“Figure it this way, Fetzler. Suppose Marchelle uncovers that deed. What will be his natural course? To turn it over to young Wycliff. The same is true if Vorber finds it. Either one, or both of them, will remain in possession of the document.
“I can step in and recover it. At the point of a gun, with shots, if required. I don’t mind another murder. I’m getting used to the game. But if Howard Wycliff is around, he’ll put up an additional fight. I don’t want an extra man on my hands.”
“We’ll kill a dozen, if necessary,” growled Fetzler grimly. “Before you forget it, Hamprell, call up that gang leader you know and tell him to stand by with his mob.”
“Ham Cruther?” questioned Hamprell. “I’ll have him on the job. When those workmen start to dig up the room, Ham and his mob will be in the offing. Leave that to me.”
“We may need them any time,” observed Fetzler. “If you go in alone, Hamprell, you’ll do better to have the mob on hand. Then you won’t have to worry about a few extra people if you run into them.”
“It suits me,” declared Hamprell. “What are you going to do, though, about getting Howard Wycliff away? It will be better, if things break, to have him out of town. If he never sees that deed, we won’t have to kill him.”
WARD FETZLER arose and strode bulkily about the sumptuous room. His big bluff face was glaring with a malicious expression that showed the evil which he usually concealed. He swerved toward Hamprell and gave his decision.
“Here’s the situation,” he said. “Tomorrow the furniture goes out. The next day, the work begins. If we get a line on where the deed is, in the meantime, the chances are my man will snag it and save us a lot of trouble.
“If someone else grabs it, we’ll know. That will mean quick work on your part. It will be an emergency, and you won’t know what you’re bumping into until you reach Wycliff’s house. That’s why it will be best to have the gang in back of you.
“In all probability, however, the deed will be uncovered the day after tomorrow, when the room is torn up. With Ham Cruther and his crowd on tap, we’ll get the deed, even though there may be a fight. It’s going to ease things at that time if Howard Wycliff is away.”
“Do you think he will go?” quizzed Hamprell. “He is mighty anxious to locate that deed.”
“He suspects nothing,” assured Fetzler. “Therefore, I think he would leave town. I have the method.”
“What is it?” questioned Hamprell eagerly.
“There is a man named Burchison in Chicago,” declared Fetzler. “Hiram Burchison, with whom old Cyril Wycliff had transactions. Burchison, I happen to know, is in California. Suppose a telegram should come to Cyril Wycliff — indicating that Burchison did not know the old man was dead — stating that he wished a personal interview regarding the sale of valuable property. What would Howard Wycliff do?”
“Start for Chicago,” responded Hamprell promptly.
“Correct,” said Fetzler. “Well, the telegram will arrive tomorrow evening. Howard Wycliff will start out in the morning. By that time, arrangements will have been made for the workmen to tear up the room.”
“Which means,” smiled Hamprell, “that Howard Wycliff will leave Paul Marchelle in charge of operations, with Vorber keeping an eye on what happens.”
“Yes,” said Fetzler, “and there will be no need for a gang assault. Ham Cruther and his mob will be available; but you can enter alone and obtain the deed. The less fracas that we raise, the better. In fact, you may be able to accomplish a very quiet murder.”
“The type that I prefer,” smiled Hamprell. “I must confess that I was quite nervous when I polished off old Doctor Arberg. The way in which I handled Cyril Wycliff’s death was much less trying.
“I like the old house, in a way. There are quiet corners where little can be heard. It is too bad that we cannot chance some killings before the deed is discovered.”
“Too risky,” snorted Fetzler. “Furthermore, they may prove unnecessary. That’s why I feel the way I do about young Howard Wycliff. There’s no reason why he should live; on the contrary, there is no reason why he should die.”
“You are showing good judgment,” grinned Hamprell. “As a planner of murder, Fetzler, you are quite competent. You view the preparations with the same unconcern that I show when it comes to execution.”
“I don’t deal in murder,” protested Fetzler. “At least, not as a rule. But I wasn’t going to see old Cyril Wycliff grab off a few millions just because I made a mistake in selling him that Utah property. He knew too much. He had to die. Howard Wycliff knows practically nothing. For that reason he can live.”
“Good logic,” complimented Hamprell. “Murder when necessary. One relishes it all the more. Dear old Doctor Arberg” — the killer’s tone became sarcastic in its reflectiveness — “how I tried to save his life. I talked of ethics. He failed to understand. In fact, he was obstinate enough to fire two shots at me, instead of meeting death quietly.”
“You were lucky that the reports were not heard.”
“Certainly. I intended to strangle him under his chin whiskers. I had to use the gun in the pinch. But now” — Hamprell’s stare became cold and his face leered — “I have changed my policy. If I am called to Howard Wycliff’s, I shall not hesitate one instant. Whoever I am forced to kill will die on the spot where I find him. I shall not be hasty, Fetzler; but I shall be decisive. You may count on that!”
“I know it.” Fetzler’s tone contained assurance. The man of wealth had imbibed the murderer’s philosophy. “Perhaps, Hamprell, I shall be there to see you work — if death proves necessary.”
“You are cordially invited,” chuckled Hamprell. “I usually prefer to perform my murders without a gallery looking on, but I shall make an exception in your case, Fetzler.”
With this remark, the murderer arose and went to the telephone. Ward Fetzler knew his purpose. Martin Hamprell was calling his gangster friend, Ham Cruther.
Nothing would be left to chance from now on. Ward Fetzler smiled in satisfaction.
THE plotters had decided their course. Murder was in the offing. Only the secret purloining of the missing deed, its subtle restitution to Howard Wycliff, could spoil their plans. The plotters had entirely neglected that point.
They would have been amazed had they known that even now the missing deed lay within reach of a sinister enemy of crime. The Shadow, located in Howard Wycliff’s library, had actually considered such a course.
Yet The Shadow had not acted. Although he had not had access to this conference in Ward Fetzler’s apartment, his keen brain sensed exactly what the plotters would plan to do. Murder, he knew, would be their thought, upon the finding of the deed.
Murder!
Martin Hamprell, at the telephone, was discussing it with Ham Cruther, as he gave the gang leader orders to stand by. Ward Fetzler, standing by the window, was considering murder also, as the course which would bring him ill-gained wealth.
Both Hamprell and Fetzler were convinced that through murder they would gain the final objective. Their elation over the success of their two previous killings was as nothing compared to the confidence they felt regarding murders that were to come.
Martin Hamprell was leering as he spoke across the wire. Ward Fetzler wore an evil glare upon his bluff countenance. To both these villains, murder meant success. That was because they did not reckon with The Shadow.
Schemes of death that ordinarily would bring success to those who perpetrated them had a way of dropping into total failure when the unseen hand of The Shadow played its part!
CHAPTER XVIII
VORBER SEES THE SHADOW