“Yes. He had a Mexican servant, who was dead in the apartment. Have you ever heard of him, Mr. Gershawl?”
“I have,” responded the millionaire, with a short laugh. “His victims, though, were unknown to me until I read their names in the newspapers. I have something in common with them, however. I know much about Mexico.”
“Ah! Do you know anything about Mullrick?”
“Yes. I have information which I acquired only a short while ago — as lately, perhaps, as the time when you found this list. I have received a telephone call from a man who calls himself Harland Mullrick.”
“You have!”
“More than that. I have granted him an interview. I am expecting him at any minute. I thought when your call came up from below that he had arrived.”
Cardona sprang to his feet.
“Mr. Gershawl!” he exploded. “Mullrick is coming here to murder you!”
“Such,” said the millionaire quietly, “appears to be his intention. But I hold no apprehensions. I have received your warning. You are here. You will arrest him.”
“If he suspects a trap—”
“That would be unfortunate,” interposed Gershawl. “Unless, however, this murderer saw you enter and recognized you, I do not think that he will neglect the appointment. He is very anxious to see me. He wants to talk regarding Mexico.”
“So that’s his game,” mused Cardona. “You’re right, Mr. Gershawl. We can trap this scoundrel, unless—”
“Unless?”
“Unless he has a gang with him. Slugs Raffney and some of the mob that Raffney still has.”
“That’s right,” agreed Gershawl. “Those fellows were supposed to have killed Roy Selbrig, weren’t they? But how about the other deaths: Burton Blissip and Sidney Cooperdale?”
“Mullrick worked alone,” declared Cardona.
“He will try to work alone here, then,” nodded Gershawl.
“Can you be sure of that?” questioned Cardona eagerly.
“No question about it,” returned Gershawl, in a decided tone. “My anteroom, below, is protected against intruders. The watchman is too much of an obstacle. Then there is the elevator operator; the servant outside. I am well protected against disturbers, Mr. Cardona.”
“I see Mullrick’s game,” agreed the detective. “He is foxy. He has tricked you into letting him in here as a guest so—”
“And he will think he has me unawares,” injected Gershawl. “However, I can take care of that. Suppose, Mr. Cardona, that you station yourself behind that farther curtain. Be ready for my call. I shall also post my servants.”
“I can grab the man the minute he comes in.”
“Yes. That would be simpler. I have been wondering, though, just what his game may be—”
“That’s right!” blurted Cardona. “Say — if you can get him to talk a bit, we may find out why he killed those three men who had been to Mexico.”
“Precisely,” said Gershawl. “In the meantime—”
A RAP on the door came as an interruption. Gershawl called for the person to enter. The servant from outside stepped within.
“Mr. Harland Mullrick is in the anteroom, sir,” he said. “Are you ready for him to come up by elevator?”
“Yes,” decided Gershawl.
Cardona was about to object. Gershawl, however, explained the reason for the quick summons.
“He may suspect if I keep him waiting,” he said. “I had hoped we would have time to call my friend, the police commissioner. It is too late now. Get behind the curtain while I instruct my inside servants to be ready.”
Gershawl went out of the door. He returned in less than two minutes. He smiled approvingly as he noted that Cardona was well concealed behind the curtain. Gershawl sat down and puffed on his cigar. A minute later, someone knocked upon the door.
“Come in,” ordered the millionaire.
The door opened. In stepped a tall, stoop-shouldered man. His face bore the bronzed color of the tropics. It was Harland Mullrick. The visitor’s head turned right and left, with quick, suspicious glance.
Donald Gershawl arose to shake hands with his guest. He pointed to a chair. Mullrick stepped beyond it to place his coat and hat, which he was carrying, upon a small stand. It was then that Joe Cardona, behind the curtain, suppressed a triumphant gasp.
Mullrick’s actions; his appearance; his stooped shoulders: these were evidences that he was the man Cardona wanted. The final touch, however, lay in the hat that rested upon the stand. It was spotless, unusually light in shade; the kind of hat that anyone would have quickly noted in the darkness.
The hat was a gray fedora. Joe Cardona’s fingers tightened on the butt of his revolver.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CAPTURE
“HAVE a cigar,” offered Donald Gershawl.
“No, thanks,” returned Harland Mullrick, suddenly withdrawing his hand after starting to reach toward the box. “I’ve a lot of important business on my mind. I want to talk with you about it, Mr. Gershawl.”
“Business,” smiled the financier, “invariably interests me. To what form of business do you refer.”
“To Mexico,” declared Mullrick abruptly. “To the lost mines of Durango. I’m dealing straight with you, Mr. Gershawl. I hold an option that depends upon the locating of the mines. I believe that you know exactly where they lie.”
“It has been long since I was in Durango,” remarked Gershawl, in a reminiscent tone. “Not since the days of the Diaz regime. It seems odd that you should come to me for such information.”
“The mines have not been traceable,” returned Mullrick, “since followers of Pancho Villa slaughtered the guards who had remained on watch after Porfirio Diaz was ousted from the Mexican presidency.”
“Probably so,” mused Gershawl. “Nevertheless” — his voice assumed a significant tone — “I am surprised that you should come to me in preference to others who might know more regarding Mexico. Particularly if you expect to buy information cheaply. I am a man of considerable wealth, Mr. Mullrick. I have no great interest in speculative enterprises. Are there no other persons whom you might see regarding this matter?”
“There were others,” answered Mullrick solemnly, “but they are dead.”
“Dead?” echoed Gershawl
“Murdered,” said Mullrick.
“Murdered!” exclaimed Gershawl, in a tone of horror. “By whom?”
“I think,” retorted Mullrick, “that you can answer that question as readily as I. Let us forget the men who have died. My proposition is simply this: You, alone, can give me the final information that I require. You, alone, can make trouble for my plans. I want to talk terms with you.”
Gershawl shrugged his shoulders. He acted as though he could not understand what Mullrick meant. He shook his head in wondering fashion.
“I am afraid, Mr. Mullrick,” he decided, “that your ideas are very vague. Whatever I may know about Mexico — particularly the state of Durango — can be of no interest to you. Suppose we terminate this interview.”
With a wave of his hand, the financier indicated the hat and coat that were lying on the stand. Harland Mullrick glared sullenly. Finally, he turned and picked up his garments. He put on his coat; then placed his hat upon his head. As a matter of habit, he set the fedora at an angle.
MULLRICK was but a few yards from the curtain. His back was toward that spot. Joe Cardona, peering forth, studied Mullrick’s form, which was turned slightly in his direction. The detective was positive that this was the man who had been seen on the three occasions where sudden death had struck. Cardona drew his revolver and crouched forward.
Mullrick was glowering at Gershawl. Suddenly, he burst forth in a storm of bitter words.
“You know about those Durango mines!” he cried. “You are stalling me, because you want my plans to fail. You think that you can pick up where I leave off. I’ve tried to deal fairly with you before, Gershawl. I’ve come here to learn something, and I’ll find it out—”