“But then he said he regretted that he hadn’t even known about Duro Metal. Told me to look for the real murderer; that I’d probably find he was some other dupe those birds had swindled. And Powlden said anybody of that sort would have destroyed the papers.”
“I see,” nodded Caffley. “So that no one connected with any of the murdered men could profit by my purchase.”
“That’s it,” agreed Cardona. “Just about the way Powlden put it. We went through his house after we pinched him, and we arranged with the Jersey State police to search the shack he told us about. No papers over there.”
“I do not believe that Powlden had even been to his cabin,” declared Barth. “The place was as untidy as his house; but there was nothing in it to prove recent occupancy.”
“There’s just one point, though, Mr. Caffley,” asserted Cardona. “Suppose Powlden did keep those papers? Suppose he’s hidden them somewhere? What could he do with them?”
“He might offer them for sale,” returned the manufacturer.
“To you?” queried Cardona. “Say — that would be a give-away! Figuring that we hadn’t arrested Powlden, he’d be a fool just the same to show up with the documents.”
“Quite right,” agreed Caffley. “Yes, I begin to see that Powlden must have been actuated by revenge alone. Unless he thought that he could hold back for a while and then produce Duro Metal as a new product under another name.”
“Even then, he wouldn’t have risked selling it to you, Mr. Caffley.”
“He might have attempted to sell it elsewhere.”
WAINWRIGHT BARTH blinked suddenly as he heard Caffley’s final statement. The acting commissioner was wearing a new pince-nez; but had found these glasses more difficult to adjust than the old ones. He fixed them carefully as he spoke in an eager tone.
“You have stated something of possible import,” affirmed Barth. “Do you think, Mr. Caffley, that the sponsors of Duro Metal could have negotiated with anyone other than yourself?”
“They did conduct negotiations, commissioner.”
“With whom?”
“With Philo Dreblin, the manufacturer of calthite. An alloy that competes with ferroluminum, although” — Caffley chuckled dryly — “our concern would scarcely regard the Calthite Company as a competitor.”
Another pause. Cardona sprang to his feet. Leaning on a little table, he looked from Caffley to Barth; then back to the millionaire.
“You’ve given me a hunch!” exclaimed Cardona. “A good one. You’ve indicated that ferroluminum sells better than calthite. Am I right?”
“Our sales,” responded Caffley, “are six to every one made by Dreblin’s concern.”
“Then Dreblin would want Duro Metal. More than you want it?”
“Certainly. I was ready to buy it chiefly because I did not want Dreblin to obtain it.”
“Would he have offered two million for it?”
Caffley chuckled. His droopy face showed a smile as he idly brushed his thin, gray hair.
“I doubt that Dreblin could have raised two million dollars,” he stated. “They asked a high price for Duro Metal. I can state positively, however, that he would have gone to the limit of his resources in order to acquire the new alloy.”
Another pause. Then Barth spoke.
“Tell us your hunch, Cardona,” insisted the acting commissioner. “Such matters always interest me.”
Cardona grinned. He knew that Barth liked hunches; fully as much as Ralph Weston, the actual commissioner, disliked them. Weston was in Bermuda at present; Barth, as deputy acting in Weston’s place, was anxious to close the Powlden case before his superior returned.
At this present moment, Weston’s absence was propitious to Cardona as well as to Barth. The detective liked to spring his hunches; and Barth was the right man to give him leeway. So Joe spoke in positive tones as he stated his new theory.
“POWLDEN wanted to hurt Lentz,” declared the detective. “But it isn’t likely he’d have gone to murder just on account of revenge. Understand, that was really what he did it for; but he may have had some notion in the back of his head. Something that spurred his motive.”
“A good beginning, Cardona,” approved Barth, blinking through his spectacles. “Jove! I wish Cranston were here to listen. Hearing well-formed opinions might make him realize that his own notions are mere piffle. Proceed, Cardona.”
“Powlden admits that he thinks Lentz owed him money,” resumed the detective, curbing the impatience that he felt because of Barth’s interruption. “That shows dough was in his mind. All right. If he grabbed those Duro Metal documents, he might have figured on unloading them. And we’ve found where he could have placed them.”
“With Phil Dreblin?” ejaculated Caffley.
“That’s it,” returned Cardona. “You and Dreblin aren’t such good friends, are you, Mr. Caffley?”
“No, we are not.”
“I guessed it from the way you spoke.”
“Well, you guessed correctly. Dreblin and I are very much at odds.”
“Good. Do you hear that, commissioner? You see how it fits? Powlden could have made a deal to sell Duro Metal to Dreblin.”
Hiram Caffley nodded slowly; but Wainwright Barth shook his head.
“I doubt it, Cardona,” affirmed the commissioner. “Dreblin must certainly be a man of standing, despite his enmity toward Mr. Caffley. He could not risk his reputation.”
“His reputation is below par,” put in Caffley. “Very far below, commissioner.”
“You are speaking from prejudice, Mr. Caffley.”
“I am thinking of Dreblin’s actions as I have observed them, commissioner. Dreblin would do anything to steal a march on me.”
“Don’t forget one point,” said Cardona, quickly. “Lentz swiped an invention from Powlden. I mean the synthetic gas. Maybe Powlden could convince a man like Dreblin that he had invented Duro Metal also.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Barth. “That sheds new light, Cardona. It is possible that Powlden could have approached Dreblin prior to the murders, claiming to be the rightful owner of Duro Metal.”
“And Dreblin could have paid him for it. And if he did, he wouldn’t be talking much right now. For fear of being incriminated in the murders.”
“What would you advise, Cardona?”
“I’d like to call on this man Dreblin. Unannounced. Where does he live, Caffley?”
“Somewhere uptown. His address is in the telephone book.”
“Is he in New York at present?”
“I believe so.”
Cardona turned to Barth and put the matter straight to the police commissioner.
“How about it?” queried Joe. “Shall I go up to see Dreblin tonight? After I’m through at headquarters?”
“Yes,” acknowledged Barth. “But use discretion, Cardona. Be tactful. Dreblin may be anxious to reveal facts concerning Powlden — if he knows any. You may go, Cardona.”
The detective turned to leave. Hiram Caffley glanced at his watch and arose. The manufacturer stated that he would call the commissioner later. Barth, in turn, announced that he could be reached here at the club.
Cardona departed; Caffley followed.
IT was after eight o’clock when Cardona arrived at headquarters. On his desk he found a scrawled note from Clyde Burke, a reporter on the staff of the New York Classic. Burke had been supposed to drop in for a story on Powlden. The note said that he had another assignment and would not arrive.
Joe Cardona would have been perplexed had he known Clyde Burke’s present whereabouts. At that very moment, the reporter was riding up in an elevator to the eighth floor of the Belgaria Apartments.
Al Sycher was the operator on duty. Al was eying the passenger.
Sycher did not know that Clyde Burke was a newspaper reporter; he knew only that Clyde was a new tenant who had moved in today, taking Apartment 8 A next to the apartment which Howard Morath had occupied, prior to his death.