“Jackling,” responded Zane, his lips trembling. “It was Jackling — speaking about Phraytag.”
“Did Jackling call Phraytag?”
“He called Phraytag’s home, just ten minutes ago, to talk to Phraytag—”
“And what did Phraytag say?”
“Nothing.” Zane’s voice was solemn. “It was the servant, Worthington, who answered. He — he told Jackling that — that Elwood Phraytag died one hour ago. Died — at ten o’clock tonight.”
Silence dominated the room, Perry Dolger was rigid as a statue; Zane had slumped in his chair, completely shaken by this unexpected news. Yet it was he who first found his voice.
“Jackling said that Phraytag died,” repeated Zane, in a hollow tone. “He did not say that Phraytag was killed. And yet — coming so soon — after Lyken’s death—”
“It looks like murder!” interposed Perry, quietly.
“It does,” decided Zane. “But Perry, it was Phraytag who paid Lyken to keep silent. Phraytag could have desired Lyken’s death; but who could have wanted to kill Phraytag? There is no explanation!”
“You are wrong, Zane,” responded Perry, in a tone of understanding. “Wrong — just as I was. We must look further for the secret of this intrigue. Beyond Elwood Phraytag.”
“But he owns the signet ring—”
“He owned one ring. That was the one that Lyken saw after it had been engraved. But remember, Zane, there were four rings.”
“Then you mean—”
“That the secret is deeper than we suspected. Lyken was the first step. He was eliminated. Elwood Phraytag, old and weakened, a man who might yield to pressure, was the second step. He, too, has been eliminated.”
“And beyond?”
“Three others,” replied Perry, emphatically. “Three whose names we do not know; three who once were partners with Elwood Phraytag. They had no further use for him. Blind and infirm, he had become as great a liability as Philip Lyken.”
“I see it,” nodded Zane. “Three hidden schemers, who have blocked the trail. They are the ones who hold the secret of our grandfather’s wealth. We can not trace them now. They have balked us.”
“Perhaps,” declared Perry, “and perhaps not. We still may have an opportunity to beat their hidden game. The fact that we formed no contact with Phraytag may lead us to success.”
“You mean,” inquired Zane, “that they will think their work has been accomplished? That they may feel entirely secure, now that both Lyken and Phraytag are dead?”
“Exactly!” responded Perry, nodding wisely. “Let us wait until to-morrow, Zane; until the newspapers tell us more concerning Phraytag’s death. Then I believe” — a quiet smile accompanied the young man’s pause — “that we may find a way to gain the wealth that is our heritage.”
CHAPTER XI. THE THREE ORDAIN
THE next evening found Ed Mallan within the portals of Lucius Zurick’s home. Timothy, as dignified as ever, was informing the private dick that he must wait in the little parlor. As usual, Mallan found a newspaper there.
An obituary notice was all that concerned the death of Elwood Phraytag. So far as the public knew, the blind philanthropist had died a natural death. Because of his reputation, Phraytag had gained front page notice. Mallan grinned as he read the account of the old man’s demise.
Timothy returned and conducted the detective into the study. Mallan’s face became solemn as he entered. Hard-boiled though he was, the dick felt in awe of the trio whom he was to meet.
He nodded awkwardly as he reached the long table. Zurick was at the head; Laverock and Kent at either side.
A motion of Zurick’s hand caused Mallan to take the unoccupied chair. A stern smile showed upon the philanthropist’s face. Mallan said nothing; he waited for Zurick to speak. At last the crackly voice sounded.
“Mallan,” declared Zurick, “I have shown my associates your two reports. First, the one you brought here yesterday, concerning the death of Philip Lyken. Second, to-day’s report in the matter of Elwood Phraytag.”
Mallan nodded. He shifted uneasily in his chair. Zurick’s gaze gave him the jitters. Moreover, Laverock and Kent had focused their eyes upon him.
“The reports have been read,” resumed Zurick, “but I can not say that they have been approved. When I suggested your course of action: first, concerning Lyken and later, in regard to Phraytag, I deemed that you would exercise discretion.”
Zurick’s crackle voice carried a peculiar subtlety. Mallan had noticed it in the past; it was most apparent when the philanthropist was speaking in the presence of his associates. Zurick had a way of making statements that could be taken as orders, yet his manner of speech was in itself an indication that he assumed no responsibility.
“I am not in accord with your methods, Mallan,” came Laverock’s rumble. “As Zurick says, you received suggestions. But you were not authorized to act in the fashion that you chose.”
“The deaths of Philip Lyken and Elwood Phraytag,” added Kent, in his wheezy fashion, “were entirely unnecessary. Therefore, Mallan, I can not approve your reports.”
“Wait a minute,” growled the detective, finding his voice. “If you fellows think that you can hang anything on me, you’re wrong! I got it straight from Mr. Zurick here that what I was hired for was to keep Lyken or Phraytag from talking. Well — neither of ‘em can do talking now, can they?
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? All right. That’s why I came out with a complete report. I could have dodged certain facts. But I didn’t. All I left out was the names of certain persons — and those names don’t matter.”
“One moment, Mallan,” crackled Zurick. “You must not resent this criticism. Laverock and Kent have merely given you their opinion. For them to approve your reports would place them on record as finding your methods acceptable. Is that quite plain?”
“Yes,” agreed the detective, doubtfully. “But just the same Mr. Zurick. You told me—”
“Just what did I tell you? quizzed Zurick, narrowly. “Repeat any actual orders that I gave you, Mallan.”
“Well, you said—”
“My only definite instructions were in the form of a reminder. When you and I were alone in this room, Mallan, I said these words: ‘Remember, Mallan, you have been employed by three men. Whatever you do must be acceptable to Laverock and Kent. Anything that would not merit their approval must be avoided.’ Those were my words, Mallan.”
“You did say something like that,” admitted the detective. “But I figured that I was working in the interests of all three.”
“That is what you supposed,” asserted Zurick, dryly. “But you should realize now that the mistake was yours. In brief, Mallan, you are entirely responsible for your own actions.”
“Yeah?” Mallan was hot. “Well, who hired me to watch Lyken? Who told me to cover Phraytag? You did, didn’t you?”
“Quite so,” crackled Zurick. “But neither I nor my associates supposed that we would be placed in the position of having to countenance murder. That, Mallan, was something that you yourself assumed.”
“Yeah?” The detective’s gold teeth glittered as he forced a sour smile. “Well, suppose the police get wind of this. Suppose they started to quiz me on these two deaths — just on Lyken’s say, because they’ve got that listed as murder — and suppose I talked—”
“Well?”
“They’d figure you three in the game, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps,” observed Zurick, with a smile upon his parchment features. “But first of all, they would charge Ed Mallan with the murder of Philip Lyken.”
“How could they?” growled Mallan. “There’s nothing they could hang on me. Not even that report you’ve got there” — he nudged toward a sheet that Zurick was holding — “because all it tells about is how Lyken was bumped, not who did it.”