“Sit down,” suggested Glascomb, in a weary voice. “Sit down. I must talk to you.”
Cardona took a chair. He noted that Glascomb was inspecting him, almost mistrustfully. The old man seemed worried about speaking, but after a few moments he put a question that was troubling him.
“How did you learn my name?” he asked.
Cardona eyed the questioner steadily. He decided to meet Glascomb with definite frankness.
“I found your name upon a list,” he declared. “You were one of others — among them a man for whom I have been searching — an importer named Worth Varden.”
“Worth Varden!” Glascomb gasped the name. “Worth Varden! I feared it.” Then, as an afterthought: “But the list — the list — tell me — where was it?”
“In the hands of a dead man,” returned Cardona. “It belonged to a lawyer named Ruggles Preston.”
Landis Glascomb seemed on the verge of collapse. He leaned forward, trembling. His whole frame seemed to tremble as he heard the news.
“I feared that, too,” he quavered. “I feared it. You have the list — with you—”
“Here in my pocket,” interposed Cardona.
“You have not made my name public?” There was anxiety in Glascomb’s tone.
“No,” returned the detective. “No one else has seen the list. I am willing to show it to you — but only after I know what it is all about.”
“I can tell you,” nodded Glascomb.
“About Cowry — or Varden — or Preston?” quizzed Cardona.
“About them all” — Glascomb was emphatic — “about them all — and many more!”
“The others on the list?”
“More than that,” he declared solemnly. “More than that. I can tell you about—”
“About the man behind the game?” asked Cardona as Landis Glascomb paused.
“Yes.” The old man’s voice was hollow. “I can tell you all about Gray Fist!”
A pause.
“Gray Fist!”
The name gasped from Glascomb’s lips for the second time. A terrible fear seemed to sweep the old man. Cardona felt the dread that was in Glascomb’s tone.
Instinctively, the detective knew that he was to learn strange facts regarding a supercrook whose sway was backed by death!
CHAPTER XX
MOBSMEN STRIKE
“GRAY FIST!” Landis Glascomb shuddered as he spoke. “Gray Fist is the enemy whom I fear. His power is beyond belief. He holds me in his clutch!”
Cardona stared as Glascomb made a closing gesture with a pair of withered hands. The old man sank back into his chair.
“Who is Gray Fist?” inquired the detective.
“I do not know.” Landis Glascomb shook his head wearily. “I do not think that any one knows — any one who is alive to-night.”
“He is a crook?” queried Cardona.
“A great one,” returned Glascomb. “One with whom I could not hope to cope.”
“He killed Varden?”
“I think so; but I do not know. No one knows. No one but Gray Fist.”
“I figured a big shot behind this,” asserted Cardona. “I’ve got some facts to work on. I want more. Let’s have your story, Mr. Glascomb.”
“You will protect me?”
“As far as I can.”
“I swear that I have done no crime.”
“Then you can count on my full protection. Only, though, if you let me know the story.”
The old man nodded. He glanced about furtively as if expecting some terrible fiend to leap forth from the wall. At last his courage returned. In a calm, restrained voice, he began to speak.
“Some time ago,” he stated, “I was visited by Seth Cowry. The man told me he was a racketeer. I expected blackmail, particularly when he pointed out financial transactions in which I would experience great loss if he told all about them.
“Cowry came to terms. He merely wanted me to act as aid to an unknown individual whom he termed Gray Fist. I was to follow all the instructions that I received from this master. I accepted. Then came letters.”
“You have them?”
“No. I was afraid, and I destroyed them. They were on gray paper, of double thickness. They had to be held to a strong light in order to be read.”
Cardona did not recall the gray sheet in Varden’s study. At the same time he wondered if he had passed over such a message during his inspection of Varden’s papers.
“Gray Fist threatened me,” declared Glascomb. “He cowed me. Yet all the time I was wise. I made negotiations so that my financial transactions were clear. I was ready to risk exposure of my business plans without experiencing great loss.
“That was because I realized what was coming. Some day — I knew it well — Gray Fist would make demands. He would force me to aid his criminal plans. To refuse would mean death. Death. It means death now” — Glascomb’s tone was a hoarse whisper — “to be talking to you. But I am risking it. I am free of Gray Fist’s original threat. I want to be clear of his insidious power.”
THE old man paused and drew deep breaths. He rubbed his wan hands together; then managed to steady himself. He stared solemnly at his visitor.
“I knew that there were others under Gray Fist’s power,” resumed Glascomb. “I wanted to know who they were. Seth Cowry no longer came to see me. But I received a mysterious message from Gray Fist, left beneath my door by some minion. It said that I could not expect to see Cowry again.
“I knew that Cowry must have been slain. That was probably the price he paid for attempted treachery. All was quiet until after Varden disappeared. Then I received another note from Gray Fist. It mentioned no names. It contained only seven words: Traitors beware the doom that I deliver.
“I happened to hear that Worth Varden, an importer with whom I had some business dealings, had suddenly left town. I wondered if he could be the one whom Gray Fist meant. Then, last night, came another note telling me to leave New York at once.
“I remained. I sent my bags away with my servants — all except old Philo, whom I kept here. I read the newspapers. I learned that an acquaintance of mine, Ruggles Preston, had been killed by gangsters.
“Then I saw the truth. Preston was in Gray Fist’s employ. His work was to watch those whom Gray Fist held. That is why Preston pretended to be a friend of mine.
“I was afraid to move. I wanted to call the police. I was sure that Gray Fist’s other dupes had obeyed his bidding. But I knew that they were still under Gray Fist’s total power. I realized, too, that Preston’s death must have caused some difficulty to Gray Fist.”
Again the old man paused. Joe Cardona smiled grimly.
“I’ve got the trouble,” he asserted. “It’s this list — the one I took from Preston.”
“That explains it,” agreed Landis Glascomb. “But now that I have brought you here, I am terribly afraid.”
“Of Gray Fist?”
“Yes. I still have the urge to flee. I have told you all I know. It is not much, but it will aid you in your search for this terrible fiend.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I want to leave New York at once. To do what Gray Fist thinks I have done. My luggage went to Florida — it is on its way there with my servants. I should like to leave to-night.”
CARDONA considered. He could see no objection to Glascomb’s suggestion. The old financier was guiltless, apparently; if he had held back any of his story, there was certainly no way in which Cardona could prove the fact. After all, Cardona was not inclined to blame the man for covering up any financial business that might cause him unfair loss.
“If you leave,” decided Cardona, “you will be out of range of Gray Fist’s power.”
“No,” said Glascomb wearily, “I shall fear his power wherever I may go. Yet I shall be safer if I have appeared to have followed his command.”