“Do you wish to state the amount in the box?” inquired Barth.
Amboy looked at Norgan, who shook his head. Norgan had been staring straight at Findlay Warlock.
“We have been accused of unfair profit,” asserted Norgan. “Amboy and I discussed that matter this afternoon. Let the Unseen Killer gain what he demands. But we do not care to satisfy the curiosity of others.”
“Very well,” agreed Barth. “Do you wish to remain here or do you want to return to your homes, under guard?”
“We will stay,” responded Norgan, “but we would appreciate the guards afterward. For to-night, at least.”
“We can’t forget Hildon’s death,” put in Amboy. “We won’t feel safe until the twenty-four hours are up.”
“That is settled,” assured Barth. “I shall provide adequate protection for both of you.”
THE commissioner arose and walked toward the rear wall, where the safe stood open. The others followed him. They formed a keenly interested group. Norgan placed the black box in Barth’s hands. The commissioner inserted it in the wall safe.
The strong box was a fair-sized one, with a metal-lined interior that was recessed slightly at the sides, top and bottom. The box, however, was plainly in view, even though its bottom was slightly below the level of the door.
Barth swung shut the metal front. He closed the door and turned the knob. The safe was locked.
Warlock approached with an envelope. He bent back the flap and sealed it to the front of the safe. Then he produced a folded paper from his desk.
“The combination,” he explained. “I typed it on this paper.”
He inserted the folded sheet in the envelope. Only a corner of the paper protruded. As Warlock stepped away, Norgan moved up and started to take out the paper. Warlock shot out a hand; Norgan dropped the paper and it fluttered to the floor. Lamont Cranston picked it up and held it.
“Let me see that combination!” challenged Norgan. “That should be my privilege.”
“Perhaps,” retorted Warlock, “I have a right to see the contents of your black box.”
“Not at all!” snarled Norgan, thrusting out his square chin. “That box is property that belongs to myself and Amboy.”
“And the combination of this safe is mine,” retaliated Warlock.
“Why quibble?” demanded Barth. “Let me decide this matter. Do you mind, Warlock, if Cranston or I see the combination?”
“No,” returned Warlock. “But Norgan—”
“Open the paper, Cranston,” interjected Barth. “We can assure Norgan that all is in order.”
Cranston complied. Barth nodded when he saw the opened paper. Cranston folded it carefully and tucked it in the envelope. His long fingers pressed the envelope flat. His thumb finished the task by poking the paper out of sight.
It was nearing half past eight. Barth ordered the doors open. All left the room. While the others waited, Barth and Cardona conducted a brief tour of inspection. Warlock’s study had three doors; one to a bedroom at the front, a second to a small hall at the rear. The third was the door to the main upstairs hall.
The commissioner stationed detectives — one in the bedroom, one in the side hall; a third at the rear. He then dispatched a pair of dicks to the third floor. Speaking to the men about Warlock’s study, he warned them not to block the doorways.
Leaving Cardona in charge, Barth ushered the other persons to the ground floor. They assembled in Warlock’s gloomy living room. Barth stationed detectives at the door. Then he delivered an order.
“I shall go up and down at times,” said the commissioner. “The rest of you must remain here — with the exception of Cranston. I want him to do as he pleases. Perhaps he may be here when I am upstairs and vice versa. He and I can maintain contact with those above.”
So saying, the commissioner departed.
A CLOCK on the mantel struck the half hour. From then on, minutes were monotonously slow. Findlay Warlock paced about in front of the fireplace, pausing at times to glance suspiciously at Norgan and Amboy.
Those two were seated in large chairs, saying very little. At times, they resorted to whispered conversation. That was their only form of conversation.
Marryat Darring was less serious than the others. The black-haired man was smoking a panetela. At times, he strolled about, examining pictures on the wall. At other intervals, he rested his tall frame against the wall and blew huge rings from his cigar smoke.
Barth came downstairs at quarter of nine. He found Cranston seated quietly in the corner. He suggested that his friend go up and look about. Cranston complied. The dicks were on duty just as Barth had posted them. Cranston returned shortly afterward. Barth went upstairs again.
Nine o’clock. Lamont Cranston was standing in the doorway of the living room, between the hanging curtains of the broad portal. The clock was chiming the hour. From upstairs came the sound of closing doors. Then Barth arrived to announce that the study had been closed.
Nine fifteen. Barth had gone back. He came down to say that the doors were opened. Detectives on guard. No one had been seen; nor had any unusual sound been heard. Cranston went up; then came down. Barth ascended the stairs.
Nine thirty. A call from the commissioner. Detectives stepped aside. Following Lamont Cranston, the other four ascended. Joe Cardona motioned them into the study; then followed. The group clustered about the commissioner. But as Barth advanced toward the wall safe, he paused to motion the others back.
“I remember the combination,” he said. “I shall open the safe; the rest of you can watch. I think that we shall find everything intact. This begins to appear as a hoax.”
“One moment, commissioner” — the quiet words came from the steady lips of Lamont Cranston. “It might be best to remove the envelope before you open the safe. Suppose I do that.”
“Very well,” decided Barth. “Take a look at the paper, just to make sure that it is the same as before.”
As soon as Lamont Cranston’s deft fingers had removed the envelope, Barth began to work on the combination. Cranston had opened the paper; his keen eyes had studied it before the commissioner had completed the turnings of the dial.
Then that same steady gaze was fastened on the front of the safe. The combination had given its final click. Very dramatically, Wainwright Barth stepped aside and pulled back the door. There was a smile on the commissioner’s face. It vanished as his eyes stared blinking through the spectacles that fronted them.
Exclamations from others. A growl from Joe Cardona. Only Lamont Cranston remained silent as he, like the others, viewed the interior of the wall safe.
The black box was gone!
The Unseen Killer had made good his boast. His claim to complete invisibility stood substantiated. The wealth delivered by Peters Amboy and Wallace Norgan had vanished as completely as the devisualized human form of Miles Crofton.
CHAPTER XII. DEATH FOLLOWS
ONE hour later. Findlay Warlock’s home was deserted, save for the presence of the owner and his servant, Cluett. Flabbergasted, Commissioner Wainwright Barth had drawn off the bloodhounds of the law. He had departed, sulking because of the Unseen Killer’s triumph.
Peters Amboy and Wallace Norgan had bewailed their loss. They had cried for further protection. Barth had granted it. Not only had he sent three detectives to guard each man, but he had put Joe Cardona in charge of Norgan’s guards and Detective Sergeant Markham at the head of Amboy’s.
Thus had Findlay Warlock’s old-fashioned residence returned to its obscurity. It was no more than any other brownstone house. For Commissioner Barth was trailing the Unseen Killer; he could see no merit in keeping watch on places where the untraceable crook had been and gone.