They had turned on lights all along the line. After discovering the dead bodies of the curator and the chief attendant, they had called police headquarters from the curator’s telephone.
“There’s not much mystery about the killing,” announced Grewling, turning to Rush and Malden. “The museum closes up at eight. Somebody must have rung the bell; after that, Hollis let him in and he killed Rubal.”
“What about the other attendants?” inquired Rush.
“They go out at eight o’clock, don’t they?” retorted Grewling.
“I know that,” replied Rush. “But it is possible that one of them could have been responsible for this crime.”
“That’s possible!” exclaimed Grewling. “Here, Toxter” — he turned to a policeman — “dig down to town and look up those other attendants. Bring them out here.”
THE order given, Grewling paused to eye a stout man with a bag who was coming down the corridor. He recognized a local physician, who had arrived in response to a call from headquarters. He told the doctor to examine the bodies. While the physician was busy, the police chief resorted to his first theory.
“Somebody could have come in here,” he declared. “Some special visitor, between eight o’clock and nine.”
“Just whom would Hollis have admitted?” questioned Malden.
“Any one who might know the curator,” replied the police chief. “That’s a good lead, Mr. Malden. If some ordinary thug had showed up here, Hollis wouldn’t have let him in.”
“He might have forced his way in,” observed Rush.
“He’d have had Hollis to deal with first,” returned Grewling. “No, the thing’s plain, mayor. Somebody got by the door and came in here. Hollis must have heard the shot and come in — to get his dose of lead.”
“Odd that he walked into the trap so easily,” said Malden.
“Not if he knew the man who was calling,” declared Grewling. “He might have thought the shot was accidental.”
New footsteps in the corridor. It was Singler, Malden’s chauffeur. The man had come in to inquire if he might be needed. Malden told him to remain.
“Well, doc?” questioned Grewling, as the physician finished his examination. “Anything unusual?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” declared the physician, in a doubtful tone. “Death may not have been instantaneous in the case of Rubal; but it was with Hollis. In both cases, however, the wounds show tendency to enlargement. I am not an expert on bullet wounds; but I would say—”
“May I take a look at them?” inquired Singler, the chauffeur.
“What for?” snapped the police chief.
“I’ve seen some pretty mean wounds,” replied Singler. “Seven years with the Foreign Legion. I’ve seen what ricochet shots can do. As for dumdums — well, the Arabs never minded using them. As for the Tuaregs—”
“Let him take a look, doc,” broke in Grewling.
Singler joined the physician and noted the doctor’s comments. When he arose from beside the body, the chauffeur was nodding. He had apparently made a discovery.
“I’ll bet ten to one on it,” declared Singler.
“On what?” inquired Mayor Rush.
“That there was a silencer on the gun that got those fellows,” said the chauffeur.
“Did they use silencers in the Foreign Legion?” quizzed Police Chief Grewling, in a scoffing tone.
“No,” replied Singler, soberly, “but there were plenty of lowlifes — Apaches and what not — who had used them in the past. I’ve seen and heard about plenty of guns; and a silencer — particularly a poor one — will put aquiver to a bullet. Like this.”
Singler paused to make a wiggling motion with his right hand, as an exaggerated idea of the course that a bullet might have followed.
“Turn it over to a bullet expert,” suggested the chauffeur. “Get those slugs, chief, and they’ll tell their own story.”
“This coincides with your theory, Grewling,” observed Mayor Rush. “Hollis might have come back in here not knowing that anything had happened to the curator.”
“We’ll have the bullets extracted,” declared the police chief, grimly. “You seem to know what you’re talking about, Singler. Thanks for the information.”
The chauffeur nodded, and Strafford Malden gave him an approving smile.
AT that moment, there was a stir from the front end of the corridor. Voices carried down the passageway as a group of men put in their appearance. Two policemen were arguing with the newcomers.
“Harrison Knode!” exclaimed the mayor. “With a couple of his reporters. They must have heard the news.”
“Keep them out!” bellowed the police chief, to the cops.
“No, no,” rebuked the mayor. “Let them come here. Don’t be annoyed, Grewling. Remember what I told you tonight.”
“All right, men,” called the chief. “Let them by.”
Knode arrived with Burke and Drury. While his reporters stood in the background, the long-faced editor nodded to mayor and police chief. He smiled sourly as they failed to return his greeting. Knode turned and shook hands with Strafford Malden.
Two policemen appeared with the museum attendants. They had found the men in town. There were two; and Grewling quizzed them briefly. Both stated that they had left as usual, at eight o’clock. Hollis had bolted the door behind them.
The frankness of the attendants was convincing. The police chief, already moving along a solid theory, accepted what they said. But he quizzed the two men definitely on one point: the possibility of some one having remained in the museum after closing time.
Both men stated that they had inspected with Hollis, after the museum was closed, and that Rubal could have had no lurker in his office.
Another newcomer arrived at the finish of the quiz. This was Howard Dunham, tall, cadaverous-looking editor of the Latuna Gazette. Dunham covered big stories in person; and his arrival pleased the police chief, for it gave Grewling a chance to bait Knode.
Stepping into the curator’s office, Grewling invited Dunham to accompany him. While the editor stood by the desk, the police chief made a careful inspection. The room had been lighted by one of the watchmen; the same man who had peered into the little filing room. Grewling inspected both portions of the suite.
“Sit down,” he said to Dunham, motioning the Gazette man to the chair behind the curator’s desk. “I’m going to give you my theory, Mr. Dunham. That will give you a chance to run a story before the coroner holds his inquest.”
Grewling shot a glance at the doorway where Knode was looking on with Rush and Malden. He was willing that Knode should listen in. The Gazette being a morning paper, it would beat the Enterprise with the news.
“JOSEPH RUBAL was murdered,” declared the police chief, “by some visitor who came here after eight o’clock. That unknown party had a firearm that was equipped with a silencer. He shot and killed Joseph Rubal.
“The same murderer was forced to slay Hollis in order that the chief attendant would not reveal his identity. We shall have an examination made of the bullets. Through them we may be able to trace the gun and the killer himself.”
Grewling paused and began to pace the room.
Dunham, pausing in his note taking, chanced to notice the calendar on the desk. Idly, the editor of the Gazette lifted the pages until he came to the current date.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed. “Two notations! The first says: ‘Eight P.M., appointment, office.’ The second says ‘Nine P.M., appointment. Mayor.’ These refer to tonight!”
The police chief came to take a look at the date pad. Mayor Rush crowded through the doorway and also examined it. Grewling spoke to the mayor.
“You see?” said the chief. “Some one was due here at eight o’clock. Unless Rubal intended to go to your office.”