KELK had Verne helpless. The dapper man knew it. He stopped short in his crawl.
The Shadow, watching, was ready to prevent Kelk’s shot, should the mustached man attempt to fire. He was also ready to stop any brutal blow that Kelk might deliver to his trapped foe.
But Kelk was satisfied to hold Verne covered. Puffing, his face livid from the efforts of the fray, Kelk waited, content so long as Verne made no move. Then, his breath regained, Kelk delivered a sharp command.
“Get up!” he ordered. “Unlock that trunk. No funny business, or I’ll drill you! I came here, Verne, for a showdown. I’m going to get one!”
He paused. Verne was rising slowly, with hands stretched upward.
“A showdown,” repeated Kelk. “You can guess who I am, Verne. You know why I’m here. I’ve been hiding out, waiting for this chance. I’ve dodged the law—”
Kelk broke off suddenly. He whirled away from Verne, who was backed helplessly against the wardrobe trunk. Gun ready, Kelk was swinging for the outer door. But his move had come too late.
Brawny shoulders had lunged against that barrier. With the in-swinging door came the hurtling figure of a stalwart, stocky man. Detective Joe Cardona, lunging in at the crucial moment, was here to end Kelk’s triumph.
Joe’s stroke worked. His quick hand caught Kelk’s wrist and shoved the man’s gun hand upward. Kelk went staggering back against the wall; his head jounced there with considerable force. Kelk slumped. He lost hold of his gun.
As the revolver clattered to the floor, Cardona made a grab for it. Kelk, with a fierce snarl, tried to come back for new combat. A sharp voice stopped him short.
Staring weakly toward the door, Kelk saw Dale Jurling, covering him with a revolver.
Jurling had followed Cardona in. He held Kelk helpless and the sallow man knew it. Feebly, Kelk raised his hands; then began to sway, groggy from the thud that his skull had received.
Cardona caught the tall man and spilled him into a chair. Kelk’s chin slumped to his chest. Panting, he attempted no further fight.
Jurling was watching Kelk, still ready with leveled gun. Verne was back against the wardrobe trunk, his elbows lowered to the top. Verne was smiling, now that the tables had turned. He recognized these arrivals as representatives of the law.
In turn, Cardona and Jurling had instantly seen that Verne was the proper occupant of this room. His attire proved that fact. Verne was the man whom Cardona and Jurling had come to see. His open declaration by means of the Classic ad had given him a proper status.
All three — Cardona, Jurling and Verne — were watching Kelk subside. Their eyes were away from that door to the bedroom. None saw the barrier closing, inch by inch, until only a crack remained.
The Shadow had found it unnecessary to intervene. Now that Jurling and Cardona had arrived, the stage was set as he had desired it.
Again, The Shadow was standing by.
CHAPTER XIX
SIGNET SPEAKS
“LOOKS like we helped you out, fellow,” remarked Joe Cardona, turning to Montague Verne.
“You did,” returned Verne, with a smile. “I take it,” — he eyed Joe, then Jurling — “that you are representatives of the law?”
“That’s right,” nodded Cardona. “From headquarters. I’m Detective Cardona. Handling the Treblaw case as acting inspector.”
“Excellent,” declared Verne. “You are the very man whom I wanted to see, under the circumstances as they have now developed.” He looked toward Jurling; then inquired of Joe: “This is one of your men?”
“Yeah,” returned Cardona, shortly. He shot a wise look at Jurling. “We had a hunch that something might be wrong here. We saw your advertisement in the Classic. You’re Signet, eh?”
“I have used that name,” replied Verne, with a smile. “Circumstances forced the part upon me. My real name is Montague Verne. I would have revealed that fact long ago, but for the untimely death of Stanton Treblaw. Whether wisely or unwisely, I took certain duties upon myself. I knew that Treblaw had been murdered because of a certain manuscript that he possessed. I believed that clever bluff could coax forth the master criminal who had ordered Treblaw’s death.
“The man showed himself tonight. There, in that chair,” — Verne indicated Kelk — “you have the person who was out to get the Cellini manuscript. His name — at least the name he gave me — is Tully Kelk.”
Joe walked over to the chair, where Kelk was slouched in half-dazed fashion. Gripping the man’s chin, Cardona pushed it up so that the light fell full upon Kelk’s sallow countenance. The detective chuckled.
“He answers Tilton’s description of him, all right,” declared Cardona. “Mustache and all. This is the man we’ve wanted, Mr. Verne. Maybe you should have called in the law before we got here; but the way things worked out, I’ve got no kick.”
KELK began to move his lips. Cardona watched him; then, seeing that Kelk was recovering from his daze, the detective produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them upon the prisoner’s wrists. Joe turned to Verne.
“What else can you tell us?” he asked. “Do you know anything about this manuscript that this crook was after?”
“Yes,” smiled Verne. “But first, let me ask how much you have already learned. You seem to be familiar with the Signet correspondence. Am I right in believing that you found copies of the letters among Stanton Treblaw’s files?”
“We found copies of the letters, all right,” chuckled Joe, with a wise glance toward Jurling, who was silent. “We know that you wanted that Cellini manuscript. It looks like the manuscript is all we’ve got to uncover now, outside of some small fry who worked for this fellow Kelk here.
“Give me a line on what happened before we came in. What was Kelk’s gag? Has he got the manuscript somewhere? Was he trying to dicker with you?”
“Kelk does not have the manuscript,” returned Verne. “If he and his murderers had taken it from Treblaw, they would not have attacked at Tilton’s.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “Then who—”
“One moment,” interposed Verne. “I have something important to tell you; but first, let me ask you about the advertisement that appeared in yesterday’s Classic. It appeared to be from Silas Tilton, an indication that he had some manuscript of Treblaw’s.”
“And that’s why you answered it, eh?” questioned Cardona. “I’ll tell you about that ad, Mr. Verne. Commissioner Weston ordered it put in the newspaper. We figured this Signet business ought to be sifted. We were bluffing you with the ad. Then you turned around and bluffed this guy Kelk. Pretty good, all the way through.
“But if Kelk hasn’t got the manuscript, what was his idea in coming here? Did he figure it would be a good idea to bump you? He looked ready to rub you out when we blew in.”
“Kelk came here,” declared Verne, slowly, “because he believed that I might have the manuscript. After all, there was a possibility — in Kelk’s mind — that Treblaw could have actually completed his sale of the manuscript to Signet.
“From the moment that he entered, Kelk was demanding. He took the attitude that I did have the manuscript in my possession. He wanted to unlock this wardrobe trunk, believing that the manuscript might be inside.”
“I get it,” nodded Joe. He looked at Kelk, who was now sitting up, staring, as he listened. “Well, it was a long shot for him to play, but I guess he was working on the same theory that we had. Find Signet, was our motto. Hear what Signet has to say.”
A snarled chuckle from Kelk. Cardona swung about.
“HEAR what Signet has to say!” snorted Kelk. “That’s right! Hear what he has to say. Give him a chance to talk, why don’t you? Look here” — Kelk came to his feet — “there’s been too much of blundering. Like this!” — he gesticulated with the handcuffs — “Snapping these clamps on me before you’ve given me a chance to talk!”