The Unseen Killer

CHAPTER IX. DEATH DELIVERED

CULBERLY COURT was considered an exclusive residential district of Manhattan. There, a row of old-fashioned houses fronted on a quiet street. Quaint structures, like homes in a small town, they looked out of place, even in this low-built portion of the metropolis. That was why these houses commanded high prices. They were different.

At a distance, the Culberly Court houses looked alike. Close at hand, they differed. Each house had an areaway on both sides. Bay-windows, odd-shaped gables, little roofs above side porches; these were the individualities that gave distinction.

It was easy to pick out one particular house after having seen it before. Nevertheless, at night, that process required a careful inspection as one went by the row of residences. Hence people who came here by automobile often moved along very slowly, house to house.

On the night following The Shadow’s secret trip to Lessep’s abandoned laboratory, a car appeared at the near corner of Culberly Court and began to perform the slow-motion routine. The chauffeur was trying to pick out a certain house. He knew that he could find it, because the house just beyond it was closed and boarded up.

Furthermore, the house that the chauffeur wanted had a green-glass transom just above the doorway. If the hall light happened to be on, the driver knew that he could spot the house very easily. The house that the chauffeur wanted was the home of Nathaniel Hildon.

While the car — a limousine — moved at its snail’s pace, two impatient men were talking in the back seat.

The glare of a street lamp showed their faces. Neither man was more than forty years old; both were keen-faced.

One, sallow and with bristling mustache, was Peters Amboy. The other, square-jawed and with bulldog countenance, was Wallace Norgan. They were talking in low voices and their tones were troubled. They did not want the chauffeur to hear their words. The partly closed glass partition aided their purpose.

“You called Hildon at eight?” Amboy was asking. “Are you sure, Norgan, that it was not later?”

“Exactly eight o’clock,” replied Norgan. “Then again at nine. There was no answer.”

“Yet he said that he intended to stay at home. He said that when we lunched with him.”

“Yes. That is why I decided to come in from Long Island. After I reached town, I called your apartment, Amboy. I was glad to hear your voice.”

“I don’t blame you, Norgan. By the way, you brought your note?”

“Yes. That’s why I asked you to have yours with you. We can not tell when the—”

The car had stopped. The chauffeur had alighted. As the man opened the door, a clock began to strike the hour of eleven. Norgan looked anxiously at Amboy. His friend whispered something. Norgan nodded.

“You had better come in with us, Jedrey,” said Norgan, to the chauffeur. “I do not know how long we will be here.”

“Very well, sir.”

The chauffeur opened an iron gate and ascended steps to ring the bell. Light was shining through the green transom. Jedrey wondered, however, why this visit was so late. He had brought Mr. Norgan here often; but never so late as eleven o’clock.

Amboy and Norgan had joined the chauffeur and Jedrey had repeated his ring at the doorbell before there was any sign of an answer. Then locks turned; a woman’s face peered past the edge of the door.

Suspicious eyes recognized the visitors; the door opened to show a fat woman who looked like a servant.

Both Amboy and Norgan recognized Katy, the cook of the Hildon household. The woman was prompt with an apology for her delay in answering the door.

“SURE, it’s you, Mr. Amboy,” she declared. “And Mr. Norgan. I couldn’t think who might be here at this late hour. With the butler away for the night, and me not thinking who might want to see Mr. Hildon.”

“Mr. Hildon is at home?” quizzed Norgan, promptly.

“Indeed, yes,” returned Katy. “Ever since he ate the big dinner that I cooked for him, he has been upstairs reading in his own room. It’s a wonder he didn’t hear the doorbell before I did, sir. The light was shining under his door.”

“He is awake then?” queried Amboy.

“I’m thinking he is asleep, sir,” answered Katy. “But I’ll go up to rap and find if he will wake up.”

The woman waddled toward the stairs. Amboy and Norgan exchanged anxious looks. They drew in closer to the stairway, where Amboy made a remark:

“The telephone is located in Hildon’s room—”

“Yes” — Norgan’s tone was anxious — “but even if it didn’t wake him, the woman should have heard the call from the third floor.”

“Maybe her door was closed—”

“Wait here, Jedrey.” Norgan turned nervously toward the chauffeur. “After we see Mr. Hildon, we will tell you how soon we intend to leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Norgan!” The call came from the top of the stairs. It was Katy, the cook. “Mr. Amboy!”

“Yes?” responded Amboy.

“The light is on, sir,” called Katy, “under Mr. Hildon’s door. But answer he does not. I’ve been pounding—”

Amboy started toward the stairs. Halfway up, he looked back. Norgan followed; then motioned to Jedrey to come along. The three men reached a door at the side of the house. They could see the light beneath. Amboy pounded. There was no response.

“You’re sure he is in?” questioned Norgan, of Katy.

“Sure of it, sir,” blurted the woman. “It was upstairs I was, but I would have heard had he gone out.”

“Did you hear the telephone bell ring?”

“No, sir. Not this evening.”

“He doesn’t answer,” said Amboy. He tried the doorknob. “It’s locked— seems to be bolted.”

“We’ll call the police,” returned Norgan, grimly.

“The telephone is in Hildon’s room,” reminded Amboy.

“Who lives next door?” questioned Norgan, turning to Katy.

“Mr. Willings, sir,” replied the cook. “He would let you use the telephone.”

“Let us go there,” decided Norgan. “Jedrey, you stay here with Mr. Amboy.”

WHEN the police car reached Hildon’s, it was only a few seconds ahead of another automobile that had come from headquarters. Two officers of the radio patrol had been ordered to Number 58, Culberly Court; and Joe Cardona had started at the time the order was given.

The ace detective, at present an acting inspector, joined the uniformed men on the steps. Trouble at a spot like Culberly Court was sufficient to bring Joe on the job. Cardona was the first to enter the open door.

He found Peters Amboy and Wallace Norgan awaiting him. Norgan explained about the telephone calls while they were ascending the stairs. Joe nodded. At the top, he eyed Jedrey; then learned that the man was Norgan’s chauffeur. Katy was also present; the detective nodded when told that she was the Hildon cook.

Cardona eyed the door. He knocked. He tried the knob. He noted the light that shone from beneath.

Then he beckoned to the two officers from the radio car. They launched themselves against the door.

The barrier cracked.

Joe motioned the officers back. He rammed his shoulder against the door for the final urge. The hinges had broken; Joe entered as the door swung loose at that side. The others peered through the opening.

What Cardona saw, they saw.

In the center of a large bedroom lay Nathaniel Hildon. He looked tall and frail, sprawled like a toppled scarecrow. His face showed him to be a man of less than forty — slightly younger than either Amboy or Norgan — yet less robust than either of his associates.

Hildon’s gaping face was staring upward. His eyes were bulged in death. There was no question as to the manner in which he had died. Purplish marks about his throat showed that the victim had been strangled by some powerful killer.

Yanking a revolver from his pocket, Joe looked warily about the room. The patrolmen, shoulders at the door had guns in readiness. Dropping to one knee, Cardona peered beneath the bed. The space there was vacant.

There was a closet in the corner. The door stood ajar. Cardona moved in that direction and peered in to find nothing but hanging clothes. He shook the garments. Satisfied that the closet was empty, he swung back toward the door through which he had entered.

The reason why the door had given at the hinges was because of the powerful bolt that barred it. The bolt was still shot. It proved that no one could have used the door as an exit. That meant a window.

There were two of these; one at the side of the room, the other at the rear.

Cardona went to the side window. There the detective found something that perplexed him. The window was of the type that swung open on hinges. Those hinges were on the inside. Furthermore, the fastening consisted of a heavy bar that fitted over a bolt, with a wing-nut to hold it there.

The bar was in place. The bolt was topped by the nut, screwed tightly in place. A fastening at the side of the window was also firm. The window panes were large but unbroken. This window could not have been the exit. That left the one at the rear.

JOE could see a light from a rear alleyway, shining through the solid panes of the rear window. That was why he had picked the side window first; because he could not picture a killer foolish enough to choose the window where the light shone. But as he moved to the rear window, Joe was positive that it must have formed the avenue of escape. He stopped, more astonished than before.

The rear window was fastened like the side one. Catch at the side; bar on the sill; nut tight on bolt. As with the first window, no one could possibly have closed and fastened this one on the outside.

The cops at the door could see the blank look on Cardona’s face when the sleuth turned back into the room. Rubbing his chin, Joe looked for some new hiding place. He gripped his gun more firmly. But this quest, too, was useless. There was not a single place — other than beneath the bed or in the closet — where any one could have hidden.

Then Cardona spied the telephone. He saw why calls had not been answered. Some one had wadded tissue paper about the bell, just beneath a small desk in the corner. Carefully, Cardona pulled away the wadding. He laid the paper on the desk.

Slowly, a grim look came over Cardona’s features. Standing just within the door, the detective was viewed by Amboy and Norgan, who were peering past the watching cops. The dead man’s friends saw Cardona pick up the telephone. Joe made a call and they listened tensely as they heard his words.

“Hello… Markham… Yes, Cardona… Up at 58, Culberly Court. Man murdered here. Nathaniel Hildon… Yes… Listen, Markham. Put in a call to the commissioner… Yes… You’ll probably get him at the Cobalt Club…

“Yes… Certainly. He’ll want to come down here… Tell him it’s murder. And tell him it’s more than that… More than murder… Another job by the guy we’re after… Miles Crofton… The Unseen Killer…”

Gasps from Amboy and Morgan. The two dropped back from the door. The patrolmen tightened fists on their guns. Joe Cardona’s words had produced an electrical effect.

Already, Manhattan had rung with news of the Unseen Killer. Here was murder — new crime that Joe Cardona could attribute only to the prowess of that same invisible fiend!