“Mr. Zurick is in his study, sir,” replied Timothy, with dignity. “He said that you should wait in the parlor, Mr. Mallan. You may read the evening paper during the interim. I placed it upon the parlor table.”
“Thanks, Timothy,” responded Mallan, dryly. “Here’s the hat and coat. See you later.”
With this expression, the ungainly visitor walked in to the parlor and sprawled himself in an old-fashioned chair. He picked up the newspaper. His eyes fell upon the same two paragraphs that Philip Lyken had read that afternoon.
A smile appeared upon his broad lips as Mallan read the brief comment about the Dolger estate. Then the fellow began to peruse the account of the police raid that had marked the death of Luke Zarby and his bank-robbing crew. The story seemed to please Mallan. He chuckled as he reached the end of the paragraph and read the statement that no one had escaped Joe Cardona’s raiders. The chuckle ended in a guffaw just as Timothy reappeared.
“Hello, Tim,” laughed Mallan, rising. “Boss ready?”
“Yes, sir,” stated the servant, coldly. “Mr. Zurick will see you. And my name, sir” — the servant seemed severe — “is Timothy.”
“That’s right,” chuckled Mallan, as he followed the servant, “and my name’s Edmund. But I’m not proud of it. So you’re Tim to me and I’m Ed to you. How about it?”
Timothy made no reply. He merely opened a heavy, paneled door and ushered the visitor into the study.
Ed Mallan walked into the room; Timothy closed the door and departed.
The room had a sobering effect upon Ed Mallan. It was not the somber fittings that produced the change; the occupants of the study were the ones who made the ungainly visitor stand in gawky silence.
SEATED at a long table were three men. Mallan knew the one at the head; he was Lucius Zurick. Old, with face like parchment, yet keen of eye and possessed of vigor, Zurick had always impressed Mallan.
The others — Mallan had never seen them before — were suitable companions. One was a long-faced chap with a bald head who sat bolt upright in solemn dignity. The other was weary-faced and stoop-shouldered; but his eyes, like Zurick’s, were stern and searching.
“Sit down, Mr. Mallan.” The order came in a crackly tone from Lucius Zurick. “Take the chair there at the end of the table. These gentlemen are my associates. Guy Laverock” — he indicated the long-faced man — “of whom you have heard me speak. And this gentleman” — Zurick waved a scrawny hand toward the weary-faced individual — “is Harbrook Kent, whom you have also heard me mention.”
Mallan bowed abruptly. He took the chair and sat silent. Laverock and Kent were studying him as one might inspect an object in a museum. Mallan felt nervous as he watched them. Finally, the two seemed satisfied. They turned to Lucius Zurick.
“This is an important occasion, Mallan,” stated Zurick, in abrupt fashion. “I have informed my associates of your report. I thought it best, however, that you should repeat the information. And by the way, Mallan” — there was dryness in Zurick’s crackle — “I think it would be best if you began by telling my friends a bit about yourself. Tell them about your first interview with me; the night I hired you to work for me.”
Ed Mallan shifted up in his chair. His chest swelled and a smile appeared upon his face. Mallan considered himself imposing when he adopted this attitude. Though middle-aged, with bushy brows and gray-tinged hair, he took pride is his youthful appearance. As a matter of fact, his long-jawed countenance was not unhandsome, but his sophisticated grin, with its flash of gold teeth, destroyed much of the effect that Mallan was anxious to create.
“I CAME out here three weeks ago,” began Mallan, in a bluff, but methodical tone. “Response to a special inquiry from Mr. Zurick here. First question he asked me what cases I handed. I told him anything and everything.
“What I told Mr. Zurick then goes for you other gentlemen now. I said: ‘I’m Ed Mallan. D’you know what that means?’ Mr. Zurick says: ‘I’d like to know.’ So I told him. I said: ‘Ed Mallan ain’t no cheap dick. When you’re hiring him, you’re getting the equal of the best.’”
Mallan paused emphatically. His gold teeth sparkled. They showed well in this light. Mallan knew it, because he caught similar flashes from the hands of the three men whom he faced.
Zurick, Laverock, Kent — all were wearing heavy gold signet rings that threw a glitter every time a hand turned beneath the light.
“I leave it to you,” resumed Mallan, noting the signets only in terms of his own gold teeth. “Was that a brag? I’ll say is wasn’t! I don’t claim to be the best private detective that any one could hire. All I say is, I’m equal to the best. The other guy can say the same. If he can prove it, I’ll grant it.”
“Very well, Mallan,” interposed Zurick. “Just proceed with a brief resume of some of your past activities.”
“You want to hear ‘em again?” Mallan seemed pleased. “Well, I ain’t mentioning no names. I’m just telling what I told Mr. Zurick. I got one motto. That’s told in a single word: Results.
“If I got to get something, I get it! One case I told Mr. Zurick about. Fellow been getting blackmail threats from a good-for-nothing friend of his. But this blackmailer wouldn’t send no letters, see? What’s more, he’d never talk without making sure there was nobody around.
“So we invited him up one night. I was there. My client raised a howl; says he’s being blackmailed and calls the police. They show up. The blackmailer laughs; says we’ve got nothing on him. I says to search him. They do and they find a gat. That meant the cooler for the wise guy.
“Well, I’ll make the story short. The guy didn’t make no trouble after that. He’s still wondering how he came to have the gun. Never wised up that I planted it on him in the elevator.
“Take out-and-out crooks. I know lots of them. If I’ve got a job that they can do, I hand it out to them. Plenty of mugs would go to jail if I said the word; but I don’t squawk. They’ve got their business; I’ve get mine. Suppose I’ve got to get evidence out of some office. D’you think I’d crawl in there myself? No. But there’s plenty of second-story men ready to take the job. Fifty bucks and up.
“And about frame-ups. Some guys are clumsy. I ain’t. My frame-ups count. Take in hotels, for instance. To begin with, the ordinary hotel dick is a guy—”
“That is sufficient, Mallan,” interrupted Zurick. “I merely wanted my associates to gain a first-hand acquaintance with your method. Are you satisfied, gentlemen?”
“Yes,” replied Laverock, in a rumbling tone. “Mr. Mallan appears to be a trifle unethical, but—”
“He follows one admirable formula,” chimed in Kent, with a wheezy drawl. “Live and let live — so far as his acquaintances are concerned.”
“Let us say,” crackled Zurick, “that he believes that the end justifies the means.”
ED MALLAN watched the signet rings glimmer. He felt pleased. He took these dry remarks as compliments. Hunched back in his chair, he heard Zurick ask for his report. Mallan’s grin broadened.
“Mr. Zurick here,” stated the private detective, “told me to cover Philip Lyken, the jeweler. I’ve been doing it. He said in particular to watch out for any visit by a man named Dolger. Well, I hit double luck to-day.
“Two Dolgers came to see Lyken. One was Perry Dolger; the other was Zane Dolger. The guys looked phony from the time they showed up. So I slid in to look at some jewelry and heard them tell their names to the clerk.
“He sent them up to see Lyken. They were there about fifteen minutes. Then they came down. Went away. My opinion is this. Whatever they had to say to Lyken, it wasn’t much. Couldn’t have been, because they weren’t there long. But maybe they’ll be back.”