“Middleton,” was the name framed by the detective’s lips, as he stepped quickly forward.
Then he saw the face!
Never before, in all his years on the force, had Joe Cardona met with such an amazing thing. It was not Middleton lying there. The body was that of Charles Blefken!
A hideous look was spread upon the lawyer’s features. Upon his throat were the marks of deep-pressed fingers. Blefken’s collar had been ripped away, leaving his neck bare.
FOR an instant, Cardona was dumfounded. Then his shrill whistle sounded the alarm. The response was immediate. Footsteps came crashing from the cardroom. There was a burst of light as the door opened; then a bright glare as some one pushed the switch of the hall lights.
Cardona was on his feet, his coat back. His badge glimmered in the glare. He was counting four men before him — all had come from that single room. Three, he knew, were the lawyer’s guests. The fourth was Stokes, the servant.
“Where’s Middleton?” demanded Joe Cardona.
“Who?” came a startled reply.
“Middleton. The man who was here.”
“We have seen no man here,” came the voice of Morgan, the attorney. “Who are you?”
“Detective Cardona, from headquarters. You were all in that room?”
“Every one of us.”
“Was Blefken with you?”
“Until five minutes ago.”
“He has been attacked,” declared Cardona, stepping aside, so all could see the body plainly. “Outside, all of you! We’ve got to get Jerry Middleton! Hurry, you three” — he indicated the guests — “and you, Stokes, get headquarters.”
Morgan was the first to respond. He advanced, stepped past Blefken’s form with a hasty glance, and dashed out through the side door. Carew followed him. Stokes scurried to the telephone in the lounge. Only Doctor Rossiter stopped, as he neared the body of Charles Blefken.
“I’m the physician,” he said quietly.
“Right,” replied Cardona.
Rossiter was leaning over the body, making a close examination. Cardona stood back and watched him.
“Shouldn’t you hold every one here?” the physician questioned coolly.
“Ordinarily, yes,” was Cardona’s blunt response. “But I see situations quickly. You were all together. You were all alarmed. I know what was going on. I have been here all evening. That’s my business, doctor; I’m attending to it. You have your business. I hope you can be of aid.”
“Not now,” came the doctor’s quiet voice.
“Not now?” quizzed the detective.
“No,” was the reply. “Our friend Blefken is dead!”
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN WITH THE EYES
“HERE we are,” declared Larkin, with a slight smile.
Margaret Glendenning breathed a sigh of relief. She had been totally perplexed by the strange trip that she had taken with her uncle’s secretary.
The ride up in the elevator had been an unusual experience. They had traveled slowly, for many feet, up through a shaft that seemed cut in a solid pillar. Stepping out, they had passed through another dimly lighted corridor, with a black entrance at the side. Then through a small room, completely dark.
At last, down steps, which wound in a narrow spiral, where Larkin had preceded her, to show the way. Then a sliding door had opened, and they had entered a small room, papered with a grotesque design. The door had closed behind them.
They stood there, in a room that seemed to have no outlet — save that through which they had come. Then the room itself moved upward at a snail’s pace until it came to a stop.
So here they were waiting in what seemed to be a doorless box.
Larkin’s words told that the trying journey was over; but as the seconds went by, Margaret began to feel worried again.
She was sorry that she had come on this amazing visit. At first the experience had been interesting, but now it was too much so.
She had no idea where she might be. Not only had she become lost in New York; she was also totally confused in regard to the building they had entered.
She did not know whether they were below the level of the street, or above. She decided that they might be above — but how far?
She began to think of her uncle, back in the old house. Had it been right for her to leave him there, alone?
Then she half smiled at her own thoughts. At least her uncle knew where he was, while she had no idea of her location. Margaret looked at Larkin; the secretary caught her smile and returned it. That was better!
After all, Larkin knew what he was about, and she felt that she could trust him.
“Look!” said the secretary.
The side of the room was opening — half going downward, half upward. Margaret had not noticed the break in the center of the wall. The spreading portions disclosed an oak-paneled anteroom, with a door at the other end. That, the girl felt, was helpful.
She stepped forward with Larkin, and turned to watch the wall of the moving room close behind them. Larkin stood looking at the door ahead. The girl was sure now, that he had been here before. Her gaze joined with his.
The particular spot at which Larkin was staring was adorned with a peculiar carving slightly above the center of the door. It represented the solemn head of a lion, nearly half a foot in width. The mouth was opened, and the projecting tongue of oak gave the carving a realistic touch.
Margaret was fascinated. She looked at the creature’s eyes — black, hollow spots; then at the tongue; then back at the eyes again.
At that final glance she gasped in horror. The lion’s eyes were black no longer — they were human eyes, greenish eyes of a living being, staring furtively forth!
LARKIN caught the girl as she stepped back. His clutch brought her a sense of safety. Still, she could not speak. She could only point, terror-stricken at what she had seen.
Before Larkin could explain, the door moved sidewise, and Margaret saw the cause of her alarm. Ordinarily, it might have startled her, but now, in contrast to the living carving, it was a welcome relief.
A brown-skinned man was bowing obsequiously from behind the spot where the door had been. It was his eyes that Margaret had seen. They had been peering through peep-holes formed by the lion’s eyes. Margaret saw the greenish glint again, as the man stood upright.
He was a strange figure, clad in some Oriental attire, wearing a turban with a tall, straight plume. It gave the man an appearance of being much taller than he actually was. Margaret recognized that fact when he stood aside and she entered with Larkin.
They were in the most luxurious surroundings that the girl had ever seen. The room began as a narrow hall, then opened to thrice its original width. On both sides were carvings and tapestries of grotesque design.
A small fountain tinkled at the end of the wide hall. Beyond it was a shield adorned with jewels that sparkled through the falling water. The girl felt as though she had been transported to a rajah’s palace.
It was restful, there. Time passed easily. Many minutes slipped by, but the girl did not sense the fact.
The servant approached silently and bowed. First to Margaret, then to Larkin. He spoke, in a soft voice that seemed modulated to suit the surroundings.
“The master will be glad that you are here,” he said. “I go to tell him.”
He moved halfway along the hall and turned between two hanging draperies. Margaret, looking from an angle, saw a polished black slab rise as the man approached. He passed beneath it. The barrier closed. The girl turned to Larkin.
“You have been here before?” she asked.
Larkin nodded in response to the direct question.
“You did not tell me so,” the girl said reprovingly.