“I’ve had that gun for years,” declared the physician, calmly. “Naturally, I have it in an available place. It is dangerous to live out in the country, Goodling. Everyone around here owns a gun.”
“Hurry up, prosecutor,” urged Parrell. “Don’t let him pull a stall. He’s holding out for twelve o’clock. Trying to help Kermal’s game.”
For the first time, Claig lost his self-control The physician’s face darkened; an instinctive gasp came from his lips. It was enough for Goodling. The prosecutor drew a .38 and covered the physician. He motioned Parrell to the door; the detective grinned and nodded.
Sneaking out through the front hall, Parrell opened the big door and let his three men enter. They followed him softly into the physician’s office.
Goodling was questioning Claig; the doctor was preserving firm silence. As the others appeared, Goodling stepped forward, gripped Claig’s wrist and pulled the physician to his feet. Searching Claig’s pockets, Goodling found a large key. He thrust it into Claig’s hand.
“Move ahead of us, doctor,” growled Goodling. “Unlock that door and lead the way upstairs. I warn you — despite the fact that you were once my friend — I shall riddle you with bullets if you display a sign of treachery.”
With that cold statement, Goodling rammed the muzzle of his .38 between Claig’s shoulders. Parrell nodded to his men; they drew revolvers of their own. Goodling forced Claig through the doorway to the hall. Key in hand, the physician moved to the alcove and unlocked the door.
Covered by five men, Claig had no chance to resist. His role of blind had ended; no longer could he cover Taussig Kermal’s hideout. With twenty minutes still remaining before midnight, invaders were on the threshold of the crafty lawyer’s lair.
CHAPTER XVIII
COUNSEL FOR DEFENSE
UPSTAIRS in the luxurious room, Taussig Kermal was seated at his desk, totally unaware of the coup that had been made downstairs. The lawyer had faith in Doctor Claig’s ability. The arrival of late callers had not perturbed him.
Moreover, Kermal had a reason for covering the slight concern that he did feel. Fred Lanford was present in the room, watching him from a chair. Croy was present also; the big servant had brought Lanford here only a few minutes before.
“Miss Dolthan will soon be with us, Lanford,” declared Kermal. He looked up from the desk, where his hand was resting upon a written document. “I just sent Daggart to summon her. There are matters which I should like you to hear when they are discussed.”
“Concerning her estate?” inquired Fred.
“Yes,” replied Kermal. “This document on my desk is a will. It stipulates that her entire wealth is to go to certain charities. I want her to read it before twelve o’clock; you will have opportunity to do the same. Then you can sign as a witness when she affixes her signature.”
Kermal looked toward the door to the hallway on the left. Daggart had not reappeared; Kermal seemed perplexed. He turned his shaggy head and delivered a command to Croy.
“Possibly Daggart misunderstood my order,” said the lawyer. “Go and summon Miss Dolthan, Croy. Then hunt up Daggart. He should be here also.”
The ugly-faced servant nodded and made his departure. This time Kermal showed anger as he glared toward the door on the right.
“What is keeping Claig?” he questioned. “He should certainly not be dawdling at this late hour. If he has patients, why does he not hurry them from his office?”
“They might become suspicious,” replied Lanford.
“What does it matter?” demanded Kermal. “In twenty minutes we shall be ready to call your friend Goodling and invite him here in person. Claig knows that as well as I.”
“Maybe he has an emergency case to hold him up.”
“Never mind, Lanford. Here is Claig now.”
The door was opening as Kermal spoke. Claig’s figure came into view; the doctor stared, pale faced, then stumbled into the room, impelled by a thrust. As Kermal came to his feet, Goodling bounded through the doorway. With leveled gun, the prosecutor covered the lawyer.
FOR a moment, Kermal appeared ready to spring forward in resistance; then Parrell and the detectives bobbed into view. Revolvers glimmered; Kermal sank back in his chair, glowering. Fred Lanford sprang to his feet, to give greeting to his friend.
“Fred!” cried Goodling, with enthusiasm. “You’re safe. Tell me — what about the girl — is she all right?”
“Myra Dolthan?” returned Lanford. “Certainly, Jay. How did you happen to get up here? Mr. Kermal wasn’t going to call you until after midnight.”
Goodling eyed Lanford in perplexity. Fred grinned as he thumped the prosecutor on the shoulder.
“It’s all jake, Jay,” assured Lanford. “You got my letter, didn’t you?”
“Certainly,” retorted Goodling. “It said you were in New York. Instead, you’re here. That sounds bad for a start.”
“Not when you know the facts,” laughed Lanford. “Miss Dolthan is not a prisoner. She is staying here of her own volition. I have talked with her. That dead man, Blissop, was not murdered. He tried to kill Daggart. Croy had to shoot him.”
“What about Yager?”
“Yager? Who is he?”
“A squatter living out on Dobson’s Road. Shot dead in my office, the same night that you were abducted.”
LANFORD stared. Parrell pressed forward and delivered a contemptuous laugh. He stared at Kermal; then at Claig, who was backed in a corner near the desk.
“Bluffed Lanford did you?” quizzed the detective. “I thought maybe that would be your game. But you didn’t have nerve enough to let him know you’d rubbed out Yager.”
“I had nothing to do with Yager’s death,” retorted Kermal, in a harsh tone. “It was unnecessary to mention it to Lanford. It would have confused him.”
“Have your men cover these doors,” said Goodling, to Parrell. “I’m going to have this out with Kermal. Those two rogues, Daggart and Croy, are somewhere about. We must be ready for them.”
With that, the prosecutor swung toward the desk. In challenging tones he delivered an ultimatum to the shaggy-headed man who stood beyond.
“Your assassins slew Yager,” accused Goodling. “You and your accomplices are guilty of two murders, Kermal. We have come to remove Myra Dolthan from your custody. Also to arrest your confederates. Tell me where they are.”
“Speak up, Claig,” rasped Kermal, turning to the lawyer. “This is your house. These persons have entered without warrant. Order them to leave. Prosecutor or no prosecutor, Goodling has no right here.”
“I am investigating the deaths of Blissop and Yager,” stormed Goodling. “I am here also to find Myra Dolthan. Unless—”
He paused as he saw the paper on the desk. Snatching it up, Goodling began to read the lines that Kermal had written. The lawyer chuckled.
“That,” he explained, “is the will that Myra Dolthan will sign at midnight. As you see, Goodling, it leaves all of her property to recognized charities. It stands as proof of my sincerity. I am the girl’s legal guardian and will be” — he chuckled as he glanced at a clock on the desk — “for fifteen minutes more. I refuse to have you interview her until after midnight. She will be here at any moment” — Kermal paused to glance toward the door — “and I shall advise her both as guardian and counsel.”
GOODLING looked a trifle puzzled as he dropped the will back on the desk. He stared at Kermal; then swung to Lanford. That young man nodded.
“It’s on the level, Jay,” Lanford told Goodling. “Give Kermal a chance to explain. Doctor Claig will back up his statements. Kermal is working to protect Myra Dolthan. Her real enemy is her uncle, Rufus Dolthan—”