It was his plan to make sure that Mullrick was back in the apartment; then either act or inform Cardona. When he had left the little town of Kewson, Clausey had placed Lowder in charge of a detective who had come out from Manhattan. The servant had made no further statement.
Clausey’s vigil proved to be a long one. As hours passed, there was no sign of Mullrick.
There was a reason, had Clausey possessed the keenness to consider it. The first editions of the afternoon newspapers had made a tremendous story of the Cooperdale murder. They had linked Penang, Egypt, and Mexico into a wild tale of death by night. The wile of the Orient, the riddle of the pyramids, the secrets of the Aztecs: all formed a mystery that was without an equal.
The police were on the trail of the man who wore the gray fedora. Marked as a triple murderer, he was labeled a fiend. Yet gray soft hats still dominated Broadway. The clew, although a fine play-up for newspaper columns, was actually of little use to the police department.
Nevertheless, Harland Mullrick, somewhere in Manhattan, had read those screaming reports. He was not concerned about his gray hat. He was, however, disturbed by the hue and cry which might bring disaster to his plans for Mexican wealth. He was staying away from his apartment.
As dusk arrived, Harry Vincent took up his station across from the Belisarius Arms. He, like Jim Clasey, was awaiting Harland Mullrick’s return. There had been no watch by day. Burbank had heard Mullrick say he was going out, and the listener at the dictograph had reported to The Shadow.
Burbank was still listening. The Shadow, moreover, had no present concern. He was awaiting Harland Mullrick’s next move. There was still a fourth man whom Mullrick had upon his list.
Standing by a little restaurant, Harry Vincent saw Jerry Herston enter the apartment house. That did not require a report. Herston could have but one destination: Mullrick’s apartment. Harry understood that someone else was taking care of matters there.
But as Harry watched, he saw another man step from a car parked a short way up the street. He observed a heavy, stalwart man following in Herston’s wake.
The fellow looked like a gangster. This was news that must be sent to Burbank. Harry stepped into the restaurant and quickly phoned the contact agent. Burbank received the report in his quiet fashion.
Harry Vincent stepped from the restaurant. He sensed that trouble might be brewing. He knew that Burbank would relay his message to The Shadow. The black-garbed master would soon be on his way to view the unexpected complications which were about to happen at Harland Mullrick’s abode!
CHAPTER XVI
THE FINAL CLEW
JERRY HERSTON rapped at the door of Harland Mullrick’s apartment. Pascual opened the door. Herston stepped in and sought to close the door behind him.
It was then that he felt the nudge of a revolver muzzle in the middle of his back. Half raising his hands, the ex-detective stumbled forward.
“Turn around,” came the growled command. “Up against the wall.”
As Jerry obeyed, Pascual, in the living room, swung quickly to see who had spoken. The Mexican was reaching for his machete. He stopped as he saw Jim Clausey turning his revolver in his direction.
It was Herston’s voice that caused Pascual to raise his arms also. Jerry called to the Mexican, and wiggled his own hands in indicative fashion. Pascual, realizing that he was covered, also placed himself at Clausey’s mercy.
Jerry Herston grinned. Despite the fact that Mullrick had been trailed by this detective — Jerry recognized Clausey’s profession at once — there was still a chance for first-class bluff.
“Are you Harland Mullrick?” questioned Clausey.
“No,” retorted Herston. “But you’re a wise guy from headquarters. A new man on the job. Say — I’ll bet you’re this bird Jim Clausey that’s been snooping into the rackets.”
“I’m Clausey, right enough. If you aren’t Mullrick, who are you?”
“You’d know me quick enough if you were as wise as you think you are. Ever hear of Jerry Herston? That’s me.”
Jim Clausey was puzzled. He had heard of Jerry Herston. The ex-detective was well known as a private investigator. Despite his knowledge of the affairs of racketeers, Herston had a clean slate.
“What’re you doing here?” quizzed Clausey.
“Just dropped in to see a friend,” returned Jerry, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Say — you don’t mean to tell me you’re looking for Harland Mullrick. What’s the matter — is somebody after him? Have you come here to put him wise?”
“I’ve come to get him for murder,” growled Clausey.
“Murder!” Herston laughed. “Say, have you gone loco? Mullrick’s the straightest guy on two feet. You can take my word for that.”
“Oh yeah?” Clausey was obstinate. “Well, if he’s on the level, he wouldn’t mind seeing me right now. Where is he?”
“How should I know?” snorted Jerry. “Say — what are you trying to do. Playing you’re a wise old fox? The lone-hand business?”
“I’m working on my own,” retorted Clausey. “I’ve got the goods on Mullrick. He’s going to the jug when I grab him, and you’re not going to stop me. Nor anyone else, either. The credit for this pinch is going to Jim Clausey. Savvy? I’m waiting here until Mullrick shows up; and I’m calling headquarters in the meantime. You and this Mex had better play good.”
So saying, Clausey strode to the telephone. He held his gun so that he could cover either Jerry Herston or Pascual by an easy motion of his wrist. He lifted the receiver and called detective headquarters.
“That you, Cardona?” he questioned. “This is Clausey… Say, I’ve located the hide-out of the guy we’re after… It’s not Slugs Raffney… No. The bird with the gray hat…”
Clausey grinned as he heard a startled exclamation over the wire.
“Hop up here,” he continued. “Belisarius Arms… Yes… Apartment 4H… His name is Mullrick — Harland Mullrick…”
Clausey broke off, staring. A man had entered the apartment. He had stepped between Jerry Herston and Pascual. Heavy, with glowering face and vicious air, the intruder came as a menacing enemy. A revolver glimmered in his hand.
“Slugs Raffney!” cried Clausey, recognizing the missing gang leader.
UP came Clausey’s gun. Slugs Raffney had the drop. It would have been the end of Jim Clausey at that moment, but for unexpected intervention. Jerry Herston, also spotting Slugs Raffney, leaped forward to grab the mobster’s arm.
The impulse showed quick thinking on Jerry’s part. In an instant, the ex-detective had realized the situation. The death of Jim Clausey would be no protection for Harland Mullrick. The alibis which Jerry Herston, himself, had provided, were the methods that must stand the test.
Slugs Raffney, enraged by the sight of Jim Clausey, the detective who had not been able to pick up his trail, had lost all discretion. In that quick instant, Jerry knew that by overcoming Slugs Raffney, he could best serve Harland Mullrick. It was an effort on Jerry’s part to square himself with Jim Clausey.
As Jerry Herston wrestled with Slugs Raffney, the gang leader’s gun went off. Raffney cursed as he fought. Jerry had diverted his aim. The shot was wide.
Jim Clausey fired spontaneously. That bullet was the beginning of the end. It did not find its mark in Slugs Raffney’s body. It entered the shoulder of Jerry Herston.
The ex-detective staggered. Slugs Raffney’s hand was free. The snarling gang leader fired twice, point-blank, at Jerry Herston. Down tumbled the man who had tried to thwart Slugs Raffney.