Returning to the bedroom, the professor turned out the light. A few seconds later, he pulled on a lamp above his bed. Seating himself beneath the covers, the old man leaned his head against a propped up pillow. He reached to a table beside him, picked up a pair of spectacles and began to read.
Professor Langwood Devine made the perfect picture of an elderly savant, engaging in comfortable study. His peering eyes were intent upon the pages before him. He seemed unperturbed by the outside world.
Yet in the space of the few previous minutes, Professor Devine had marked himself as other than a scholar. His unique method of communication to the roof of the opposite building; his act of stretching a cable and providing a car — both proved that he had prepared for some event to come.
Professor Langwood Devine was a member of the insidious chain that constituted Crime Incorporated. The worker on the opposite roof was another factor in that evil group. Between them, they had prepared for coming crime. They were the aids who had sent back their suggestions to Fullis Garwald.
Crime was due to strike to-night, here in the Hotel Salamanca. Fullis Garwald was coming alone, to begin the evil work. The way was paved for his escape. Suite 2410 would be his goal after his accomplishment of crime.
Aided by the brains of men whom he had never met; taking up bold efforts that dead Barton Talbor could not have accomplished, Fullis Garwald was already assured of success.
CHAPTER X
A MURDERER STRIKES
PROFESSOR LANGWOOD DEVINE had retired, content that his aerial cable could not be seen from the street below. The professor’s assumption was well formed. Already, peering eyes were gazing upward, trying to spy the slender line of steel from the chasm of the thoroughfare.
Fullis Garwald had arrived at the corner on which the Hotel Salamanca was located. A pleased leer appeared upon his lips as he stared toward the dull glow of the sky. Garwald could not see the cable. That was why he smiled.
The arriving man’s eyes turned as they looked upward. On the top floor of the hotel — one story above the twenty-fourth — a tiny sparkle showed at a window. The twenty-fifth floor was a penthouse; and some one was at home.
Entering the lobby of the Hotel Salamanca, Garwald strolled to a corner where the house phones were located. He called the penthouse and spoke in a voice that was gruffer than his usual tone. He asked for Mr. Gaston Ferrar. A short pause; then Ferrar himself was on the wire.
“Good evening,” declared Garwald, in a gruff tone. “I have come to see you about the green.”
“Ah! My friend!” A suave voice came across the wire. “You have decided upon the matter? I thought perhaps that I would not hear from you. Come up, at once.”
Garwald smiled as he hung up the receiver. He entered an elevator where several people were already standing. He waited as the car stopped at various floors. When the twentieth was reached, Garwald was the only remaining passenger.
“Penthouse,” he stated, in a gruff tone.
The elevator man turned as the door clanged. He did not see Garwald’s face. The passenger was studying a dinner menu posted at the back of the car. The operator hesitated.
“Who are you going to see?” he questioned.
“Gaston Ferrar,” answered Garwald, without turning. “He is expecting me.”
The operator started the car upward. He stopped at the twenty-fifth. Garwald stepped forward while the doors were opening. His head was faced slightly toward the side. Again, the operator failed to note his features.
The car remained stationary with the operator watching while Garwald rang a bell at the opposite side of a little anteroom. Garwald’s back was toward the car. When a servant opened the door, the visitor stepped through. The operator closed the door and descended.
“You wish to see Mr. Ferrar?”
The servant was questioning Fullis Garwald. The solemn-faced man made no effort to hide his features. He looked the servant squarely in the eye.
“Yes,” he said testily. “I came to see Mr. Ferrar. Tell him that I am here.”
“Your name?”
“Tell him I am the friend who called from downstairs.”
The servant went into an inner room. He returned and motioned Garwald to the door. As the visitor entered, the servant closed the barrier from the outside. He was evidently following instructions which he had just received from his master.
FULLIS GARWALD was standing in a small, but magnificent room. Every item of furniture — from heavy chairs to massive table — was an antique of value. Garwald’s eyes went toward the corner, where a languorous man was seated at a bulky writing desk. Brown eyes stared from a pale, pinched countenance as Gaston Ferrar looked toward his visitor.
“Who are you?” questioned Ferrar, in surprise. “I do not know you. I expected to see—”
He paused, apparently loath to utter the name. Fullis Garwald supplied it, smiling as he did so.
“‘Barton Talbor,” he declared. “He was the man whom you expected.”
“He could not come?”
“No.”
“Why? Is he ill?”
“He is dead.”
A troubled look appeared upon Gaston Ferrar’s face. Fullis Garwald did not display concern, he calmly seated himself in a chair opposite the writing desk.
“My name,” he stated, “is Fullis Garwald. I was secretary to Barton Talbor. Before he died, he told me of his acquaintanceship with you, Mr. Ferrar. Perhaps if I give the details of his statements, you will know that my claim is genuine.”
“Proceed,” suggested Ferrar, sinking back in his chair.
“Barton Talbor,” declared Garwald, “once possessed some rare gems. He sold them — all except a certain, emerald, of Siamese origin, which he kept. You, as a collector of such gems, came to Talbor privately and offered to buy the stone. You had learned that it was in Talbor’s possession.”
“That is true.”
“You said that if Talbor chose to sell, you would buy. You also stated that if he wished to take other jewels in its stead, you would let him choose from your collection, up to a value greater than that of the emerald.”
“Correct.”
“Barton Talbor told you to visit him again. When you came, he said that he would never part with the emerald unless circumstances should force him to do so. He added that if such circumstances arose — such as poverty or financial failure — he would never want it to be known that he had been forced to sell.”
“That is right. Go on.”
“So Talbor — who was quite eccentric in his ways — said that should he come to you, he would mention neither his name nor the emerald. He declared that he would announce himself by simply stating that he had come to see you about the green.”
“Those were his exact statements.”
Fullis Garwald settled back easily in his chair. From his pocket, he produced a small jewel case. He placed it on the desk as he leaned forward. He sprang the cover. A sparkling emerald glistened in the light. Gaston Ferrar crouched forward, his pale face keen with eagerness.
“The Siamese emerald!” he cried. “How did you gain it?”
“As a reward for faithful service,” stated Garwald, in a solemn, convincing tone. “Barton Talbor died wealthy. He divided his existing estate among his heirs. He gave me the emerald before he died.”
“Poor Talbor.” Ferrar shook his head. “I can see him plainly — a weary man — as he was when last I visited him. He loved that emerald; and would not part with it, much though I coveted the stone.”
“My own circumstances,” said Garwald, “are very moderate. I value the emerald because of its actual value. Talbor told me that if I came here in his stead, I could dispose of it to you.
“Certainly,” assured Ferrar. “I am still anxious to purchase it. Of course” — he paused doubtfully — “I should first make sure regarding your statements. I have only your word as proof that Barton Talbor is dead. I seldom read the daily newspapers. Under what circumstances did Barton Talbor die?”