“It left me on needles, though, about the manuscript. I decided that Tilton might possibly have it. I remembered the Burson investigation. I figured I could pass as an Englishman. I had all of the letters from Burson, Limited, except the last one. I made carbons of the lot, faked a final letter of no consequence and breezed in on the police commissioner. Big as life, right there at Tilton’s, I gave my own name and said I was from Burson, Limited. The commish fell for the line; and so did you, Cardona.”
Another chuckle; then Jurling added:
“But Tilton didn’t have the manuscript. I didn’t figure that Signet had it, either, because he wouldn’t have had a chance to contact Treblaw. My men had killed Treblaw too soon after the first ad appeared — the one that Treblaw himself put in the Classic.
“I wanted to find Signet, though, anyway. Either to make a deal with him when I landed the manuscript or to force him to hand over the treasures that he had bought up at junk prices.
“Since I had the police with me” — Jurling snorted as he looked at Cardona — “I decided to invoke the law in my hunt for Signet. I brought you here alone with me, Cardona; and I had my men planted to come in at the payoff. So I could talk terms with Signet when I knew him.”
Smiling, Jurling drew the Cellini manuscript into view. He studied it; then looked at Tully Kelk.
“I THINK we’ll snatch you, Kelk,” decided Jurling. “We’ll take you where we can keep you for a while and make you spill the news about where you’re keeping that Cellini junk. You’ll find it good business to talk, when I put on the heat.
“As for you two” — he eyed Verne and Cardona — “I’ll arrange a little finish that will look good in print. A story for that goofy Classic reporter who’s waiting down at the commissioner’s.”
Jurling’s smile showed the formulation of what he considered to be an excellent plan. He decided to outline the details. As a beginning, he strode over to Cardona, plucked out the detective’s handcuffs and clipped one catch on Verne’s left wrist. As an afterthought, he clamped Verne’s right wrist also.
“Here’s how it happened,” chuckled Jurling. “Cardona and I came here to find Signet. Joe decided he wanted to go in alone. He found Verne. Put the bracelets on him. Sounds good, doesn’t it?
“Well, that’s just the start. Next step, Cardona calls me. Verne, despite his handcuffs, gets that little gun of his from his dressing-gown pocket.” Jurling picked up Verne’s gun; it was lying on the floor. “He shoots Joe down while I’m coming in, see?” Jurling pointed to Cardona’s revolver that was on the carpet. “So I have to shoot Verne myself. With my own gat.”
“That’s the story I’ll tell” — Jurling’s voice became a fierce growl, resembling the one that he had used when phoning Wickroft — “the story that I’ll tell when those dumb dicks come in from the elevators. The stage will be set then. I’ll be the big hero at the finish. The man who tried to save Cardona.”
Jurling paused to let his words sink in. Joe Cardona glowered. The detective could see how perfectly the story would jibe. It would go over with Commissioner Weston, if played right.
And Jurling was a man who could play it. He proved that by his next statement.
“ACTUALLY,” declared Jurling, “I’ll bump you, Cardona, with Verne’s gun. Then I’ll plug Verne with my own. It won’t hurt if my fingerprints are with Verne’s on his gun. I’ll hand Verne’s gun to the dicks, myself, when they come in.
“It’s a sweet gag! A chat with the commish; then back to my hotel. After that, I’ll take it on the lam with all that correspondence of Treblaw’s that I have at my hotel. The original Signet letters will make good souvenirs to go with this Cellini manuscript.” Jurling swung to Duster.
“Take Kelk,” he ordered. “Shove him in one of those empty rooms down the hall. Bind him, gag him, then come back to report. After that you can go in and stay with Kelk while I loose the fireworks here.”
“What’ll we do after that?” asked Duster.
“Wait until you hear from me,” ordered Jurling. “You can dope Kelk later and haul him out. There’s no rush. Nobody’s going to know that anything happened elsewhere than in this room. But by the way — when you take Kelk across the hall, tip the other boys off to lay quiet, too.”
“I got it,” acknowledged Duster.
Jurling covered Cardona with Verne’s gun. He drew his own revolver also, so he would have it ready to shoot down Verne. Duster and the gorilla moved over and jabbed their smoke-wagons into Kelk’s ribs. With a sour smile, the mustached man allowed the pair to march him out into the hall. The door closed.
Jurling was holding Cardona covered. Verne, with his handcuffs, knew that a fight was hopeless. They had made no desperate move to aid Kelk, for it was obvious that he would be safe for the present. Kelk’s fate was being reserved until after he had an opportunity to blab about where he had stored the Cellini treasures.
“We’re waiting a few minutes,” chuckled Jurling. “As I said before, there is no rush. The future is as good as done. Too bad I have to rub you two out; but you’re saps and you deserve it.
“You showed some traces of brains, Verne, when you sent that letter to Treblaw, telling him you would be here and to keep the fact quiet. He never spoke to Wickroft about it. I even thought that last Burson letter was of no consequence. Treblaw must have destroyed it on the way in here.
“Don’t keep eyeing those credentials of yours, Verne. I’m taking them from the table before the dicks get here. You were very helpful, Cardona, leaving those two gumshoes clear out by the elevators. They’ll be winded by the time they make that long dash after they hear the shots.
“Do you know, Verne” — Jurling was sarcastically reflective — “you had a piece of luck when you received that manuscript in the mail. I know how you happened to get it, now that I recall something that Duster told me.
“Old Treblaw got a hunch that Duster’s gorillas were watching him. He even came out into the hall to look around. He went in his room again; then he came out in his dressing gown with an empty pitcher. He went to get ice water.
“Do you know what the old fox did? He addressed that long envelope to you, put stamps on it and carried it under his dressing gown. All he had to do was drop it in the mail chute, right alongside of the ice-water tap.”
Jurling chuckled. He was watching Cardona while he talked, keeping the fuming detective covered with Verne’s gun.
“How’s that for deduction?” jeered Jurling. “Hit it on the nose, didn’t I, gumshoe? Cardona — Joe Cardona — ace of the force. You couldn’t have thought that out, could you?
“Say — the only break you dubs really deserved was the one that came at Tilton’s. When The Shadow barged in and stopped a killing. But he was a flash in the pan. The Shadow. Bah! He can handle rods, maybe, but he’s brainless.
“Why didn’t he show up again? Why didn’t he find you, Verne, before Cardona and I got here? Why didn’t he spot Kelk, if he was so smart? He had a bead on Kelk out there at Tilton’s but he flivved. The Shadow flivved!”
MONTAGUE VERNE was staring straight at Jurling. Through Verne’s mind had flashed a sudden thought. The visitor who had come that afternoon — the hawk-faced personage who had introduced himself as Lamont Cranston.
Someone had come here ahead of the others: someone who had promised aid in time of need. Verne’s lips phrased an incoherent mumble. Why had he passed up the chance to talk to one who could have helped!
“I was surprised, myself,” scoffed Jurling, “when I found out that a real Burson investigator was here; that Verne was the man.” Jurling was talking to Cardona. “That was a bad break for me; but I was the first to see it. I beat you to it, Cardona.