A response. Markham began to talk. His eyes stared; he nodded without realizing it. When he finished explaining what had happened, he thumped the telephone on the desk and spoke in an excited tone.
“Do you know what number that was?” he questioned. “The one they gave me at headquarters? It was Dobey Blitz’s. Dobey Blitz, the big shot. He’s been murdered!”
“Dobey Blitz!” exclaimed Jodelle.
“Yeah, Dobey Blitz,” repeated Markham. “Somebody got in there and plugged him. One shot, right through the heart, Cardona says. Joe can’t get away yet, but he’s calling the commissioner, telling him to come over here. Joe will be along later.”
Markham strolled over to the chair where Wally Wilking was seated. He ordered the young man to rise.
Markham fished out a pair of handcuffs.
“You’ll look good in these bracelets,” he commented. “Stick out your dukes and try ‘em on.”
Wally shrank back, as though in horror. Jodelle stepped over with a disdainful laugh, while Markham pressed the cuffs toward the prisoner.
IT was then that Wally acted as he had with Hildreth. He had fooled Markham by cowering away; his next move was a swift, powerful jab of his left fist.
The punch caught Markham in the stomach. The detective sergeant crumpled from the blow. As Jodelle, momentarily startled, began to raise his revolver, Wally plastered a heavy right to the investigator’s jaw.
The wallop sent Jodelle up against the wall.
No one blocked the way to the side door. Only Hildreth was at hand to stop the prisoner’s escape. The banker had pocketed his revolver. The weapon caught as he tried to yank it forth. Before Markham could draw a gun; before either Hildreth or Jodelle could fire, Wally Wilking had dashed away through the rear hall.
The young man knew his way through the house. The start that he had gained was sufficient. Jodelle had left the door open; Wally slammed it as he bolted. The same with a door at the end of the hall. When the pursuers passed that barrier they ran into a side door that led to a driveway beside the house. Wally had slammed the last barrier.
Jodelle and Markham reached the driveway. Hildreth switched on an outside light. There was no sign of the prisoner. Wally had ducked through the next street and was on his way.
With handcuffs dangling from his fist, Markham angrily yanked a police whistle. He was about to blow it when Jodelle stopped him. The investigator spoke hoarsely to the detective sergeant.
“Don’t chase him!” exclaimed Jodelle. “I know where he’s going! You can have him trapped there.”
“Where?” questioned Markham.
“To Dunwood Marrick’s,” stated Jodelle. “The two are in cahoots. It was Marrick who backed Wilking.”
“Where does Marrick live?”
“Over near Dobey Blitz’s place. Call up Dobey’s. Cardona is still there. I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how to head off Wilking.”
The two joined Hildreth and hurried back into the study. Markham called Cardona. Jodelle gave Marrick’s address. After the call, they settled down to wait, anxious because the police commissioner might arrive before Cardona had reported back.
DUNWOOD MARRICK was pacing his living room when he heard a commotion outside the door. An excited man brushed his way past Marrick’s servant. The banker recognized Wally Wilking.
“What’s the matter?” questioned Marrick, when they were alone.
“They caught me,” responded Wally, out of breath.
“Where?” demanded Marrick. “At Hildreth’s?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get the papers?”
“I had them; but I lost them. There was a man there from headquarters. Going to put handcuffs on me. I poked him in the ribs and cleared out.”
“You’re a fool!” snarled Marrick. “You’re a fugitive from the law. Why did you come here?”
“Where else could I have gone?”
“Anywhere. You could have called me. I would have helped you out. But now you’ve given them a trail — a real trail — straight to me.”
Marrick swung to the safe. He fumbled with the combination. He got it open. He yanked forth stacks of securities and piled them into a suitcase that he pulled into view. He closed the safe and twisted the knob.
“What are you going to do?” gasped Wilking.
“Clear out,” responded Marrick, grimly. “Give you a chance to save your foolish hide. I’ve got a plane no one knows about. We’ll take it.”
“Where?”
“To Canada. You can head for the tall timber. I can come back. My story will be that I was on a vacation. I haven’t even seen you. I’ll stow these stocks and bonds out in Chicago.”
Marrick grabbed Wilking by the arm. He picked up the bag with the other hand. He shouted for the servant and made a gesture toward the back door.
“Get out,” he ordered. “Don’t come back until to-morrow. You weren’t here at all to-night. Understand?”
The servant nodded. He headed for the rear of the apartment. Marrick swept Wilking to the front door and yanked the barrier open. Both men stopped short. The bag dropped.
Outside the door, ready with leveled gun, was Detective Joe Cardona. With him were two other men from headquarters. Joe motioned Marrick and Wilking out into the hall. He picked up the bag that Marrick had dropped.
“Come along,” ordered the detective. “We’re going back to Hildreth’s. The police commissioner wants to have a chat with you fellows.”
CHAPTER XX. MEN OF MURDER
IT was midnight. A group was still assembled in Tobias Hildreth’s study. Police Commissioner Wainwright Barth sat behind the desk. Beside him was Hildreth. Joe Cardona and Markham stood in one corner, while Gorton Jodelle was in another. Lamont Cranston — he had come with the commissioner — was by the side door.
Before this tribunal were two men, both handcuffed. Wally Wilking, nervous and restless, was in one chair. Dunwood Marrick, sullen and silent, occupied another. Important details had been garnered during the past few hours. Commissioner Barth was ready to begin his cross-examination.
“You, Dunwood Marrick,” pronounced Barth, in an austere tone, “were the brain behind this evil game. You were a swindler to begin with, for I know you backed the Garaucan bond scheme. You became a bank robber; as proof, we have found securities in your possession that were stolen from the Founders Trust Company. What have you to say for yourself?”
Marrick was silent. He had persistently refused to make a statement. Barth smiled sourly as the light gleamed on his bald head. He picked up some penciled notations and surveyed them through his pince-nez.
“Very well,” decided the commissioner. “We shall let you talk later. Your crooked game, Marrick, depended upon two aids. One was Dobey Blitz. He headed the actual robbery of Hildreth’s bank. He ordered two killers to murder Sigby Rund, the man who had worked in the bond swindle. He sent the same pair to slay Rudolph Zellwood.
“One of those killers is dead. We have his written confession. The other has been captured. He has substantiated the story. Both worked for Dobey Blitz, the lieutenant who served the brain: otherwise yourself, Dunwood Marrick.”
Barth paused emphatically. Marrick seemed unimpressed. Barth decided to continue.
“Your other aid,” he proclaimed, “was Wally Wilking. He established contact with Zellwood. We have proof to that effect. He was the one who learned the combination of the vault. He came here to-night to steal incriminating papers from this very room. He was trapped.
“We caught Wilking in the act of crime. But we have more on Wilking than that. Dobey Blitz was murdered to-night. Detective Cardona, positive that the man had not left his private room, ordered the walls torn down. He discovered a secret elevator by which Blitz could come and go. Also” — Barth’s eyes gleamed — “through which friends of Blitz could come and go.