“Mallan,” informed Zurick, seriously, “there is such a thing as circumstantial evidence. You should be acquainted with that fact. I believe you told us” — he paused reminiscently — “about a gun planted in a blackmailer’s pocket which—”
“We had the goods on that guy,” blurted Mallan. “He was crooked. But I’m straight. Get that?”
“Associations of a criminal nature,” resumed Zurick, “are usually sufficient to blacken the reputation of a man who is supposedly straight. This report of yours” — he fingered the paper — “in fact, both reports, mention the activities of certain criminals. You are right, Mallan; you did not include the names of those persons. But in your reports, you state that you knew the identity of the parties concerned.”
“What are you going to do then?” demanded the detective, suddenly. “Turn those reports over to the police? Try to make a goat out of me? Just because a couple of guys got killed — guys that might have made trouble for you — guys you didn’t want to live—”
MALLAN stopped short as Laverock and Kent came to their feet in angry protest. Zurick waved the philanthropists down; with the same gesture, he silenced the detective’s outburst. Then, in his dry tone, Zurick became the arbiter.
“Let us consider present circumstances,” decided the spokesman for the three philanthropists. “Philip Lyken is dead. The man, apparently, was ready to betray a trust. I can scarcely say that I regret his death; although, by giving him the benefit of a doubt, I am inclined to do so. But Lyken’s death can not be rectified.”
“Elwood Phraytag was associated with Laverock, Kent and myself. Had he not retired from active pursuits, he would have been present at our conferences. True, Phraytag had become a burden in our plans. But he was rendered so by blindness and infirmity. Poor Phraytag!” Zurick’s grief seemed real as the philanthropist shook his head. “In a sense, his death was fortunate. Life held no more for him.”
“Then why beef about it?” queried Mallan. “Say — you might think I had some personal grudge against the guys. Looks like you’re coming to my way of figuring it. When they’re dead, they can’t talk.”
“A poor philosophy,” crackled Zurick, shaking his head reproachfully. “It is one, Mallan, to which I can not subscribe. I merely feel that, since murder has been done, there is nothing that we can do to offset it.
“True it is that when the knowledge we now possess” — he tapped the report sheet that he was holding — “we could make public certain facts that the police are anxious to learn about. But to do so” — he was turning to Laverock and Kent — “we would be forced to jeopardize our own interests.
“We chose, some time ago, to protect certain funds that had come into our possession. That trust has priority. It is not proper that we should deliberately sacrifice it by performing the present duty of turning Mallan’s report over to the law.”
ZURICK paused smugly. Laverock and Kent nodded in reluctant fashion. Zurick turned his smiling, crinkled face toward Ed Mallan. A gold signet ring sparkled as the philanthropist thrust forth his left hand, shoving the reports in the detective’s direction.
“What — what are you doing?” stammered Mallan. “Giving those reports back to me? You mean you’re not going to—”
“We have refused to accept the reports,” interposed Zurick, calmly. “We recognize the fact that you gave them to us in confidence. Therefore, since they are not acceptable, we intend to forget them altogether.”
“But you hired me—”
“We employed you for a specific purpose: to watch Philip Lyken and Elwood Phraytag. While thus occupied, it was your duty to see that no harm came to either. One moment, Mallan” — the detective paused as Zurick raised a silencing hand — “I admit that our arrangement with you did not call for the protection of Lyken and Phraytag. But it was your duty, being close at hand when their lives were threatened, to see that they were not slain. That was your duty to society, not to us.”
“But I was working for you—”
“Granted. And before we received your reports, we learned that both Lyken and Phraytag had died.
Therefore, we assumed that you had not been watching those men. We came to the natural conclusion that you could not possibly have been on the job. If you had, you might have prevented their deaths.
“So we doubt the authenticity of your reports. To a man, the three of us agree that your statements must be incorrect. Take back your reports. Destroy them. They mean nothing to us. Consider that you have retracted them.”
“All right,” growled Mallan. “I’ll do that. I’m beginning to get the idea. I was a fool to hand these things to you anyway. I’m lucky to get ‘em back. I suppose I’m fired. Is that it?”
“Yes,” assured Zurick, while Laverock and Kent chimed their agreement. “You were paid recently for work that you actually did. We accepted your report concerning the visit of Perry and Zane Dolger, when they called on Philip Lyken. But since then, Mallan, you have been guilty of gross negligence of duty.”
“I’m satisfied,” said the detective, rising. “You paid me enough the other night. I guess we’re happy all around, in a way. With Lyken and Phraytag dead, you’ve got no more work for me to do.”
“Your conjecture is correct,” asserted Zurick. “Nevertheless, Mallan, you were technically in our employ, even though” — Zurick was rising as he spoke— “even though you neglected the work. Therefore, I and my associates feel that you are entitled to some small emolument.”
So saying, Zurick strolled past the table and accompanied Mallan to the door. There, while Laverock and Kent watched steadily, Zurick drew an envelope from his pocket and passed it to the detective.
As Mallan smiled and took the envelope, Zurick calmly drew the report sheets from the detective’s grasp. He tore them into pieces, applied a match and let them fall, blazing, into a metal wastebasket.
“Good night, Mallan,” said Zurick, opening the door. “Should I require your services — that is in a capacity where I deem you competent — I shall not hesitate to call upon you in the future.
“Timothy” — this to the servant, who had arrived from the parlor— “get Mr. Mallan’s hat and coat. He is leaving.”
The philanthropist stepped back into the study. The door closed, leaving him in new conference with his two associates.
Mallan stared blankly at the door. Beyond it, he could picture those three faces, Zurick, Laverock and Kent. Those were three names that Mallan intended to remember; but they were also names that he never expected to mention.
“Well, Tim,” said the detective, as the servant helped him on with his coat. “I guess I won’t be seeing you again very soon. But keep on the job, old socks. Some day you’ll be old. And boy, when you get old, you get smart!”
Timothy made no comment. He did not seem to appreciate the tact that Mallan had reference to the three philanthropists. The servant opened the door; Mallan stepped to the sidewalk and strolled along, looking for a taxi.
“Maybe I’m dumb,” mumbled the detective. “Ought to have hollered for a thousand bucks tonight. But, boy! I was lucky to get out with my shirt! Foxy! Say — that’s nothing to what those guys are—”
Mallan stopped muttering as he hailed a cab. As he stepped into the taxi, still thinking about money, the detective remembered the envelope that Zurick had given him. Mallan tried to remember the word ‘emolument’ that he had heard the philanthropist use.
“Can’t recall it,” he grumbled, as he pulled the envelope from his pocket. “Anyway, the word sounded good enough for a hundred-buck tip.”