The Wealth Seeker

CHAPTER VII. CARDONA’S QUIZ

IT was after midnight. The police had removed the crippled mobsters from Folsom Satruff’s home. With them, they had taken the dead form of Pug Hoffler.

Detective Joe Cardona had remained. He was in Satruff’s upstairs living room; with him were the principals in the fray against the group from mobland. Folsom Satruff was standing near the fireplace.

Lamont Cranston and Doctor Wesley Harlow were seated. Bartlett Okum, his cadaverous face still pale, was near his master.

“Pug Hoffler was a bad egg,” commented Cardona. “He deserved what he got. There’s no doubt about why he and his mob came here. You gentlemen did a good job. But there’s some things I’ve got to put in my report. That’s why I’m asking questions.”

The assembled men waited for Cardona to continue. The detective turned the trend of his conversation temporarily.

“I had a tip-off on Pug,” he remarked. “There was some heavy shooting early to-night down at a place called Red Mike’s. A tough mob picked off one of my stool pigeons — a fellow named Birdy Zelker. We took him to a hospital and he came to just before he died. Told me that Pug Hoffler was heading here.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” queried Folsom Satruff.

“I counted on making it before Pug showed up,” returned Cardona. “Birdy said something about eleven o’clock; I didn’t think the raiders could get here before midnight. We heard the shots when we came up the driveway. Your man had the front door open. He shouted to us.”

“That was Riggs,” remarked Satruff. The servant himself appeared at the head of the stairs while the millionaire was speaking. Riggs had been down helping the police. He stood silently within the door of the living room, a quiet addition to the group assembled.

“Let’s get this whole thing straight,” announced Cardona, as he produced a report book. “First of all, this fellow.” He nudged a thumb toward Bartlett Okum. Satruff’s secretary responded in a choky voice.

“I heard the bell ring,” he stated. “It was the side door, by the strong-room. That’s where I went—”

“To the side door?”

“Yes. Through the strong-room. I just thought — thought that some occasional visitor might be coming in that way. When I opened the outer door, the gunmen came through. They forced me back into the strong-room. They had me covered when Mr. Satruff arrived.”

Cardona jotted down his notes. “All right, Mr. Satruff.”

“I was up here with Mr. Cranston,” explained the millionaire. “We saw Okum go downstairs. We supposed that there had been a ring at the side door. I went down to investigate.

“I suspected trouble, so I picked up a revolver. When I arrived, I found conditions just as Okum has stated. I leaped at the ringleader— this man you referred to as Pug — but he would have shot me had it not been for Cranston’s timely aid.”

SATRUFF made a gesture toward Cranston as he spoke. Joe Cardona followed the motion with his eyes. He looked to Cranston to pick up the continuity.

“I followed Mr. Satruff,” declared Cranston calmly. “Fortunately, I provided myself with an automatic. When I saw Satruff miss the gang leader, I fired and wounded the man. I added further shots from the little passageway. Satruff did effective work also. We managed, to drop the entire crew.”

Cardona finished his notations. He glanced about, saw Riggs, and put brief questions to the servant.

“You were in the kitchen, Riggs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when you heard the shots?”

“I ran into the front hall. I opened the door by the regular driveway, hoping that I could call for aid—”

“All right. We were there to hear you. Now for your story, Doctor Harlow.”

“It is rather odd,” declared the physician, in an uneasy tone. “I had left the house just after Mr. Cranston arrived. I was seated in my coupe, out near the porte-cochere, when I thought I detected some one prowling across the lawn.

“I decided to investigate. I alighted and went in that direction. Seeing no one, I rounded the house very cautiously. It was quite dark on that side; I waited there a while until suddenly I heard the sound of gunshots. I hurried to the side entrance. I dashed in and saw the gangster — Pug — about to fire at Mr. Satruff. I raised my revolver—”

“Wait a moment!” Cardona’s interposition was a sharp one. “Mr. Satruff was armed; so was Mr. Cranston. They were in a home, protecting it. But you were out in your car. How does it happen you had a revolver?”

“I always carry one in the car.”

“You have a permit?”

Harlow fumbled in his pocket and produced the necessary paper. He handed it to Cardona. The detective examined it and passed it back.

“I drive a great deal at night,” explained Harlow, in a nervous tone. “I thought it best to carry a gun for emergencies.”

“All right, doctor.” Cardona’s tone was steady. Then, to the others: “We’re getting to the part I want. How did Pug Hoffler happen to be killed? Who fired the shot?”

“I fired it,” stated Harlow. “I wanted to save Mr. Satruff’s life.”

“Harlow’s action was well intended,” remarked Satruff. “He was naturally excited and quite within his rights. The deed, however, was hasty, as well as unnecessary. I should much have preferred that Pug Hoffler was turned over to you, Detective Cardona.”

“You say that Doctor Harlow’s shot was unnecessary?” quizzed Cardona.

“Yes,” admitted Satruff, in a reluctant tone, apparently regretting his statement. “I could easily have killed the man. I was covering him with my revolver. He began to talk, however, and I wanted to hear him out.”

“Ah!” Cardona caught this last statement. “What was Pug saying just before he died?”

“At first,” explained Satruff, “he made a motion as if he intended to shoot me. He desisted when he saw my revolver. Then he snarled that if he went to prison, he would see that another went with him. He said that he would tell what he knew about some one.”

“Did he give the name?” queried Cardona eagerly.

“No,” returned Satruff. “He was lifting his gun as he spoke, but he seemed incapable of using it. We were listening: Cranston, Okum, and I, but before Pug could speak further, Harlow made his sudden entry and shot the man dead.”

“I didn’t see the gun in Mr. Satruff’s hand,” broke in Harlow impatiently. “I saw the gangster make his move — I fired instinctively.”

“Where were you, Mr. Cranston?” quizzed Cardona.

“Standing by,” rejoined the calm-faced millionaire.

“Were you covering Pug Hoffler?” asked the detective.

“Not exactly,” stated Cranston. “I could have shot him before he had an opportunity to fire at Satruff.”

“Where were you?” This time Cardona was addressing Okum.

“Near the gangster,” replied the secretary. “I had a revolver which I had picked up from the floor.”

“I saw Okum’s gun,” broke in Doctor Harlow. “I thought that he was going to shoot the gangster on the floor. Now that I remember it, Okum’s action influenced me. Okum was unsteady. I was afraid that he would miss.”

Joe Cardona jotted down these final statements. Ignoring all others, he turned to Doctor Harlow.

“You killed Pug Hoffler,” the detective told the physician. “It appears to have been a hasty action; nevertheless, you will probably receive credit for it. The man was an ex-convict. He was here to burgle Mr. Satruff’s strong-room. He was the fellow I came after, Pug was. I’d like to have brought in Pug alive, but it can’t be helped now.

“I’d like to have you come along to headquarters with me. We can ride down in your car. Hang on to that permit that you’ve got. Suppose you meet me downstairs. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I want to talk with Mr. Satruff— alone.”

DOCTOR HARLOW arose. Lamont Cranston copied his example. With Okum and Riggs following, the two guests went down the stairway. Joe Cardona moved toward the door and closed it.

“Just a minute, Mr. Satruff.” The detective’s voice was low-pitched. “There’s something about this mess that I want you to know. It’s bad that Pug Hoffler was killed.”

“Because of the fact he was about to talk?”

“Yes. He was going to name some one. There must have been some reason why Pug picked this place.”

“You mean—”

“That he may have had a tip to come here.”

Folsom Satruff nodded thoughtfully. “You suspect an accomplice,” he remarked.

“Yes,” admitted Cardona. “I do. Pug failed; but that’s no reason why some other tough guy won’t try the job later on. I want you to keep in touch with me. There’s no proof on anybody just yet, but there may be later.”

“I understand,” nodded Satruff.

“I’ve got my suspicions,” stated Cardona, in an expressive tone, “but I’m not saying any more until I’ve made an investigation. I’m taking Doctor Harlow down to headquarters, so he can make a technical statement about killing Pug Hoffler.

“After that — well, I’ll keep you posted. I’m going to find out how Pug Hoffler got this layout here. There’s more to this than shows on the surface.”

While Satruff nodded more definitely than before, Cardona opened the door of the living room and motioned to the millionaire to accompany him downstairs. Together they descended to the front hall where the four who had left were waiting.

Cardona joined Doctor Harlow. He and the physician said good night. They departed and Satruff’s eyes followed them as they went. The man whose strong-room had been saved, was thinking over what Cardona had said. Satruff was the only one who knew of Joe Cardona’s suspicions.

There was another, however, who had divined those suspicions. Lamont Cranston’s keen eyes also followed the detective and the physician as they left. Cranston had been watchful upstairs also. He had heard Cardona’s sharp quiz of Harlow’s statements.

That Pug Hoffler had been about to squeal on some one was evident. A shot had ended Pug’s life. That shot had been fired by Doctor Wesley Harlow. Why? Because — so the physician had said — Folsom Satruff’s life had appeared to be in danger.

Was there another reason?

Well did Lamont Cranston know that Joe Cardona nourished such a thought. The keen brain of The Shadow was at work. Cardona was a sleuth who followed hunches. He was working on one now; and in the past — so The Shadow knew— Cardona’s hunches had frequently been correct.

THE face of Lamont Cranston was inflexible, however, when its owner turned to bid good night to Folsom Satruff. The millionaires shook hands. It was then that Satruff expressed a sudden thought.

“I should like to see you again, Cranston,” he stated. “By again, I mean very soon. You aided me well, to-night. I regard you as a friend. There is something important that I wish to tell you. Could you come here — say to-morrow evening—”

“Certainly,” returned Cranston, in a quiet tone. “I shall be glad to call here, Satruff.”

The host met his guest’s gaze. Cranston’s piercing eyes were impressive. Satruff wondered if this keen personage had caught the fact that Cardona suspected an accomplice in to-night’s affair. He wondered what Lamont Cranston thought regarding Doctor Wesley Harlow.

There was a glance, however, that Satruff did not catch as Cranston turned toward the door. He did not notice his guest’s gaze as it turned across the hallway and steadied for a long moment upon the pallid, corpselike face of Bartlett Okum.

The door closed to mark Cranston’s departure. The guest entered his coupe. He drove away into the night. As he handled the wheel of the car, his form seemed completely merged with the interior darkness.

A soft laugh sounded in the gloom. That laugh was one of recollection. The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, had observed every detail of the battle in Folsom Satruff’s strong-room.

He had seen exactly what Doctor Harlow had stated; that Bartlett Okum had been ready to fire at Pug Hoffler the very moment when Harlow had released a bullet to end the gang leader’s evil life.

Harlow’s odd behavior — his prowling about the grounds — the revolver which he had carried in his car; these had attracted the attention of Joe Cardona.

But Okum’s admission of the gangsters — the secretary’s helplessness when they had entered — these were points which The Shadow alone had noted.

The Shadow knew the secret which both Wesley Harlow and Bartlett Okum, through their contact with Folsom Satruff, had learned. He knew that Satruff was the unknown philanthropist who used the pseudonym of Dorand.

That was why The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, had agreed to make another call at the home of Folsom Satruff.