“Sigler, old Dilgin’s secretary, was slain in the fight that was supposed to have spelled the end of Edwin Berlett. I saw an answer. Sigler may have known too much. Maybe he was the man the killers sought to slay. Who hired the killers? I knew the answer. Edwin Berlett!”
Gasps came from about the room. There was logic in Dorrington’s revelation. None could deny it. The smooth-talking lawyer, however, had not yet finished. Wagging an emphatic finger, Dorrington declared:
“Edwin Berlett never left Pernambuco. I was sure of it. I knew that he was crooked, even though I did not know his exact scheme. When murders began, I felt that he was in back of them. I was sure that he had arranged crime before leaving New York.
“Following my theory, I had Squeezer on the job, watching planes that came in from the South. One night, Squeezer came back to Manhattan because a plane was overdue. He went out to the airport later, but too late. The passengers had landed. Nevertheless, he found names and listings. He learned that a passenger calling himself Edmund Talbot had gone to the Hotel Goliath.
“Squeezer watched the hotel lobby. He caught a glimpse of this Talbot. He recognized the man as Edwin Berlett. Tonight, Berlett left the hotel. Squeezer lost his trail. Berlett has not yet returned; but I am positive that he will be back. I had not intended to inform the police of Berlett’s presence in New York, until I was sure that the man was performing crime. Tonight was the first time that he was at large.
“Under present circumstances, however, I am forced to release my accusation. I agree with Kelwood Markin. An insidious crook swindled millionaires and made attorneys his helpless dupes. My plea is this: I am the greatest dupe of all. To offset that, I have named the murderer. Edwin Berlett.”
COMMISSIONER WESTON sat as stolid as a statue. Not a breath stirred within the paneled room. Berlett’s own actions, particularly his pretended death aboard the Southern Star, were damaging accusations. Weston could see that the whole case rested on a single deed: the capture of Berlett himself.
“What’s the room at the Hotel Goliath?” demanded the commissioner. “We’ll watch the place for Berlett’s return. We’ll get him and we’ll make him talk. Six men, Cardona—”
The commissioner stopped short as a voice came from the side of the room. A door in the paneling had stood ajar. None had noticed it during the past few minutes. That door had opened.
Upon the fringe of the rug stood a stocky man whose eyes were peering from beneath heavy brows. In his hand, the newcomer held a revolver. From the spot where he stood, the muzzle of his gun covered the entire group.
It was Lester Dorrington who announced the man’s identity. Weston and the others gasped as they realized that for the second time tonight, an accused man faced his accuser. Quivering, his calmness gone, Dorrington blurted forth the name:
“Edwin Berlett!”
CHAPTER XXI
THE SHADOW SPEAKS
“I HAVE heard these accusations,” came Berlett’s unruffled statement. “In return, I demand that my story shall be heard. Do I have your assurance on that score, commissioner?”
“You — you have,” stammered Weston, as he stared into the gun muzzle.
“Very well.” Berlett calmly thrust his revolver into his pocket. “I am here to speak, not as a criminal nor as a dupe, but merely as a chance person who can provide the solution to your problems.
“I held nothing against Lester Dorrington in the past. I never approved of him as Torrence Dilgin’s personal attorney. I did not send Dilgin to him; nor did I send the other clients. I can see why Dorrington suspected me of so doing, for as a corporation lawyer, I have contacts with many big men of industry. But Dorrington was wrong.
“All I ever did against Dorrington was to instruct my man Morgan to keep an eye on him while I was in Rio. I doubt that Morgan did so. Morgan is somewhat incompetent. Moreover, he thinks that I am dead.”
Preliminaries ended, Berlett resumed with a more steady tone. His voice came without interruption. Hushed listeners were swayed by the persuasive words of a story that was fully as convincing — despite its incredible features — as those which had been told before.
“In Rio,” stated Berlett, “I was present at the death bed of Torrence Dilgin. The old man gasped words about a key. He named the sum of one million dollars. He tried to state the identity of a living person. He failed.
“Before leaving Rio, two Brazilians — one an attorney, the other a physician — told me that they feared Torrence Dilgin had been poisoned. They suspected Warren Sigler, the secretary, as the murderer. I decided to feign ignorance. In fact, I did everything I could to make Sigler feel that I was not concerned.
“I arranged prompt shipment of the body. I avoided embalming, for I wanted an autopsy when I reached New York. I thought that I could trap Warren Sigler here — not in Brazil — and in that way bring the matter to a rapid head.”
BERLETT paused. As he came to the next portion of his story, he seemed to be picturing scenes aboard the Southern Star. At last, he faced the eyes that scanned him.
“In Pernambuco,” related Berlett, “I found a note in my cabin. It warned me that Warren Sigler intended to murder me; that thugs were coming aboard the ship, to do their evil work outside the harbor. The note told me how I could avoid death. I was to rouse Sigler’s suspicions — the man had never trusted me — by meeting the writer in my cabin. There, I was to discuss Sigler as a murderer.
“I went to the cabin. I met the writer of the note, a man who called himself Carlos Mendoza. Sigler had hidden himself in the cabin — his method was crude — and he overheard all that was said. When the Southern Star left Pernambuco harbor, I went back in the pilot ship. Mendoza had arranged the ruse.
“Sigler and his thugs were beaten in their fight. I came on to New York, by plane, still following Mendoza’s instructions. When I arrived at the Hotel Goliath, under the name of Edmund Talbot, I received a call from a man named Burbank, who was evidently an agent of Mendoza.
“Burbank told me all would be well. He had men watching me, to see that I was safe. I knew that Mendoza would somehow arrive in New York. Burbank assured me of that fact. I knew that Sigler had been in the employ of some swindler who had duped Torrence Dilgin. Therefore, I still needed protection.
“Meanwhile, lawyers were slain — two of them — while my benefactor, Carlos Mendoza, was still aboard the Southern Star. Just before the third death, Burbank informed me that Mendoza had reached New York; that soon, I would be called upon to play a part in return for the aid that had been given me.
“Tonight, the opportunity arrived. Burbank instructed me how to leave the Hotel Goliath. He told me how to avoid pursuers; he even stated that one of Mendoza’s men would make sure of my safe departure. He also told me where to go — along a strange path that Carlos Mendoza had arranged for me.
“Tonight” — Berlett paused emphatically — “I entered the home of Kelwood Markin, by coming through the trapdoor in the roof. I descended to Markin’s living room. I lay behind the curtains of the window. I saw all that took place within that room.”
A hush; then a sudden statement from old Kelwood Markin. The gray-haired lawyer was seizing upon Berlett’s words to make a new thrust.
“He must have seen Dorrington—”
“Berlett placed the death machine.” It was Dorrington who spoke. “This sounds like a confession—”
“Let him speak!” thundered Weston.
“I saw George Tharxell produce that device that lies upon the table,” stated Berlett, simply. “I saw him return without it. Lester Dorrington is innocent!”