It held an automatic!
The big man uttered a cry as he saw the gun. Harkness had caught him unawares. The big man’s own gun was lying on his lap.
Had the big man been the only adversary, he would have been an easy prey. But Harkness was ignoring the big man. As he brought up the gun, he turned its muzzle toward the silent short man who stood watching him.
The architect’s act was hidden by the table until the big man gave his cry. He was the first of the two thugs to see the gun.
Harkness fired the instant the alarm was sounded. Hardly had he pulled the trigger before the short man’s gun responded.
Harkness, hurrying his aim, had missed. But the masked man was a marksman. His bullet entered the architect’s body below the right shoulder. Harkness gasped as he fell back in his chair.
The big man was on his feet, alarmed. Then he realized that the shots had probably gone unheard.
Harkness was badly wounded. The gun had fallen from his hand. His eyes had closed; now he opened them. At that sign of life, the short man came forward, crouching over his victim.
“Tried to kill me, did you?” His voice was an angry threat, spoken in tones filled with venom. “You got yours — and that’s not all—”
His hand came up, bringing the automatic on a level with the architect’s eyes. A sudden terror gripped Harkness, when he saw death facing him.
“Don’t shoot!” he gasped. “Don’t! I’ll tell you — tell you — where—”
“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed the big man, leaping forward.
He was too late. The hatred of the crouching man had reached his climax. A revengeful oath came from beneath the masking handkerchief as the small man pressed the trigger of his automatic.
Richard Harkness lay dead, shot down in cold blood!
The short man was laughing hideously. He gloated like an evil monster as he stood above the body of his victim.
His companion also stared at the dead man in the chair. Into this silent scene came the ringing of the telephone. The big man answered it.
“All right,” he said in a tense voice. “No… It’s too late now. I’ll tell you later. Wait until I call you.”
He laid down the telephone and took the handkerchief from his face, revealing the features of Briggs.
“Keep your mask on, Clink,” he warned. “I need this for a minute.”
He wiped the telephone and took great care to make sure that no telltale finger prints remained. He studied the room carefully.
Satisfied that no clews remained, he motioned to his masked companion.
“Come on, Clink,” said Briggs. He looked at the body of Richard Harkness and laughed. “You should have waited, Clink. He was saying something when you gave it to him. Another stall, I guess.
“Well, Clink” — there was a congratulating tone in the big man’s voice — “there was two of us before tonight. Now there’s three.
“I got mine. Bob got his. Now you’re with us.
“You’re a killer, Clink. The third killer!”
CHAPTER VII
“He’s been dead nearly twenty-four hours, inspector,” said the detective.
Acting Inspector Herbert Zull looked steadily at the body of Richard Harkness. Then his eye roved about the room, taking in all the details.
“How did you happen to find the body, Crowell?” he questioned.
“The woman that comes to clean house,” replied detective Crowell. “She found the door locked when she came in the morning.
“She used to get here before Harkness left. Locked door meant he had gone early — she was to come back at dinner time. She came back at six o’clock.”
“What then?”
“Well, again there wasn’t any reply when she knocked. She heard the phone ringing.
“She came back again at eight — it was her pay night, and she was sure Harkness would be in. The phone was ringing again.
“Then she called Lester — young architect who works for Harkness. He had been trying to get Harkness on the phone all day, for Harkness hadn’t come to the office at all. Lester called the police.
“I came up here and we broke in. There you are.”
“Nothing disturbed?” questioned Zull.
“No, sir. Waiting for you.”
“Did you notice anything — looking around?”
“No, sir.” The detective hesitated. “Only the corner of that rug.” He pointed to a small rug near the door.
Zull looked and laughed. One corner of the rug was tucked underneath. He straightened it.
“The murdered man is over here, Crowell,” he said. “Yet you’re looking at rugs, ten feet away. What’s the matter with you?”
“I’ve looked at the body, sir,” protested Crowell. “We know that the man fired before he was killed. His automatic is here beside him.
“I admit it’s funny, my noticing that rug — if it wasn’t for something that happened once before—”
“When?”
“The time we found that dead man in Galvin’s home. You remember, I was there with you, inspector? There was a rug in that room, too, with a corner turned under.
“You must have noticed it, sir — you straightened it with your foot.”
“You are observant, Crowell,” said Zull, approvingly. “I don’t even recall the incident. Was it after we had examined the place?”
“No, sir, it was while you were walking around, thinking. The rug was near the door of that room, too. I only noticed it because you straightened it, just like from force of habit.
“I never thought anything about it until now — seeing the corner of this rug reminded me of the other one.”
“Just a coincidence, Crowell,” said Zull, laughing. “Nevertheless, it shows keen observation. The point is this: apply your talent to more important use. Watch me study this.”
ZULL began a minute inspection of the chair in which the body lay. He picked up the gun and examined it.
He glanced at the table under the glare of the desk lamp. He produced a microscope to study its surface more closely.
While he was thus engaged, a policeman entered the room, followed by two men.
“Reporters,” he announced. “What shall I do with them?”
Inspector Zull looked up. He recognized the two men. He remembered the name of one of them — Clyde Burke, now on the staff of the Classic.
“Hello, boys,” he said. “Stay up here if you want; but keep out of the way for a while. I’m pretty near through my preliminary inspection.
“Give them the details you told me, Crowell,” he added to the detective.
Crowell talked with the reporters near the door, while Zull continued his search for clews. Burke was listening to Crowell’s story; but he was watching the inspector from the corner of his eye.
Acting Inspector Zull was a unique figure on the New York force. He had a considerable reputation as an investigating detective. He usually arrived to make special notes and check with the detectives later.
It was on this account that Burke displayed his surreptitious interest in the inspector’s actions.
Burke knew that he could check on Detective Crowell’s statement with the other reporter. He wanted to learn whatever else he might through observation of Acting Inspector Zull.
There was a look of satisfaction on Zull’s face as he continued his work, not knowing that he was being observed. That was surprising to Burke, because Zull did not appear to be finding anything unusual.
Zull had a poker face — one that registered emotions to a slight degree, but did not change frequently. It was only because Zull thought himself free from observation that he indulged in a sudden change of facial expression. His eyes chanced to notice something that lay on a small bookcase a few feet to the left of the chair which held the body of Harkness.