“Harry,” said Elbert, in a confiding tone, “there’s something I want to tell you. I–I believe that Forey suspects me of complicity in my father’s death.
“How so?” queried Harry, in feigned surprise.
“Because father and I were at odds,” responded Elbert. “What is more, I want to tell you something — something that is not to be passed along to Sheriff Forey—”
“I understand. You can talk, Elbert.”
“I–I was not in New York when I heard the rumor of my father’s death. I was in Laporte. I–I had seen my father only a week before. Here, in this house. I came through that side door. He — my father — admitted me.”
Elbert gazed toward Harry as he spoke. The heir’s gaze was half shrewd, half nervous. Harry’s response was a quizzical look; but there was nothing suspicious in the manner of The Shadow’s agent.
“I needed money,” explained Elbert. “To pay off debts. I promised my father that I would behave if he gave me one more chance.”
“What was his reply?”
“He — he turned me down at first. Then he gave me hope. He said that he might help me in a few weeks. I had a little money, so I stayed in Laporte.”
“Why didn’t you tell this to Forey?”
“I was afraid he wouldn’t believe me,” declared Elbert. “He might have decided that father promised me nothing. Forey, like everybody else around here, has a very poor notion regarding my integrity. But you — well, you have been a friend, Harry. Tell me — do you think I should make this statement to Forey?”
“Perhaps,” replied Harry, adopting a neutral attitude.
“I may do so later,” decided Elbert. “But for the present, I want you to say nothing—”
The young man broke off as Craven appeared from the stairway. The servant entered the living room and looked about in a critical manner. He seemed to think that the place was untidy, for he grumbled a bit to himself. He went back to the hall and began to shout for Johanna.
ELBERT had become a clam. Something in his manner indicated that he thought he had talked too much. Harry also had the suspicion that Elbert had been pumping him. Did the heir suspect that Forey knew he had been in Laporte? Perhaps; that certainly would account for Elbert’s confiding statements. He might well have been trying to make Harry betray what Forey had learned from Ezekiel Twinton.
Johanna arrived in the living room. She began to rearrange books upon a table. Then came the clang of the door bell. Craven answered it. Tim Forey strode in, followed by a stout man whom Harry had met two days ago: Norman Trobers, the county prosecutor.
Beckoning to Craven, the sheriff made the servant stand near where Harry Vincent and Elbert Breck were seated. Assuming an important pose, Forey made a statement:
“The bullet is back from New York. Here it is” — he produced the metal slug — “with photographs. This is going to help us a lot, Elbert.”
“Good,” declared young Breck.
“That’ll please you, too,” resumed the sheriff. “Eh, Craven?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied the servant. “I hope that the fiend who slew the master will be captured.”
“Well,” remarked Forey, pacing back and forth, “we’ve learned this much. The killer used an odd sort of a gun. Not many like it in this country — leastwise not hereabouts. Did any of you” — he spoke impersonally, but looked from Elbert to Craven, ignoring Harry — “ever hear of a Luger pistol?”
“No, sir,” replied Craven. “What was the name again?”
“A Luger.”
“Never, sir.”
“How about you, Elbert?”
“Certainly I’ve heard of Lugers,” declared Elbert. He was a bit pale. “I’ve seen them. German guns. I–I - well, I’m a bit surprised to learn that a Luger—”
As Elbert paused, there came an unexpected interruption. Johanna had heard the conversation. Elbert’s last mention of the name “Luger” brought her suddenly into the conference.
“Ach! Das Luger!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “Yah. I have remember. You want you should see it?”
“A Luger pistol?” queried Forey.
“Yah,” repeated the housekeeper. “Mr. Breck he one time say: ‘Johanna. This have come from the old country. Luger.’ Come with me. I show you where it is put. I have forgotten until this time right now.”
As Johanna walked from the room, Forey beckoned the others to follow. The housekeeper lead the way upstairs. She took the side passage and entered Grantham Breck’s study. She went to the end of a bookcase; there, the housekeeper removed a handful of books and pressed against the back. Something clicked; a little compartment opened.
Springing forward, Forey pushed Johanna to one side. Thrusting his hand in the aperture, the sheriff brought out an automatic pistol. Harry Vincent recognized at once that the gun was a Luger. All were tense while Forey made his examination. The sheriff was solemn as he turned to face the group.
“The caliber of this Luger,” declared Forey, “is different from that of an American gun. What is more, it is the caliber of the pistol which discharged the bullet through the heart of Grantham Breck.
“One shot has been fired from this pistol. I don’t need an expert to tell me the answer. Grantham Breck was killed by a shot that was fired from his own gun. What is more: the murderer came here and replaced the pistol afterward!”
Gasps of amazement. Harry Vincent was bewildered. He saw an astonished look upon Craven’s face. He observed Elbert Breck blink as he stared at the sheriff.
A short quiz followed. Elbert and Craven disclaimed all knowledge of the gun’s existence. Johanna was above suspicion, for she had revealed the hiding place. The woman said that she had seen Grantham Breck put the pistol in the special compartment of the bookcase. That was all.
BEFORE Sheriff Tim Forey left the Breck house, he summoned two deputies to come there. He had reason to keep them at the place since it was established that the murderer had been a visitor there. After the deputies arrived, Harry Vincent remarked that he would have to send a telegram to New York. The sheriff told him to drive over to the station in his coupe; that he would go also.
On the way, Forey talked a bit. The finding of the gun puzzled him. Yet it did not shake his confidence in Harry. Forey stated that he wanted Harry to be as observant as before. Their conversation ended when they reached the railroad station.
Harry sent a telegram to Rutledge Mann. The station agent went back to his table. The two men left. It was between train time; the platform was deserted; but again, Harry had a feeling of uneasiness. The reason became apparent after the coupe had departed. It was then that Perry Nubin shuffled into view.
The railroad dick entered the station. Zach Hoyler looked up from his key. Nubin nodded. He waved for Hoyler to keep on. The detective listened to the ticks.
“I got it,” declared Nubin, when Hoyler had finished sending the telegrams. “‘New developments prevent present departure. Send full details regarding my securities.’ Was that all of it, Hoyler?”
The agent nodded.
“Sent by this guy Vincent,” observed Nubin. “Same address as the last one, wasn’t it?”
“Rutledge Mann, New York City,” declared Hoyler.
“What were the new developments?” quizzed Nubin.
“I don’t know,” snapped Hoyler, angrily. “Say — you must think Tim Forey swore me in as a deputy.”
“Keep your shirt on, Hoyler. I’ve got a right to know what the sheriff said to you.”
“He didn’t say anything. This fellow Vincent gave me the telegram. That’s all. Say — you’re a dick. You’ve got some authority, even though it isn’t as much as you put on. Why don’t you go down and see Forey?”