FIVE minutes before Joe Cardona was due to arrive at Markin’s, a cab stopped at the nearest corner to the old house. The driver turned to speak to the passenger. A ten-dollar bill floated through the window and landed in his hand. Staring into the back of the cab, the driver saw that his passenger was gone.
Chuckling, the cabby drove away. He had gained full fare and a large tip for his rapid trip in from the Newark airport. The jehu gave no further thought to the startling disappearance of his passenger.
A cloaked shape was gliding along the street where Cardona’s men were watching. The Shadow seemed to sense the presence of observers. He stopped at a deserted house a few doors from Markin’s. He spied a loose grating in the basement window.
With swift precision, The Shadow removed the yielding bars. He slid downward, invisible in the blackness. Finding a stairway, he ascended. The path was clear to the top floor. There The Shadow, using a flashlight, spied the outlet that he sought — a trapdoor in the ceiling.
A gloved hand opened a door; then a second one close by. The two barriers came well together. They made an excellent support. The Shadow raised his lithe form atop the doors. With a jimmy, he pried the trapdoor loose. Rising through the opening, he reached the roof.
With rapid strides along the housetops, The Shadow arrived on Markin’s roof. He worked with the jimmy and pried a trapdoor upward. He dropped through to the deserted upper floor; then headed for a stairway distinguishable by a light below.
As The Shadow began his descent, there was a ring at the front door. A stocky man appeared, on his way to answer the summons. As his figure disappeared in the vestibule, The Shadow gained the ground floor. On his left he saw an open door — the entrance to Markin’s living room.
The Shadow saw that the chamber was empty. Gliding into the partly lighted room, he spied a pair of hanging draperies at the front. He slipped between the curtains and gained a vantage spot upon the broad sill. He was not a moment too soon. The stocky man, returning, came through the living room and rapped at a closed door.
“What is it, Howland?” came a querulous voice.
“Two visitors, sir,” responded the secretary. “Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona. They have come in with me, sir.”
Weston and Cardona were entering the room as Howland spoke through the closed door. They had arrived outside almost at the same time. As they stared toward the door of Markin’s temporary bedroom, the barrier opened. The old lawyer, his face drawn, stepped into view.
“You can go, Howland,” said Markin. “Remain in the study.”
“Yes, sir.”
MARKIN sat down with his visitors. The lawyer chose the spot behind the table. His face, though it showed tenseness, also carried an expression that indicated justification of his fears.
“I am glad that you have come,” declared Markin, in a steady tone. “New misfortune has proven my theory. I think that you will agree that my qualms were not merely the meanderings of an old man’s mind.”
“Quite right, Mr. Markin,” asserted Weston. “I learned that you had called my office. I arranged to come here and I ordered Acting Inspector Cardona to join us. I thought, perhaps that you might have gained new information.”
“How?” queried Markin, with a spread of his hands. “What else can I say? I told you that other lawyers might be on the death list. I hoped that you might have information.”
“We have,” declared Cardona. “We found the key to a safe deposit box among Durton’s effects. None of his family could identify it.”
“He is one of us,” nodded Markin. “Let us hope that there are none others beside myself.”
“The key is the only piece of evidence,” stated Weston. “It supports your statements, Markin. I believe that Clark Durton received that key from a millionaire. I am sure that he, like yourself and Verbeck, found the safe deposit box empty. But there the trail ceases.”
“It would,” said Markin. “In Verbeck’s case, it seemed certain that he received the key from Torrence Dilgin. I have already stated that I gained mine from Rufus Gilwood. But there is only one man who can tell you who gave the key to Clark Durton. That man is Lester Dorrington.”
“If we knew how many millionaires were swindled,” suggested Cardona, “we could figure how many lawyers are slated for the spot. I’m putting four men on guard here, Mr. Markin. There was only one killer who went after Verbeck, but a bunch bumped Durton.”
“That is something gained,” decided Markin, in a wise tone. “You have learned definitely that the slayers are gangsters. But have you followed my suggestion of checking upon Lester Dorrington?”
“I covered his house last night,” returned Cardona. “I had three men with me on Long Island. Dorrington was there all the while.”
“He would be!” exclaimed Markin, pounding his fist on the table. “If your visit here tonight, gentlemen, is in hope of gaining information, I can give no more than I have already. I told you how I received a key from Gilwood; how his dodge to escape the inheritance tax failed. Dorrington appropriated those funds from Gilwood’s box at the Farley National, just as he took the cash which Verbeck was supposed to find at the Paragon Trust.
“You have the information; what you need is advice. Here it is: remember that Lester Dorrington is crafty. He is too wise to form contact at his home. His plans have undoubtedly been made in advance. There is only one course for you to follow. Look for crooks whose cases he handled in court. They are the ones who will be in this game.”
“That’s right, Cardona,” agreed Weston, turning to the ace sleuth. “That limits your hunt. Get the stool pigeons on the job. Keep away from the dragnet. These killers are men who are working from some hideout.”
“I’ve got the stools working,” insisted Cardona. “I’ve been looking up facts on Dorrington, too. I haven’t used the plan that Mr. Markin here suggests we—”
“Use it then,” interposed Weston, “and pass the word tonight. Others murders may be in the making. Two have come in two nights. One may be on its way even now.”
Rising, the commissioner extended his hand to Kelwood Markin. The retired lawyer received the shake. As Weston and Cardona turned toward the hall, he uttered words of thanks, particularly because four men were now on duty outside his house.
“There is no use in trying to deceive Dorrington,” declared the old lawyer. “He has watched others; he will be watching me. He must certainly know by now that you are guarding this house. He knows that I have spoken.
“That, in a sense, is unfortunate. It may mean that Dorrington is all the more anxious to kill off other persons who may testify against him. I am still fearful, gentlemen. You can appreciate my qualms. By gaining your protection, I have unquestionably made Dorrington all the more desirous of killing me.”
Weston nodded from the door. This angle of the case was serious. Yet the commissioner expressed the assurance that four men outside the house, with Howland inside, should be sufficient for Markin’s safety.
The visitors departed. Markin summoned Howland. He gave the secretary brief orders for the morning. The old man entered the bedroom and locked the door behind him. Howland turned out the lights in the living room, but did not lock the door.
Curtains stirred. The Shadow emerged from his hiding place. Crossing the living room he reached the hall and gained the stairs. He went up through the trapdoor and across the roof; when he descended through the deserted house, he found a side door that opened into a narrow alleyway. He used this as his exit.