“Quite all right to leave,” responded Fawcett. “I intend to wait for Hobbs. He couldn’t get back to town in time for the sales conference this noon.”
The stenographer nodded and left. Then, with a smile upon his lips, Fawcett went from his corner office.
He entered another room, and closed the door behind him. The glass panel of his private office bore the name:
HECTOR FAWCETT
President
Continuing, Fawcett reached another door, and stepped through it to an anteroom where a row of elevator doors greeted his eye. The door behind him bore another legend: CLIMAX CORP.
ELECTRO-THERAPEUTICAL EQUIPMENT
The elevator doors were heavy-metal barriers that completely closed this anteroom from the outside world. Hector Fawcett smiled in satisfaction. His eye ran along the doors. All but one were stopping points at the ninety-third floor. The sole exception was a special shaft which ran exclusively to the observation floors above.
SURE that no one was loitering in the anteroom, Fawcett returned to his offices, leaving the door unlocked behind him. This would be an invitation to the expected visitor. In the meantime, the president of the Climax Corp. began a short tour through his suite of offices.
The entire space of the ninety-third floor was occupied by the one enterprise. Fawcett strolled from office to office. Each corner of the floor had a private office like the one which the president occupied.
But with the exception of Fawcett’s own room, these were devoid of desks and chairs. Instead, they served as display rooms for electro-therapeutical equipment and many kindred devices.
Sun-ray machines, health devices, other items designed for treatment of illness — these made up a galaxy of shining apparatus. Hector Fawcett’s business was in keeping with the times. People were ready to purchase mechanical inventions of this type. The business was one that afforded tremendous profit.
Hector Fawcett continued to an inner office. This room, its door locked, served as a storage place for new items of equipment. Fawcett, himself, had the only key. He opened the door, turned on the light, and looked over the assemblage of electrical apparatus.
Most of the machines were duplicates of items on display in the corner offices. There was one noteworthy exception. This was an oddly shaped device mounted on rubber wheels. It consisted of a cylindrical box with a curved door in the front. Above it, mounted on a thick post, was a burnished projector that resembled a searchlight.
There was a control switch at the side. There were also focusing levers and pivoting arrangements. These were oddly designed, but they were not the chief item of peculiarity. That lay in the glazed front of the searchlight itself.
The face of the projector was solid black!
An amazing paradox — a device that seemed designed for the issuance of light — yet it was coated with a surface which light could not penetrate!
HECTOR FAWCETT’S smile became a laugh. The corporation president turned on his heel and left the storeroom. He closed and locked the door behind him. He went back into his own office, and picked up the telephone from the desk. In a methodical voice he gave a number. He recognized the tone that responded.
“Hello,” greeted Fawcett. “Yes… Waiting now… Yes, I’ve been reading the newspapers right here… Exactly as we expected… No reason for delay now.”
Fawcett was moving toward the window of the office; standing there, he still talked on the telephone while he stared outward and downward.
“Yes,” he continued, “I’ve made the observations. It’s up to Hobbs now… No… No… A test is unnecessary… Just the sighting at the correct hour… I’ll call you later.”
Hector Fawcett hung up the receiver. He stood by the window and studied the vista of the city below.
Afternoon was waning, even at this height, where the final rays of the setting sun lingered.
Hector Fawcett chuckled.
This altitude gave the bespectacled man a sense of vast superiority. The feeling would have been justified from even a commercial standpoint: the thought of salesmen who had issued forth from here to find limitless sources of revenue among the thousands of potential customers in those buildings.
But Fawcett’s ideas were of a vaster scheme. Commercial enterprise meant nothing to this watcher. To him, those buildings were masses of ore, among which were veins of profitable material.
Within a huge radius from the Judruth Tower, that source of wealth was workable. From this office — from the other corner rooms — Hector Fawcett could point his finger at the spots he wanted; then, when the proper time arrived, he could arrange the action that would bring prompt results.
A promoter of experience, Hector Fawcett was now in back of a scheme that could mean millions.
Completed plans were ready. The first test had been made and, with it, the way had been paved toward success.
Crime? What of it?
Murder? It had proven necessary.
Such considerations did not restrain this man. His longing for gain surpassed all else. Behind an exterior that denoted a business man of integrity, the real Hector Fawcett was an individual without conscience.
There was reason for his smile. In all his former schemes of promotion, Fawcett had carefully masked all unscrupulous activities. He knew how to obtain the prestige that went with successful business. President of the Climax Corp., his affairs would pass the closest scrutiny.
Like Goldy Tancred, Hector Fawcett was a man who had avoided crime. But Fawcett had not even allowed himself to deal with shady enterprises. Like Goldy, Fawcett had watched his actions purely because he knew the risk involved.
There were easier ways to make money, but when crime could be perpetrated with the dangers minimized, that altered the aspect. It was the attainment of such a condition that had turned Hector Fawcett to his present schemes.
High above the world, safe from observation, he felt positive that his actions were also free from possible detection. Sleuths could do their utmost, they would never reach this stronghold.
Many opportunities had come to Hector Fawcett. This was the time that he had engaged in the promotion of a new and alluring enterprise — that of crime. Here was crime that would be fool-proof; crime that had stood the test; crime that would increase in power with each succeeding effort.
The sky was darkening now. In the gloom of his office, Hector Fawcett turned away from the window, where Manhattan lay helpless before his eyes.
He had heard the sound of an opening door. His visitor had arrived. Turning on the light, Fawcett took his seat behind the desk just as another man entered the room.
Hector Fawcett smiled in greeting. This was the person he had expected. Known to the office as Hobbs, accepted by others as a traveling salesman who spent most of the time on the road, this visitor was actually Hector Fawcett’s associate in stupendous crime.
CHAPTER V. BURKE REPORTS
GOLDY TANCRED was seated in the living room of his luxurious suite at the Hotel Marathon. Bowser Riggins, the man whom he called a pal, and others termed his bodyguard, was lolling in a corner by the window.
A heavily built man entered the room and turned a sour, motionless face in Goldy’s direction. Although dressed in a business suit, this fellow had the manner of a servant who had come to make an announcement.
“What is it, Curry?” questioned Goldy.
“Reporter outside to see you,” answered Curry. “Guy named Burke. Comes from the Classic. Wants an interview.”
Bowser Riggins offered an objection before the big shot could make reply.