon was at dinner, the intruder could easily have chiseled away the painted putty that held one pane in place.

“Entering, leaving the glass on the roof, that man could have strangled a weakling such as Hildon. Then out through the window. The pane back in position. New putty, of the type that hardens rapidly. Quick-drying paint which—”

“That’s the story, commissioner!” exclaimed Joe Cardona. “It’s no theory. Mr. Cranston is telling you facts. That’s why the telephone bell was wadded.”

“The telephone bell?” queried Barth.

“Yes,” replied Cranston, with a smile. “So Hildon’s body would not be found until morning. It was found sooner; but not too soon.”

“You’re right,” agreed Cardona. “I was too dumb to think of the windowpane. That stuff had time to dry anyway. Say — maybe there’s a lot of cracked putty on that roof—”

“There should be some,” inserted Cranston, dryly. “Probably the murderer spread a cloth to catch most of it. But I advise you to go down there, Cardona. You will probably find traces now that you know where to look.”

“CRANSTON,” declared Barth, seriously, “this is something else you should have mentioned. Lives were at stake when—”

“Whose lives?”

“Amboy’s and Norgan’s.”

“Not at all. Their wealth was at stake. They promised to deliver it to the Unseen Killer. That was why I waited. Had they delivered it two nights ago, the murderer might easily have been traced.”

“You mean they tried to trick him then—”

“Exactly! That was fair, perhaps. But they played false with you as well.”

“So they did. That’s right. That’s why Amboy died. But how—”

“I was interested at Amboy’s,” interrupted Cranston, quietly. “Detective Sergeant Markham gave us an excellent demonstration of how Peters Amboy might have died. But Markham was deluded by his belief in an invisible murderer.

“He mentioned — perhaps you remember it — that Amboy could have been killed while facing the wall. But he could not follow that theory because there was not sufficient space between Amboy and the wall.

“Yet Amboy did die while in that very position. The shot, commissioner, came through the wall itself.”

“Through the wall?”

“Yes. By way of the plug socket underneath the light switch. You remember it? The plug with the little hinged lid that dropped so easily into place?”

“I remember it,” put in Cardona.

“Good,” remarked Cranston. “Suppose, Cardona, that there is a similar switch and plug in the next apartment. Both on the same wiring. Picture a murderer stationed in the next apartment. A tricked murderer — one who has found a box containing blank paper — one who had planned this death beforehand.

“He comes to the empty apartment. He removes the light switch. He takes out the plug from Amboy’s switch on the opposite side of the wall. He pushes a gun muzzle right through, into the darkened room on the other side.”

“With the metal cap going up!” cried Cardona.

“Yes,” agreed Cranston. “Then Amboy enters. He turns on the light. The murderer sees the glimmer. He fires at a man perfectly located. Back comes the gun. Down drops the metal plug cover—”

“And the killer fixes the whole works while Markham is looking at Amboy’s body!” Cardona was excited. “All it took was nerve. Then a get-away from the empty apartment on the other side of the building!”

“Most amazing!” declared Commissioner Barth, sternly. “Yet it does you no credit, Cranston. A man has died to-night — Wallace Norgan — and you could have saved his life.”

“Yes,” admitted Cranston, in a solemn tone. “Unfortunately, I was too late in my arrival. I intended to be here, but” — a slight smile — “other matters detained me.”

“Something more important than the saving of a human life?”

“Hardly” — keen eyes turned to note Crofton, half asleep in his chair. To The Shadow, Crofton, honest but duped, was more valuable a man than Norgan. “It was a matter of choice, commissioner. However, I saw no danger for Norgan. If he had gone through with what he started, giving up funds that did not rightfully belong to him, he would not have died.

“But, apparently, he tried some trick. He blurted out the fact. That error cost him his life. Of course, had I been here, had I already revealed my theories—”

“Cranston,” stormed Barth, “I extend you no thanks for what you have told us. We do not need your aid. Since you did not choose to speak before this, you can end your theorizing. I shall conduct the rest of this investigation.”

“Very well.” Cranston bowed slightly. “Suit yourself, commissioner. I believe that I have supplied enough information to enable Detective Cardona to furnish the rest. He is a capable man, Cardona. Given a clue, he seldom fails.”

With that compliment, Lamont Cranston turned and strolled from the room. His footsteps faded in the direction of the stairs.

WAINWRIGHT BARTH fumed. Then he turned to Joe Cardona.

“Bring Crofton with us,” ordered Barth. “We are going downstairs into the living room.”

Cardona roused Crofton. The others followed. In the living room, they found Markham, a police surgeon, and two detectives.

“Markham,” said Barth, with sudden impulse, “hurry out and stop Mr. Cranston before he gets away. I want him to come back.”

“Very well, sir.”

Markham departed. Barth talked with the police surgeon; then ordered the prompt removal of Norgan’s body. The corpse was taken out. Markham returned while it was on the way.

“Too late to catch him, commissioner,” he said. “The limousine had gone before I got there.”

“Too bad,” said Barth, sourly. “All right, Markham. Go down to the morgue with the body. Send the other men back to headquarters. Something else, also. Call the Cobalt Club and leave word for Mr. Cranston to communicate with me here.”

Markham departed. Barth turned to Warlock and Darring. He made a comment.

“I was hasty,” he admitted. “We owe much to Cranston. I see now that he was right. He wanted to wait until the Unseen Killer gained the spoils. That he might see him trapped with the goods.

“This man” — he indicated Crofton, half asleep in a chair — “is obviously innocent. There is no Unseen Killer — as such — but there is an unknown killer. He is the man we want. Cranston has proven that fact for us. A man smart enough to simply stay out of sight, without actually being invisible. He is the man we want—”

“And the man we can get,” put in Cardona.

“If Cranston can furnish us with further clues,” decided Barth.

“We have enough,” returned Cardona. “He knew that when he left. He didn’t have to tell us any more. He told us that there was no Unseen Killer. Well, if there wasn’t, how did—”

Cardona paused as a sharp voice spoke from a few feet away. The detective turned; so did two others: Barth and Warlock. They were facing Marryat Darring. The black-haired man had drawn a pair of revolvers. He held the trio covered.

“How did I fight the Unseen Killer in the hall?” demanded Darring, with a laugh. “That was your question, eh? I’ll answer it. I didn’t fight him. I faked it. I’m the man you want!”

Darring’s face had taken on a leer. His game of crime revealed, the master crook was gloating with the evil that he no longer could conceal.