The Wealth Seeker

CHAPTER XV. SATRUFF EXPLAINS

POLICE aid was quickly summoned by Folsom Satruff. When the millionaire returned to his strong-room, he announced that he had called detective headquarters. He then instructed Harry Vincent to put in two immediate calls: one to the home of Tobias McEwen, the other to the Cobalt Club, where Lamont Cranston was likely to be found.

Harry reached McEwen by telephone. Cranston, however, was not at the Cobalt Club. Harry left a message for him should he return there or call. Shortly afterward, men from headquarters put in their appearance and took charge of the prisoners.

These were but the first representatives of the law. When Riggs answered the doorbell twenty minutes later, he admitted two men, one of whom he recognized as Detective Joe Cardona. With the sleuth was a keen-faced, domineering companion whose brisk mustache gave him a military appearance.

“Where is Mr. Satruff?” questioned Cardona.

“In the strong-room,” began Riggs. The servant paused as Satruff appeared from the passage, accompanied by a headquarters man. It was the latter who recognized Cardona’s companion.

“The commissioner!” he exclaimed to Satruff, in a low, awed tone.

Satruff promptly recognized the visitor. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston was an official who believed in action. When crime struck as it had at Satruff’s — a repetition of a previous evil foray — it was sufficient to command the commissioner’s own investigation.

Cardona introduced Satruff to Weston. The commissioner went to the strong-room. He surveyed the scene where Rabbit Gorton had been slain and his mobsmen repulsed. After a brief inspection, Weston returned to the front hall.

Riggs was answering the door. Tobias McEwen had arrived. Satruff introduced Weston to the lawyer and suggested an upstairs conference. The entire group, including Harry Vincent, Doctor Harlow, and Bartlett Okum, ascended to Satruff’s living room.

Hardly had they reached a point where the commissioner was ready to begin his inquiry before Riggs arrived again to state that Mr. Cranston was here. Commissioner Weston arched his eyebrows as Satruff ordered Riggs to bring the guest upstairs.

“Lamont Cranston?” he questioned.

“Yes,” informed Joe Cardona. “Mr. Cranston was present when Pug Hoffler’s outfit made their raid here.”

THE commissioner appeared mildly surprised. As an official, Weston had peculiarities. He seldom bothered about the details of those crimes which he classed as minor ones. He had taken no real notice of the first gang attack at Satruff’s. It was the fact that crime had struck a second time that had brought Weston here.

“I sent for Mr. Cranston,” explained Folsom Satruff, in an emphatic tone, “because I am convinced that to-night’s raid has some bearing on the one that came before. With Cranston here, we have every one who was present on the previous occasion.”

“Excellent,” agreed Weston. “Excellent. If the two events are linked, we must certainly discover why.”

“To-night,” remarked, Satruff, in a definite tone, “I shall explain the link.” Tobias McEwen gave the millionaire a startled look. Folsom Satruff ignored it. Commissioner Weston stared in surprise at Satruff.

Before he could ask a question, however, Satruff moved away toward the door to welcome Lamont Cranston.

As soon as Cranston’s arrival was settled, Weston took up the hint that Satruff had given. Addressing himself to the millionaire, he put a pointed question.

“Just what did you mean?” he inquired. “You said that you could link these attacks upon the strong-room.”

“I can,” returned Satruff coolly. He looked about him as he spoke. “I am ready to tell something which I did not reveal before. It is known to all who were present at either raid, except Vincent and Riggs. I can see no reason why Vincent should not know the truth, as he is a competent man in my employ. Riggs is downstairs; he is merely a minor servant and does not need to know.”

“What I am going to tell you” — Satruff’s voice was dramatic as the millionaire faced Weston — “is the truth about myself. I am going to tell you why my vault should be an attractive object for hordes from the underworld.

“I am going to tell you a fact which I had hoped was a secret, but which I now know is understood by certain criminals. Commissioner, I am Dorand, the philanthropist.”

The name Dorand brought a look of amazement to Weston’s face. Cardona shared the commissioner’s surprise. The detective was the first to recover. He laughed gruffly and turned to the commissioner.

“That explains it,” asserted Cardona. “If Mr. Satruff had told me that at the beginning, it would have been better, commissioner.”

“Why didn’t you?” Weston asked Satruff.

“I thought of it,” explained the millionaire. “I discussed the subject with both Cranston and McEwen.

They can corroborate what I have said. I simply wanted to keep the name of Dorand as an incognito for my philanthropies. I took the previous gang raid to be a mere blind attempt. I did not believe that my secret identity had been discovered.

“At Cranston’s advice, however, I took Vincent into my employ so that the place would be better guarded. Vincent served well to-night. Had I really anticipated this attack, however, I would have revealed myself as Dorand before now.”

“I understand,” remarked Weston. “I can hardly criticize you, Mr. Satruff. The mystery has been cleared by your statement. What is your opinion, Cardona?”

“It’s a set-up,” laughed the detective. “A blind man could see it. Somebody got wise to Mr. Satruff’s activities. Knowing the Dorand business, they figured he would have a lot of dough on hand all the time.”

“Which I have,” admitted Satruff.

“There’s somebody in back of it, maybe,” speculated Cardona. “On the contrary, it may just be that there are some tough birds working on their own. Anyway, we know why Pug Hoffler came here. This guy that got bumped to-night is Rabbit Gorton — he’s a tougher guy than Pug was.”

“This is the man who killed Rabbit Gorton?” questioned Weston, indicating Okum.

“Yes,” replied Satruff. “He acted hastily, but his intent was to save Doctor Harlow, who was grappling with the gang leader. Both Vincent and I saw what occurred.”

“Here is the report, sir,” remarked Cardona. “Detective Sergeant Lewis handed it to me downstairs. He is still there if you want him.”

WESTON mused aloud as he read over the details which had been placed on paper. These were the results of queries which Lewis had made. As the commissioner made his utterances, Lamont Cranston watched him with a steady gaze.

“Okum opened the strong-room door,” commented the commissioner. “Vincent, also hearing the bell, came through the passage. Fired at the gangsters. Repulsed them until Satruff arrived. Gangsters wounded or cornered. Harlow came in, saw Rabbit Gorton about to shoot and wrestled with him to get the gun. Okum fired shots to rescue Harlow.”

The flicker of a smile appeared upon Lamont Cranston’s lips. There had been no mention of mysterious shots from the outer door of the strong-room; no word of a black-garbed being who had made his amazing appearance in the nick of time.

Harry Vincent could be thanked for that. He, alone, could have seen The Shadow. Okum, facing the door of the passage, had gained no such opportunity. The secretary should have heard the shots from the outer door. In his excitement, however, he probably attributed all to Harry Vincent.

“Where were you, Doctor Harlow?” asked Weston, suddenly turning to the physician.

“In my car,” replied the physician. “On the other side of the house. I was just about to drive away when I heard the shots. They were muffled. I came into the house at once.”

“You were armed?” It was Cardona who put the question.

“No,” replied Harlow. “I haven’t carried my gun since I shot Pug Hoffler. I acted hastily then; I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“Why did you attack Rabbit to-night?”

“He looked dangerous. He was going to shoot. I had no gun; I acted without one.”

“The man was dangerous,” observed Satruff. “He was cursing furiously when Harlow leaped upon him. He cried out that he had been double-crossed; that he was going to tell what he knew. He was going to fix some one—”

“You mean he talked like Pug did?” broke in Cardona.

“Exactly,” returned Satruff. “It was too bad that Harlow did not manage to overcome him. Then we could have heard him talk.”

“There’s something in back of this, commissioner,” began Cardona, turning straight to Weston. “I want you to compare these two raids—”

“One moment, Cardona.” Weston’s face had become suddenly stern. “There is an important matter which must be discussed. There is no need of going into trifling details.

“The whole trouble is obvious. The underworld knows that Folsom Satruff is Dorand. Criminals have taken his strong-room as their target. Mr. Satruff has every right to preserve his incognito, now that the law understands the case. He is entitled to protection. At the same time, it would be foolish for him to lay himself open to new attacks.”

“I agree,” remarked Satruff, with a quiet smile. “I have had enough of this trouble. I suppose that it would be best for me to remove all my wealth and put it in safe-deposit vaults. At the same time” — his tone became firm— “I am entitled to protection and it would be a braver part to play if I should go on. I do not care to have my home be the first spot picked by every small-fry gang leader who wants to get some easy money.”

“You have gone too far already,” interposed Tobias McEwen, in a dry tone. “I told you that, Satruff. If you announce yourself as Dorand and state that you have been forced to put your funds into hiding, you will not only lay yourself open to requests for help from unworthy people; you will also fail in your purpose to prevent gang raids here. Will criminals believe that you have actually removed your funds?”

“I hardly suppose they will,” observed Satruff, losing his confident expression. “I suppose that I shall have to abandon everything. To be safe — to be immune from these ruffians who have learned my secret — I shall have to store my money away and abandon this residence.

“Matters have come to an evil pass” — Satruff’s tone showed bitterness — “when a man can not even perform philanthropic work without finding himself preyed upon by criminals, who run rampant despite the law.”

FOR a moment, Commissioner Weston showed suppressed anger, as he took this to be a reflection upon the efficiency of the police. He restrained himself, however, as he arose to his feet. He could see that there was cause for Satruff’s tempered indignation. Weston, himself, supplied the answer.

“This talk is premature,” stated the commissioner. “Let me remind you, Mr. Satruff, that you have called in the police only when crime has already struck. Your own withholding of certain facts has handicapped us.

“There is no reason why you should alter your plans. From now on, you can leave this case to us. You will have all the protection that you require.”

“With police guards patrolling my grounds?” asked Satruff. “That can hardly be termed in accordance with my plans.”

“I shall leave men here to-night,” decided Weston. “After that, however, the policy will be different. You have told me that you are Dorand. Cardona has also heard that statement. So far as the police are concerned, it will go no further for the present.”

Satruff smiled. There was conviction in the commissioner’s tone. Weston, however, followed it with a pointed inquiry.

“Who else,” he asked, “besides those here at present know that you are Dorand?”

“I have told no one else.”

“Adhere to that policy. Leave the rest to me. I shall work out my plans to-night. You will hear from me to-morrow, Mr. Satruff.”

Commissioner Weston prepared to leave. Joe Cardona arose to follow him. Facing Lamont Cranston, Weston addressed the calm-faced millionaire.

“I suppose you have your car here, Cranston?”

“No,” was the reply. “I happened to be on Long Island, and I called the Cobalt Club to order my limousine. They told me that Mr. Satruff wished me to come here. I took a cab.”

“You can ride with me to Manhattan then?”

“Certainly.”

The invitation accepted, Lamont Cranston left with Police Commissioner Weston and Detective Cardona. The trio entered the commissioner’s car, which was parked by the porte-cochere.

As they rolled from the drive, Weston spoke to the companion whom he had invited for this ride.

“Can you come to my home, Cranston?” he questioned. “I shall keep you there but a short while. I want to talk to you to hear your opinion about matters at Satruff’s.”

“Certainly,” responded Cranston.

“I can tell you this, commissioner,” blurted Joe Cardona. “This second raid means that some one is pulling a slick game. I’ve got my ideas—”

“You can talk about them later, Cardona,” interposed Weston, in a forceful tone. “I want to think this over until I reach my home.”

The trio rode Manhattanward in silence. Commissioner Ralph Weston was deep in thought. Detective Joe Cardona was stolidly restraining the restlessness which governed his mind.

Of the three, only Lamont Cranston seemed indifferent. The affairs of Folsom Satruff, otherwise Dorand, apparently did not trouble him at all. His face was unperturbed.

Yet that inscrutable visage masked thoughts more pointed than those which concerned Commissioner Weston and Detective Cardona. Behind the calm features of Lamont Cranston lay the master brain of The Shadow.

The awesome personage who had turned the tide against crime, had not revealed his hand to-night. The Shadow, who had delved more deeply into this affair than Weston and Cardona together, was riding, in a feigned guise, with the pair who thought they were on the trail of truth!