Roy Parrell leaped forward in angry interruption. In maddened loyalty to his employer, the private dick thrust his stubby revolver toward Lanford.
The gesture brought a sharp bark of challenge from Goodling. Apologetically, Parrell stepped back and lowered his revolver. Taussig Kermal was prompt to make the most of the detective’s action.
“See that?” demanded the lawyer. “Parrell knows the truth. That’s why he made his slip. Use your brains, Goodling. Tell those fellows to put up their guns; then I’ll tell you something.”
The lawyer was leaning with both palms on the table; his position rendered him helpless. Goodling glared at Parrell and motioned for the dicks to put away their guns. The detective, anxious to hold the prosecutor’s favor, nodded to his men. Revolvers went into pockets.
“You have asked me about Yager’s death, Goodling,” announced Kermal, in his deep tone. “I swear that I had nothing to do with it. I ask you to hear my defense; I can promise you it will be brief. I admit that Blissop was slain by Croy, in the house on Dobson’s Road. Blissop, however, tried to kill Daggart; the latter’s wound is proof of that fact.”
“To which I can testify,” put in Doctor Claig. “Kermal is right, Goodling.”
“I consider you a murderer.” Goodling spoke steadily as he faced Kermal. The prosecutor was holding his .38 in readiness. “Nevertheless, I shall accept the supposition that Blissop’s death was justifiable. But Yager’s death was murder—”
“One moment,” interposed Kermal. “Follow the story from the time of Blissop’s death. Shortly after that, Goodling, you and Lanford came to my house. The two of you put up a fight. We overpowered you. Had I been a murderer, I would have slain you then.”
“You feared to kill us,” retorted Goodling. “We were well known in Sheffield.”
“So was Yager,” reminded Kermal, with a nod of his shaggy head. “Your logic does not hold. But here is the main point, Goodling. You and Lanford had seen Blissop’s body; there was every reason why you could make trouble for us. We had a chance to dispose of both of you by the simple expedient of coasting your coupe into the swollen creek beside the broken bridge. Yet we spared your lives.”
KERMAL had delivered a strong argument; it was one that coincided with the facts that The Shadow alone had considered, of all those who had investigated this case. An exclamation of agreement came from Lanford.
“That’s straight, Jay,” argued the prosecutor’s friend. “Kermal’s no murderer. If he was, he’d have gotten rid of us.”
“Your own friend understands, Goodling,” asserted Kermal. “Moreover, when he encountered my servant Croy, a few nights ago, Croy made no effort to injure him. Croy brought Lanford here a prisoner; that is true. After that, however, I offered Lanford freedom. He preferred to stay here.”
“Is that right, Fred?” questioned Goodling.
“Absolutely,” returned Lanford.
“But Yager was murdered,” asserted the prosecutor, swinging back to Kermal. “And if you ordered his death, you—”
“I would have been a fool,” interposed Kermal, with a convincing nod. “I had an explanation for Blissop’s death. I had proof that I meant you and Lanford no ill. Lanford himself was here with us, ready to favor our cause. My hands were clean.”
“Then who—”
“Who murdered Yager? The facts should be obvious to anyone who has heard me speak. Thugs murdered Yager; they fled afterward. But they acted at the order of those who were seeking to defeat me in my protection of Myra Dolthan. They were ordered to kill Yager because he had talked with Blissop.”
“Talked with Blissop?”
“Yes. Because Blissop had turned traitor against me. He knew whom I feared. He must have told Yager the facts. Had Yager talked, the real crooks would have been exposed. One name would have been revealed in its true light — the name of the man who seeks the life of Myra Dolthan — the name of the girl’s own uncle, Rufus Dolthan!”
GOODLING stood transfixed. Roy Parrell was staring straight at the prosecutor, too tense to make a move while Goodling held that ready gun. Taussig Kermal clenched a massive fist and drove it fiercely against the surface of the desk.
“Rufus Dolthan!” he denounced. “But his crooked game is at its end. He came here hoping that the law would find his niece, so he could see that she was slain before she came of age. A dozen minutes more; his opportunity will be ended.
“Fool that he is! Instead of coming here himself, he sent an underling, Roy Parrell.” Kermal turned and pointed squarely at the detective. “Roy Parrell, head of a fake investigation agency, a poor tool in the hands of a supercrook. Keep him covered, Goodling; he put his gun away too soon.
“Parrell is yellow. He won’t call for help from those fake dicks of his. He’s afraid that you will shoot him if he does. Hold them where they stand, Goodling. Call Croy and Daggart, Lanford. Bring Myra Dolthan here. It is almost midnight.”
Lanford started toward the door at the left. Croy had left it ajar. But before he had taken four steps, Lanford halted. Like the others, Goodling included, he whirled about to face the door at the right of the room.
A fiendish chuckle had issued from that half-opened barrier. Into the room was stepping a gray-haired man, his face no longer one of dignity.
Rufus Dolthan, revolver in hand, was covering Jay Goodling. Behind the leering fiend were others: Souder, Wurling and Hazzler; three servants as venomous as their master, all with guns.
As counsel in his own defense, Taussig Kermal had won his argument with the county prosecutor. But Jay Goodling could no longer act in Kermal’s behalf. Rufus Dolthan and his servants had stepped in to gain the control that Roy Parrell and his aids had lost.
CHAPTER XIX
FACTS COME OUT
“TWELVE minutes more.”
Rufus Dolthan delivered the words with an insidious sneer. His faked nervousness was gone. Revealed as a man of crime, he was taking pride in his role of supercrook. At his nod, Roy Parrell grinned. He and his pretended dicks were ready to double the strength of Dolthan’s forces.
“Twelve minutes,” repeated Dolthan, “ample time in which to accomplish my purpose here. In fact” — an evil chuckle escaped his curling lips — “there is no need for haste. As matters now stand, we can wait until after midnight.
“You have paved your own destruction, Kermal. You were crafty in your moves. You suspected that I murdered my brother Wade. You were right. I had him poisoned; Souder aided me and Parrell removed the evidence.
“It was Parrell, too, who gathered facts concerning George Garling. When Myra’s stepbrother inherits her father’s estate, he will not enjoy it long. When Parrell, as my agent, interviews him, Garling will be glad to rid himself of wealth. Some of his past indiscretions can be classed as crimes. Enough, if known, to send him to prison for twenty years. He will pay for silence.”
Dolthan paused to survey Kermal in contemptuous fashion. The little clock was ticking on toward midnight; the fact did not seem to trouble the supercrook. Dolthan had already said that he had no need for haste.
“You moved ahead of us, Kermal,” sneered the gray-haired murderer. “Your mistake, however, was in trusting those about you. Particularly Blissop. He knew that you feared me. He saw an opportunity for wealth. He called me by long distance, Saturday night. You uncovered his treachery; you traveled here. But your own softness was your undoing.
“Had you finished Goodling and Lanford — as I would have done — you would have been better off. I am forgetting though” — Dolthan’s chuckle was filled with cackled malice — “that you are honest, not a plotter like myself. You see, Kermal, I did not intend to hurry to that house on Dobson’s Road. I planned to wait; to let you spend a few more days of false security.