Hand-clapping came from the dozen persons who composed the audience. Strafford Malden delivered another bow. The mayor spoke to him; Malden nodded and they walked forth together.
Police Chief Grewling waited until the tiny throng had departed; then he marshalled his forces and followed.
Clyde noted a dry-faced, long-browed man who also left the Sphinx Room. He nudged Drury, who was looking at the Blue Sphinx, tapping his knuckles against the weather-beaten stone sides of the statue.
“Is that the curator?” asked Clyde.
“Yes,” replied Drury. “I’m going to get a chance to talk to him, I think. Come along, Burke.”
Heading toward the Medieval Room, they encountered Hollis. Drury drew the chief attendant aside and talked with him in quiet fashion. Hollis became voluble in a whisper that Clyde could not catch. At last Drury nodded; then rejoined Clyde.
“Come on,” said Drury. “We’re going to see Rubal.”
“Remember,” warned Hollis, “don’t tell him that I spoke to you. Remember that, Mr. Drury.”
“I’ll remember.”
DRURY and Clyde reached the curator’s office. As they stepped in, unannounced, Joseph Rubal looked up from his desk. His face seemed haggard. He started to protest the intrusion. Drury waved him to be quiet.
“Listen, Rubal,” he said. “I hear you’re thinking about resigning. Is that right?”
“Why — why” — the curator stammered — “you weren’t around when I said—”
“Never mind where I was. Let’s get to facts. You want to quit this job, don’t you?”
“Yes,” admitted Rubal. “But I didn’t expect—”
“That’s all right.” Drury spoke soothingly. “I know how you feel. We’ve panned you pretty heavy, haven’t we? I mean Knode has, in his editorials.”
“Yes. His criticism was quite severe.”
“And you feel you can’t stand the gaff.”
“That is close to the truth.”
Drury eyed the curator and delivered a disarming grin. He came over beside the desk and parked himself on the edge. He spoke in a confidential tone.
“Don’t be too quick about it, Rubal,” he suggested. “If you’d acted human about the matter, Knode wouldn’t have kept on chucking the harpoon. He’ll give you a break. Knode’s a real guy.”
“He has been quite unfriendly,” objected Rubal. “My impression of him is—”
“You don’t know him,” interposed Drury. “Say — how late do you stay here at the museum?”
“Usually until nine o’clock,” responded Rubal.
“Knode will be here at eight,” assured Drury. “I’ll arrange that. Hold your decision until you talk with him. He’ll be friendly. Is that a bargain?”
Rubal considered. His forehead wrinkled; he clenched his hands nervously. At last he nodded.
Drury dropped from his perch on the desk, waved good-by and drew Clyde along with him. They left the curator’s office.
DRURY and Clyde headed straight for the Enterprise. There they barged into the old man’s office and Clyde sat by while Harrison Knode listened to Drury’s account of the Blue Sphinx dedication. By the time Drury was finished, Knode was scrawling notations on copy paper.
“Just one thing more, boss,” added Drury. “Rubal is going to resign his job as curator.”
“What?” inquired the editor, suddenly, looking up from his scrawling. “When?”
“Pronto!” replied Drury. “I got the dope from Hollis, the chief attendant. Then I blew in on Rubal. Told him to hold off until you saw him.”
“What did he say to that?”
“Said he’d be in his office at eight o’clock tonight. He’ll talk to you if you come there.”
“All right.”
Knode waved his hand as dismissal. Drury beckoned Clyde from the office. The star reporter chuckled as the door closed behind them.
“Wait’ll you see tonight’s paper,” promised Drury. “The old man’s started his editorial. I didn’t have to tell him the slant I had on that dedication. He got it himself. Come on. It’s time for lunch.”
CHAPTER IX
MURDER AT EIGHT
THE Latuna Enterprise was a true afternoon newspaper. It carried only one edition; and it did not appear upon the street until half past four. Thus there was ample time for Harrison Knode to pen his editorial.
Shortly before eight o’clock that evening, Joseph Rubal was seated in his office at the Latuna Museum, reading the virulent editor’s latest effort. Though Rubal’s face was solemn, his forehead showed no wrinkles. Though the editorial concerned the Blue Sphinx, the museum curator was omitted from the criticism.
This was the account that Rubal read:
Police Chief Grewling is to be complimented on his latest efforts to offset crime. To-day, he and the shock troops of his force performed an outstanding service in the cause of public safety.
Marshalled in full array, the police chief and his cohorts arrived at the Latuna museum to protect the Blue Sphinx during the dedication ceremonies. They thronged about the five-ton rock and kept a vigilant eye upon all comers.
Did it matter to Grewling that none but law-abiding citizens were present? Was he undeterred because the total crowd of curious persons numbered less than the officers he had on duty?
No! Bravely, our high commander stood at his post, ready to foil any plot to steal the ten-thousand-pound statue. He made sure that none of our citizenry had brought derricks in hopes of removing the Blue Sphinx from its new resting place.
Though this noble duty was performed by our police chief in person, Grewling was modest enough to admit that credit for the plan belonged to Mayor Rush. His Honor was responsible for the manifesto that brought the big police turnout. It was a fine exhibition of cooperation.
In fact, this display on the part of the law has answered a most troublesome question. For the past month, the Phoenix Hotel in this city has been the gathering place for thugs and gunmen who are not native to the city of Latuna. Those rogues have been allowed to dwell unmolested in our midst. We have wondered why they were free from police surveillance. In response to our questionings, mayor and police chief have given the same answer. “When we see trouble coming, we’ll be ready for it.”
Crafty upholders of the law, they at last saw their opportunity. They threw a cordon about the Latuna Museum and protected the Blue Sphinx from attack. Their duty accomplished, they can now return to slumber.
Let us suggest that Mayor Rush and Police Chief Grewling be presented with a testimonial of esteem and thanks by the citizens of Latuna. It will be easy enough to find a committee to deliver it. The thugs now dwelling in the Phoenix Hotel would gladly accept the appointment.
Perhaps if they call en masse at the city hall, to deliver the people’s vote of thanks, Rush and Grewling will come to the realization that there are persons in Latuna who do not belong here.
THE desk clock showed eight as the curator finished reading. There was a knock at the door. Rubal spoke; Hollis entered. The chief attendant noted the newspaper on the curator’s desk.
“Yes, Hollis,” remarked Rubal, “I have read the editorial.”
“I’m glad, sir,” said the attendant, “that you were not criticized.”
“Small matter,” observed Rubal. “I intend to resign my curatorship, Hollis. Tonight.”
Hollis looked troubled.
“I am expecting a visitor,” explained Rubal. “Show him in, Hollis. I want to talk matters over with him.”
“Yes, sir. Of course I would admit Mayor Rush at any time—”