The Shadow had wanted Jurling to speak. He had seen Jurling to be the real crook; he had wanted the rogue to give his own story. That would have given the law the record that it needed to close this amazing case involving the murder of Stanton Treblaw.
Kelk had told his story; so had Verne. It was Jurling’s turn; and Jurling should have been made to confess, backed to the wall by Joe Cardona. But Joe had flubbed the deal; in a twinkling, the tables had shifted.
THE muzzle of an automatic was black against the corner of that inner door. The Shadow had covered Jurling from the instant that the man had shown readiness to flee. But when the door had opened to reveal Duster and the gorilla, The Shadow had gained no chance to fire. Joe Cardona, leaping forward and then stopping, had come directly into the path of The Shadow’s aim.
It was fortunate that Cardona had not put up a futile fight. The Shadow, from his ambush, could have delivered a devastating blast to the crooks; but the odds would have been bad for Joe Cardona. The ace, however, had shown good wisdom in dropping his gun to back away.
As it now stood, Jurling and two thugs were holding a trio of helpless men. Disdain was registered on Jurling’s face. Duster and the gorilla looked contemptuous. Jurling had expressed his wish to talk. That fitted directly with The Shadow’s own arrangements.
He was willing to let Jurling speak. Not only because the man would reveal his own evil doings, but because passing minutes would throw Jurling and his minions off their guard. The succession of events had twisted from The Shadow’s control, but the scene was coming back again to the way that he had willed it.
No laugh from The Shadow’s hidden lips. Not even a whisper told the satisfaction that the master fighter felt. Burning eyes alone declared The Shadow’s intensity; and those optics, back from the edge of the inner door, were unviewed by Jurling and his two tools.
The Shadow saw a look of stupefication on the face of Joe Cardona. No wonder. The ace detective was thinking of all that had happened here. Astounding changes had occurred within the room where men had met.
The triangle had changed in incredible fashion. Three men involved. The first, a supercrook; the second a man of wealth who called himself Signet; the third an investigator, representing the British house of Burson, Limited.
The field had looked plain when Cardona had viewed it. Joe had picked Tully Kelk as the evil brain. He had accepted Montague Verne as Signet. He had believed that Dale Jurling was the bona fide investigator.
Then had come the astounding shift. Parts had changed like the glittering shutter of a kaleidoscope. Three actors in the game; three men of differing purposes. Each had assumed an unexpected role.
Tully Kelk was not the crook. He had openly declared himself to be Signet; he had proven his claim. Montague Verne, no longer Signet, had announced himself as the real investigator from England. Dale Jurling, the fraudulent investigator, had seen his underpinnings dropped. He had encountered a dilemma.
With only three legitimate parts in the game, two had been taken by their owners. Signet was found; the investigator was known; Jurling had been left holding the bag. He had only one role to play. His own. He was proven a crook by every circumstance.
Kelk’s tale was told. Verne’s story also. Each of those two had stated, logically, his reasons for playing another’s part.
Jurling was now to be heard from; and it was plain that the supercrook would tell the truth. For Jurling, backed by his henchmen’s guns, would not be making a forced confession. His words would be the utterances of a triumphant fiend.
The Shadow had judged this triangle. He had considered parts that men were playing. He had inscribed no names upon his final outline. He had kept the real identities within his own keen brain.
Ready to add his own climax to the final scene, The Shadow, invisible witness, intended to hear Dale Jurling speak. Though he knew it not, Jurling, supercrook, was about to give a confession for the benefit of a merciless judge.
CHAPTER XXII
THE THIRD PART
DALE JURLING had pocketed his short-barreled revolver. Backed by the big guns of his two henchmen, the arch-crook felt that he needed no weapon of his own. Jurling’s scowl was gone; instead, his face wore its usual openness. But that expression, in itself, was menacing, now that the fiend had shown his hand.
“We have had some interesting statements,” remarked Jurling, with a sarcastic chuckle. “We have learned the motives that actuated Kelk and Verne in their methods. It remains only to explain how someone with a thinking brain could act.
“Yes, I refer to myself. I played a clever game. That is, if one can call outwitting fools an evidence of cleverness. For it appears that I was dealing with duffers from the start. With dubs, who played more dumbly than I had originally hoped.”
Jurling paused to study Kelk and Verne. Both stood stolid. Then the crook looked at Cardona. Joe was sullen. The crook laughed.
“This business of the Cellini manuscript,” he remarked, in brisk fashion, “was something that I encountered through luck. Wickroft was a man whom I had posted with Stanton Treblaw, in hope that he might uncover something. He did.
“The Signet correspondence looked like a gold mine, right from the start. Treblaw talked to Wickroft. When I called Wickroft, at intervals, I learned about the Signet letters. I also learned that Burson, Limited, was conducting a European investigation for Stanton Treblaw.
“I wanted that Cellini manuscript. Wickroft did not know where Treblaw kept it. But I knew that Treblaw would have it with him when he was ready to dicker with Signet. Treblaw was coming to the Hotel Goliath. So I came here a while ahead.
“I lost the key to my room; at least I pretended to,” — Jurling chuckled — “and they used a pass-key to let me into it. I sent the bell boy for some ice water; I took an impression of the key while he was gone. The duplicate that I obtained from the impression could open any door in the hotel.”
Jurling took a few satisfied paces. He swung about, faced his victims and resumed:
“I WAS set for Treblaw. Duster, Crawler and two gorillas posted themselves after the old man registered here. Crawler came up with the tip-off — Treblaw’s ad in the Classic — which looked like proof sufficient that the old man had the manuscript with him.
“They bumped Treblaw when he came back with a pitcher of ice water. Crawler was waiting for him, thanks to a duplicate key; the others barged in and the job was done. They grabbed the genuine Signet letters and the correspondence from Burson, Limited, which was in a file.
“But they didn’t get the Cellini manuscript.” Jurling’s tone had become a snarl. “The old man didn’t have it. Duster called me and I knew that he had failed. He left the other stuff where I could get it.
“I was not fool enough to come to the Hotel Goliath on my own. I waited until the next day. Then I called Wickroft. I knew Wickroft was no double-crosser; but I figured he was yellow and needed fear to keep him working right. That’s why I made him squeamish when I growled at him over the phone.”
Again Jurling found occasion to laugh. He paused in his statement; then leered at the three helpless listeners.
“Wickroft said the manuscript might be at Tilton’s,” resumed Jurling. “I sent Duster and the mob to get it. They encountered a fool fighter who calls himself The Shadow. It was blotto for Crawler and the two gorillas.
“I was puzzled about Wickroft being there. It was good that he took the bump from Duster. It didn’t give him a chance to talk, although he didn’t know much to begin with. I figured that he had simply picked up the cracked notion that he might help me out by calling on Tilton.