“We must call another physician,” she decided. “Yes, we must call another. We must call the police, also—”
“I got the apartment house on the phone,” informed the guest. “They said that if Doctor Dubrong returned or called, they would tell him to come here. There was no answer when they rang his apartment. Probably he has not had time to reach there.”
Mrs. Casslin was nervously wringing her hands. She looked from one guest to another. She seemed incapable of speech. Her eyes turned toward the steel door.
“What is keeping Rutherford?” she questioned. “He must have put the diamond away by now? Where is he? Where is my husband?”
AT that moment, another servant appeared at the end of the hallway. The uniformed man stopped short as he saw the confusion that existed. His face turned pale. He stared at Hubert’s body, then looked toward Mrs. Casslin.
“Where have you been, Gilkins?” questioned Hodges.
“Downstairs,” stammered the arrival. “What — what has happened here?”
“Didn’t you hear the shot?” questioned Hodges.
“No,” returned Gilkins, his face still ashen. “We — we were sitting in the kitchen. The door bell just rang — I went to answer it.”
“Who was there?” questioned Mrs. Casslin excitedly. “Doctor Dubrong?”
“No, madam,” returned Gilkins. “There is a man who wishes to speak with Mr. Casslin. He says that he is from detective headquarters. His name is Mr. Cardona — it is important, he says, that he should see Mr. Casslin.”
“A detective!” exclaimed Mrs. Casslin. “Tell him to come up at once, Gilkins!”
The servant hurried from the hallway. Mrs. Casslin rested against the wall, pressing her hands to her heart. One of the guests was supporting her.
All the others had come from the living room, including Bart Melken and Yvonne Lydell. They formed a small, silent group, away from the center of the hall where the bodies lay.
Everyone waited in tense silence. Then footsteps sounded, and Gilkins reappeared at the other end of the hallway. As the servant stopped, another man stepped by him. Detective Joe Cardona appeared to view this scene where death had fallen.
The first object that Cardona noted was the gun which Hodges was still holding. Without a word, the detective stepped forward and plucked the weapon from the servant’s hand. Hodges yielded the revolver without question.
With precision, Cardona opened the gun and noted its contents. He pocketed the weapon; stooped and picked up the other gun, which was lying beside Hubert’s body. He examined that weapon also, and dropped it in another pocket of his coat.
The guest who held the knife moved forward and gave the weapon to Cardona. The detective looked at it, and placed it on a small, narrow table that stood beside the wall. He bent over the Hindu’s body, and saw that the man was dead. He made an examination of Hubert’s prostrate form. Then he looked at the palefaced group about him.
“Both men are dead,” he asserted. “What has happened here? Has anyone left this place?”
MRS. CASSLIN was too weak to answer. One of the guests, a middle-aged gentleman, stepped forward, and drew a card from his pocket. He handed it to Cardona.
“Ah!” exclaimed the detective, in a respectful tone. “You are Stephen Gloucester, of the State banking department?”
“Yes,” replied the gentleman, with dignity. “I am a guest here this evening. I observed ail that occurred. This servant” — he indicated Hodges — “is in no wise culpable. He is to be commended. His companion” — Gloucester pointed to Hubert’s body — “was slain by the Hindu. This man Hodges was forced to shoot the murderer to prevent him from attacking us.”
“Where did the Hindu come from?” demanded Cardona.
“I don’t know, sir,” interposed Hodges, who had gained his tongue now that blame had been lifted from him. “Hubert, here, was standing by this door. He was guarding it while Mr. Casslin was above. I heard Hubert cry for aid. I rushed here from the living room. This is the key to the tower door, sir. It was in Hubert’s pocket.”
Cardona took the key and nudged his thumb toward the steel door.
“You mean that Rutherford Caslin is in there?” he asked.
Universal nods came from the amazed guests.
“Why hasn’t he come out?” demanded Joe.
“I doubt that he heard the shot, sir,” began Hodges. “This door is thick; there is another door above”
“Rutherford should be here!” blurted Mrs. Casslin suddenly. “He should not have remained in the tower so long. What is keeping him? What can be keeping him?”
Cardona raised his hand for silence. He motioned to all the guests, and lined them along the hallway. He strode to the living room, saw that no one else was there, and walked back to the steel door. He passed a revolver to Stephen Gloucester.
“I shall ask you, sir,” decided Cardona, “to see that no one leaves this hallway. I am going into the tower. I shall ask you to accompany me, Mrs. Casslin, and you” — he turned to the servant, Hodges — “can come along also.”
Cardona opened the steel door with the key that Hodges had given him. The light was on within the tower.
As Hodges and Mrs. Casslin started up the circular stairs, Cardona made sure that no one was under shelter of the spiral. He followed them rapidly. He reached the top of the stairs just behind the two who had gone ahead. The closed door blocked the passage.
“Mr. Casslin is in here, sir,” vouchsafed Hodges. “He has the key with him.”
Cardona pounded upon the door. There was no response. Mrs. Casslin gave a nervous cry.
“Go down to the bottom of the stairs,” Cardona ordered Hodges. “Call that other servant, and tell him to bring an ax.”
Hodges clanked down the steps. He called for Gilkins before he reached the bottom, and relayed the order to the other man. Hodges returned at Cardona’s call. The detective turned to Mrs. Casslin.
“If you would prefer to go below,” he began, “it will be all right.”
Mrs. Casslin shook her head bravely.
“Let me stay here,” she pleaded. “I know that something has happened — if it has happened, it would be better for me to be here”
Gilkins was coming up the steps. The servant had a large fire ax. Cardona moved Mrs. Casslin and Hodges a short way down the steps and remained with them while he ordered Gilkins to attack the door.
With husky strokes, the servant demolished the barrier. As a huge piece of wood splintered away from the long metal hinge that reinforced it, Gilkins uttered a cry of horror, and stepped back against the wall.
Cardona leaped up the steps, revolver in hand. He jammed his shoulder through the opening, and sprang into the strong room. Swiftly, boldly, he looked about him to see that the three windows were closed. His eyes fell to the floor beside the inner wall.
There lay the body of Rutherford Casslin. A gaping wound showed that the millionaire had been shot in the back! Sprawled upon the floor, with arms outstretched, Rutherford Casslin exhibited empty hands with spread fingers that rested almost against the base of the wall, just below the closed door of the safe.
Detective Joe Cardona was dumfounded. This tragedy was stunning, through the very circumstances that surrounded it. Rutherford Casslin’s empty hands spoke words of their own.
Here, within a tightly locked room, behind slitlike windows braced with crossbars, with a steel door locked below and the key in the pocket of a trusted servant, Rutherford Casslin had been slain.
Empty hands told the motive of this mysterious murder. There was reason for the death of the millionaire. Somehow, in this isolated place, a prize had been plucked from a dead man’s hand.
The Bishenpur diamond had been stolen!