“Like Rubal, you are an official from the last administration,” explained Rush, as the car stopped in front of a massive stone mansion, well in from the road. “Ever since Darfield, our ex-mayor, disappeared from town, Knode has demanded that I air the faults of the last administration.
“I have refused to do so. I kept you and Rubal because I believed both of you, to be honest. I can give good government to Latuna without discharging capable men. My policy is to ignore dead scandals. I refuse to start a new one about those men at the Phoenix Hotel. They may look like crooks; yet they have not branded themselves as such. Men must be regarded as innocent until proven guilty.”
THE SHADOW shifted backward as Rush opened the door. This house was Malden’s. Its blackened foreground offered opportunity to The Shadow. He edged into darkness and reached the house while Rush and Grewling were ascending steps between two stone griffons.
The Shadow saw lighted windows at the side of the house; they indicated a conservatory. He glided in that direction.
At the front door, Mayor Rush banged pompously upon a brass knocker. The large door opened; a Japanese servant bowed the visitors into a lavishly furnished hallway.
“Mr. Malden is in the conservatory,” announced the Jap. “He awaits you, Honorable Mayor.”
Toya led the way to the conservatory. Entering, the visitors found Strafford Malden rising to greet them. The donor of the Blue Sphinx was attired in a dark dressing gown that accentuated the gray streaks in his hair.
“You are late, Quirby,” he told the mayor, with a smile. “I thought that perhaps you did not have your official car tonight. I was ready to send my limousine to your house.”
“The car is down there,” replied Rush. “Waiting for Joseph Rubal.”
“He is coming to see you?”
“Yes. I told the police chauffeur to bring him up here.”
“I have Singler waiting here,” remarked Malden, indicating a uniformed chauffeur who was seated in the corner. “If you wish to send your man off duty, Singler can take the limousine—”
“Not necessary, Mr. Malden.”
“Very well. You may go, Singler.” Malden smiled. “You may resume your narrative at some later date.”
“All right, Mr. Malden,” laughed the chauffeur.
“Interesting chap,” observed Malden, after Singler had departed. “He served for seven years in the French Foreign Legion. I started him talking after I had finished dinner and he held me spellbound until your arrival. One adventure after another. Interesting to have a chauffeur who is also a raconteur.
“Well, gentlemen” — Malden waved his guests to chairs — “I am pleased that you are here. I have been rather anxious to learn why you wanted me to see Rubal, Quirby.”
“It’s on account of his resignation, Malden.”
“Has Rubal resigned as curator? This is unbelievable!”
“He intends to resign tonight. That is why he is coming to see me. I mentioned the matter to you after we left the museum to-day.”
“You stated that Rubal had said that he did not intend to go on. I thought that you meant in regard to the plans for the museum extension.”
Quirby Rush shook his head.
“Rubal is through,” he declared. “Completely prepared to quit. I am bringing him here in hope that he will reconsider his decision.”
“He must do so,” agreed Malden. “He is the proper man for the post of curator.”
“I’m thinking of myself as much as Rubal,” admitted the mayor. “Harrison Knode has been after Rubal’s scalp. If Rubal quits, it will appear that Knode has accomplished something in spite of me.”
“I see,” nodded Malden. “I can appreciate your concern, Quirby. However, I can register no sentiment politically. My interest lies in the welfare of art. So far as Latuna is concerned, Joseph Rubal is the proper man as curator of the museum. Perhaps his resignation is on account of trouble with the plans. We aided him previously. Perhaps—”
Toya interrupted by appearing.
“Honorable Police Chief,” declared the Jap. “He is wanted to speak on the telephone.”
Grewling arose and followed Toya. Malden and Rush gazed after the police chief. Their eyes, however, were not the only ones that observed Grewling’s temporary departure. From outside an opened window, keen orbs were staring in from darkness.
THE conservatory was built on a slope that descended from this side of the house. Hence its windows were high above the ground. The Shadow, however, had scaled the masonry. From the outer darkness, he had listened in on every word of the passing conversation.
And with Toya’s interruption, The Shadow had peered above the sill. He watched Rush and Malden as they began to resume their conversation. Then he saw Grewling returning; the police chief’s face was purple with excitement.
“A call from headquarters!” exclaimed Grewling. “Report on a murder! Discovered shortly after nine o’clock.”
“Murder?” queried Quirby Rush. “Where?”
“At the museum!”
“Not — not Rubal—”
“Yes. And Hollis, the chief attendant!”
The Shadow saw Mayor Rush and Strafford Malden exchange horrified stares. The police chief waved them to their feet.
“Call your chauffeur, Mr. Malden,” he urged. “We’re going to the museum.”
Malden nodded. He called Toya, telling the Japanese to get clothes ready so that he could dress hurriedly. He also ordered Toya to call Singler and have him bring the limousine.
Ten minutes later, the big car rolled from Malden’s front drive on its way to the Latuna Museum. From the heavy darkness at the front of the mansion, the eyes of The Shadow watched the departure of Grewling, Rush and Malden.
A grim laugh whispered from the gloom. The Shadow, though he had come to Latuna, had arrived too late to prevent the stroke of crime. He had planned a later visit to the museum. Such a trip would be useless tonight.
Death had already occurred. Two men were murdered; the law was investigating. The Shadow’s only course would be to wait for better opportunity to view the scene of crime.
CHAPTER XIII
WORD TO THE SHADOW
WHEN Malden’s limousine pulled up in front of the Latuna Museum, the building showed light from its open front doorway. Two policemen arrived with flashlights; they recognized their chief as soon as Grewling stepped from Malden’s car.
“We’ve got the watchmen inside, chief,” informed one of the cops. “They’re the fellows who found the bodies.”
“Was the place lighted up like this?” inquired Grewling.
“It was when we got here,” said another policeman. “But one of the watchmen said he switched on the lights.”
“Let’s go inside,” suggested Grewling, turning abruptly to Rush and Malden.
The trio entered the museum. They followed the corridor on the right and came to the office. There they found a policeman outside the door, while, at the end of the corridor, stood two solemn-looking men. They were the watchmen.
The police chief stepped into the office. He saw the bodies lying on the floor. Joseph Rubal’s upturned face was distorted from the dying agony that the curator had suffered. Hollis looked grim in death.
Strafford Malden and Quirby Rush viewed the bodies from the doorway. They stepped back as Grewling came from the room. They waited while the police chief quizzed the watchmen. The story that the two men told was simple and straightforward.
They had arrived at the accustomed hour of nine. When Hollis did not answer their prolonged ring, one of them had the inspiration of trying the door. It was found to be unlocked. The watchmen had naturally gone to the curator’s office.