For Barton Talbor had schemed well. Crime Incorporated had promised its full aid. Before this night was ended, the law would find itself confronted by a mystery fully as perplexing as the murder of George Hobston!
Fullis Garwald dropped the burning papers in an ash receiver. With a chuckle that was reminiscent of his dead employer, the solemn-faced man walked from the room. He descended to the street and stepped out into the night.
Two blocks from his starting point, Garwald hailed a taxicab. He gave the driver an address on Seventh Avenue. As the taxi swung into the broad thoroughfare, Garwald, looking far ahead, saw a distant sign that blazed this name:
HOTEL SALAMANCA
Again Fullis Garwald chuckled. The address that he had given the taxi driver was in the block this side of the glittering sign. Fullis Garwald’s actual destination was the building that carried the flashing letters.
Bound on crime, Garwald intended to alight and complete his journey on foot. The Hotel Salamanca was his goal. Arrived there, he would be ready to complete the scheme of evil that Barton Talbor had designed.
CHAPTER IX
THE CHAIN PREPARES
WHILE Fullis Garwald’s taxi was swinging north on Seventh Avenue, a man was entering the Hotel Salamanca. Stoop-shouldered, faltering of gait, with a mass of white hair bulging from beneath his oddly-shaped hat, this individual appeared to be a mild-mannered man of learning.
Arriving in the lobby, the man’s face showed like parchment in the light. His bowed figure hobbled forward; a heavy cane enabled him to proceed at a fair pace. In his left hand, the elderly man was carrying a bag. A bell hop sprang forward to take the burden; the old fellow waved him away and continued his faltering stride to the desk.
“Any word for me?” he inquired, in a pleasant voice: “Any messages for Professor Devine? Professor Langwood Devine?”
“No, sir,” replied the clerk with a smile. “No mail this afternoon.”
The old professor turned and hobbled from the desk. He entered an elevator and nodded to the operator as he ordered the man to take him to the twenty-fourth floor.
Like the clerk, the operator smiled. Professor Langwood Devine was a new and eccentric guest at the Hotel Salamanca. He had come here only a few days before; he had a penchant for carrying his own luggage and he seemed to relish walking sticks. The cane that he carried to-night was different from the last that the operator had seen. Heavy, with rounded silver knob, it formed an interesting curio.
The professor nearly tripped as he stepped from the elevator. The operator caught his arm and kept him from falling. The old man’s hat dropped off, revealing the full mass of his bushy white hair. The operator handed him the headpiece; Professor Devine bowed in thanks. Wheezing from the sudden jolt, he hobbled toward his suite which was on the south side of the twenty-fourth floor.
The professor entered a room marked 2410. He passed through a little entrance and hobbled into a living room. Here books lay piled in disarray. Opened bags showed masses of manuscripts. Three canes — all different in appearance — were stacked together in a corner. The professor placed his bag upon a chair. He laid the cane beside it. He hobbled to the bedroom that adjoined and turned on a light. Hobbling back toward the entry, he turned out the living room light.
Semidarkness was the result. The only shaft of illumination came from the door of the bedroom. The old professor moved back toward the chair where he had placed bag and cane.
HE still hobbled, but not so noticeably as before. Though actually advanced in years, his strength was by no means gone. Professor Devine seemed somewhat younger and more virile now that his actions could not be observed.
By the chair, he picked up his walking stick. He twisted the silver knob; then pulled it. The cane lengthened in telescopic fashion to twice its original length. The old man unscrewed the knob. A spool of fish line came in view. The old man rolled the spool along the floor; then hobbled after it and completed the unrolling. Methodically, he found the free end of the fish line and tied it to the handle of his bag.
Carrying the lengthened cane to the window, the professor removed its tip. A sharp spike showed in the end of the double-sized walking stick. The professor set the cane against the radiator and opened the window.
This suite fronted on a side street. Across the thoroughfare was an old building — a decadent apartment house some twenty stories high. The flat roof showed its dull surface behind a parapet. Off from Times Square came the glow of brilliant lights; but the indirect illumination revealed nothing upon the silent roof.
Placing fingers to his lips, Professor Devine gave a low, peculiar whistle. He waited. A reply — similar to his signal — came from behind the parapet, forty feet away and thirty feet below. The professor picked up the cane. From it ran the long fish line that terminated at the bag handle. Making sure that the cord was free, the old man gripped the six-foot cane as one would grasp a harpoon.
He used his left hand to steady his shaky legs. Leaning against the radiator, Professor Devine drew back his right arm. That limb had lost no precision. With a forward swing, the professor sent the harpoon whizzing through the air. The fish line whined as it followed. The weighted shaft cleared the opposite parapet by fifteen feet and struck point downward in the surface of the roof.
Quivering back and forth, a white line in the darkness, the transformed cane remained at an upright angle. The entire roof had been the professor’s target. The old man had not missed.
Hobbling back to the bag, the professor opened it and produced a coil of light cable. Meanwhile, the remainder of the fish line was paying out. Some one on the opposite roof had picked up the harpoon. The line became taut; the cord had been gathered in from the other end. The professor chuckled as he attached the thin cable to the end of the fish line. This was a simple procedure; a loop in the end of the cable made it possible.
The professor tugged the line that he had released from the handle of the bag. One signal was sufficient. The fish line moved toward the window; the cable followed it. The professor watched until the cable was nearly paid out. He grasped the loose end and carried it to the radiator. Here he slipped the end loop over a knob that projected from a heavy pipe. He gave a tug. The man at the other end pulled the cable taut.
Back again to the bag; this time, Professor Devine produced a small bar attached to a pair of tiny wheels. He carried this to the window and clamped it on the cable, so that the wheels ran free. The bar formed a little car which a man could grip and hold in safety.
Peering from the window, the professor saw the line of his cable. It ran above the parapet of the building opposite. It was attached, apparently, to the iron pillar that supported a water tank on the roof. The cable showed as a dull silver line from this height. Yet any one looking upward from the street below would never have detected its presence.
Hobbling from the window, the professor picked up the silver knob and the silver tip of his harpoon cane. He carried these to the corner and attached them to a plain walking stick. Chuckling to himself, the old man picked up the bag and took it into the bedroom.
FIVE minutes passed. When Professor Langwood Devine again entered the living room, he was clad in pajamas. He was holding an opened book in his left hand. He hobbled to the outer door and turned the knob. He pulled the door a half inch inward. Though it apparently remained closed, the automatic latch was loose so that any one could open the door at will.