“I do not care to be disturbed for the next half hour,” he announced. “If any clients call, tell them that they must wait. I am preparing an important brief. I shall notify you when I have finished.”
To emphasize his statement, Culbert Joquill closed the door of his inner office and turned the key. Walking back toward the window, he stopped at a bookcase and removed two volumes from a lower shelf. Pressing his fingers into a crevice, he clicked a hidden catch.
Stepping back, he drew a section of the bookcase outward on a hinge. The action revealed a small room, no more than six feet square.
A man was seated on a rumpled couch. He arose with a grin as the bookcase opened. He stepped into Joquill’s private office. The light from the window showed the evil leer upon his lips. It marked his face as that of the man who had murdered George Hobston and thrust Howard Norwyn into the vault room of 3318.
CULBERT JOQUILL closed the bookcase. He waved the ugly-faced man to a chair; then took his own position behind the desk. He smiled placidly as the man from the little room put an eager, whispered question:
“Did you read the newspapers?”
Culbert Joquill nodded.
“Did they get him?” The man question. “Did they get Norwyn? What did he have to say?”
“They did not get him,” responded Joquill, in a quiet tone. “However, it does not matter. His name is given in the newspapers; he is suspected as the murderer of George Hobston. What is more important — to myself as well as to you — is the name they did not mention. The newspapers say nothing regarding Garry Hewes.”
The ugly-lipped man grinned. This statement referred to him. He could see a pleased look on Joquill’s face. He settled back into the chair.
“Substantially,” declared the lawyer, in a soft tone, “the story is this. George Hobston entered his office at nine o’clock. At nine fifteen, Howard Norwyn arrived. Apparently, Norwyn must have threatened Hobston, who overpowered him, placed him in the vault room and called the watchman.
“Norwyn, however, had a gun. He managed to shoot Hobston. Then — probably due to Hobston’s neglect in locking the grilled door — Norwyn escaped. The building was searched. No trace was found of him.”
“The police found the gun?”
“No.”
“You just mentioned that they said he had one.”
“I was stating the theory as advanced by the police. The evidence against Howard Norwyn is purely circumstantial. Read the newspapers after you leave here. Form your own conclusions.”
Garry Hewes was staring from the window. His face was speculative. Culbert Joquill seemed to be awaiting his henchman’s reply. Garry spoke in a puzzled tone.
“Here’s what happened Joquill,” he stated. “I stayed here after five o’clock yesterday afternoon. I kept in the hideout behind the bookcase. I heard the scrub women come in and go out. I waited until half past eight.
“Then I went up to Hobston’s office. I found a good place to hide in his outer office. I intended to threaten him; to make him open the vault before Norwyn arrived. That was where I got a break. Hobston opened the vault himself. I didn’t lose any time. I piled in from the outside office and plugged him in the back.
“With Hobston dead, the game was to plant it on Norwyn. So I lugged Hobston to the desk and fixed him so his back was toward the vault room. I turned out the light in the big office. I waited there until Norwyn arrived.
“He saw the open vault room. He saw Hobston’s body. Then I whacked him. Shoved him in the vault room and put the death gun in his mitt. I figured he’d come to inside of five minutes. So I made a phony call to the watchman in the lobby. I fired a shot out through the window; made a couple of gargles; then beat it.
“I left Norwyn to be the goat. I never thought he’d manage to get out. That lock on the vault-room door must have jammed. Norwyn had sense enough to beat it when he came to his senses.
“Anyway, I came back here. I laid in the hideout; I heard searchers coming through this office. I figured that Norwyn must have been found; that he said the real murderer was somewhere in the building. I thought they were making a search to find out if he was right. Now you tell me that it was Norwyn they were hunting for.”
“Precisely,” nodded Culbert Joquill. “Joe Cardona, the smart detective, fell for your idea. He decided that Hobston overpowered Norwyn and shoved him in the vault room. Hence, as I remarked before, Norwyn’s successful flight has made him a marked man. No one will believe his story when he is captured. He is definitely a fugitive.”
“Good,” said Garry, with a grin. He nudged his thumb toward the bookcase. “The swag is back there — all those securities and the cash that Hobston owned for himself. I left the other stuff — the stocks and bonds marked with the names of clients — in the vault room to make it look bad for Norwyn.”
“Did you get Hobston’s private book?”
“I did. Here it is.” Garry produced a leather-bound pocket memorandum. “It tallies exactly with the swag. More than half a million total.”
CULBERT JOQUILL took the little book and smiled as he thumbed the pages. Finished with his brief inspection, the gray-haired lawyer chuckled.
“This office is very similar to Hobston’s,” he remarked. “Like his suite, this one has its strong-room.” He pointed toward the bookcase. “However, I found it most suitable to close off my little alcove.
“Lucky, isn’t it, that the police never suspected a space behind that bookcase? They took it for granted that this was just an ordinary law office. Those books, with the thin wood work behind them, form a better barrier than the grilled door to Hobston’s vault room.”
“I found that out last night,” returned Garry.
“This office,” remarked Joquill, as an added thought, “differs in one respect from Hobston’s. It has a door of its own leading to the hall. That is essential in a lawyer’s office. It is always poor policy to usher clients out through the anteroom.
“So you, Garry, can leave by my private exit.” The attorney pointed to a door at the far end of the room. “You were here yesterday before the watchman went on duty; you are leaving during business hours to-day. Communicate with me later — about the end of the week.”
Garry Hewes arose. He turned toward the exit. He took a few paces; then turned and came back to the desk. He stood there with a quizzical expression on his face.
“Listen, Joquill,” he stated. “You and I are in the same boat. You ordered Hobston’s death and I went through with it. That was the best arrangement, because you and I are different.
“You’re a big-timer. I’m nothing but an ordinary gorilla that you imported from the Middle West. I’ve got sense enough to stay away from gangsters here in New York because you’ve paid me good money to play I was respectable.
“You’re smart, Joquill. You moved in here a month ago; you fixed this hideout in simple fashion. But you didn’t pick the Zenith Building just for fun. You took it because you were gunning for George Hobston. Am I right?”
“Certainly,” smiled Joquill.
“Well,” resumed Garry, with an uneasy shift, “that’s what bothers me. The hideout worked; the job’s gone through; but there’s a couple of points that don’t look so good.
“How did you find out that Hobston was hoarding his securities — that he had a lot of real dough stored in his vault with no record except the little book in his pocket?
“How did you arrange it for Hobston to come to his office last night; and how did you fix it so that Norwyn would be there for my frame-up?”