The servant’s hand was aiming for a shot as Pug Hoffler tried to rise.
“I’ll tell — about—”
As Pug gasped the words, a sudden shot burst through the room. It was from a new quarter; the outer door of the strong-room, which had been ajar until this moment. A quick hand had delivered this unexpected bullet; and with its arrival, Pug Hoffler sprawled, coughing, to the floor.
FOLSOM SATRUFF swung toward the outer door. There, his sallow face twitching, stood Doctor Wesley Harlow. The physician had arrived at the moment when Pug Hoffler, rising defiant, had lifted his revolver for a final threat.
Harlow’s shot had reached the gang leader’s heart. Pug Hoffler lay dead upon the floor as Harlow stepped forward to view the result of his quick work.
Before any one present could voice an expression regarding Harlow’s sudden action, the thud of hurrying footsteps sounded from the passage of the house. The four armed men who had battled with the mobsters, turned with one accord to face the new arrivals.
Detective Joe Cardona, a pair of subordinates at his heels, had arrived through the house. The headquarters man, too late to aid in the fray, was here to witness the climax of the strange battle in which Pug Hoffler had died!
CHAPTER VII. CARDONA’S QUIZ
IT was after midnight. The police had removed the crippled mobsters from Folsom Satruff’s home. With them, they had taken the dead form of Pug Hoffler.
Detective Joe Cardona had remained. He was in Satruff’s upstairs living room; with him were the principals in the fray against the group from mobland. Folsom Satruff was standing near the fireplace.
Lamont Cranston and Doctor Wesley Harlow were seated. Bartlett Okum, his cadaverous face still pale, was near his master.
“Pug Hoffler was a bad egg,” commented Cardona. “He deserved what he got. There’s no doubt about why he and his mob came here. You gentlemen did a good job. But there’s some things I’ve got to put in my report. That’s why I’m asking questions.”
The assembled men waited for Cardona to continue. The detective turned the trend of his conversation temporarily.
“I had a tip-off on Pug,” he remarked. “There was some heavy shooting early to-night down at a place called Red Mike’s. A tough mob picked off one of my stool pigeons — a fellow named Birdy Zelker. We took him to a hospital and he came to just before he died. Told me that Pug Hoffler was heading here.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” queried Folsom Satruff.
“I counted on making it before Pug showed up,” returned Cardona. “Birdy said something about eleven o’clock; I didn’t think the raiders could get here before midnight. We heard the shots when we came up the driveway. Your man had the front door open. He shouted to us.”
“That was Riggs,” remarked Satruff. The servant himself appeared at the head of the stairs while the millionaire was speaking. Riggs had been down helping the police. He stood silently within the door of the living room, a quiet addition to the group assembled.
“Let’s get this whole thing straight,” announced Cardona, as he produced a report book. “First of all, this fellow.” He nudged a thumb toward Bartlett Okum. Satruff’s secretary responded in a choky voice.
“I heard the bell ring,” he stated. “It was the side door, by the strong-room. That’s where I went—”
“To the side door?”
“Yes. Through the strong-room. I just thought — thought that some occasional visitor might be coming in that way. When I opened the outer door, the gunmen came through. They forced me back into the strong-room. They had me covered when Mr. Satruff arrived.”
Cardona jotted down his notes. “All right, Mr. Satruff.”
“I was up here with Mr. Cranston,” explained the millionaire. “We saw Okum go downstairs. We supposed that there had been a ring at the side door. I went down to investigate.
“I suspected trouble, so I picked up a revolver. When I arrived, I found conditions just as Okum has stated. I leaped at the ringleader— this man you referred to as Pug — but he would have shot me had it not been for Cranston’s timely aid.”
SATRUFF made a gesture toward Cranston as he spoke. Joe Cardona followed the motion with his eyes. He looked to Cranston to pick up the continuity.
“I followed Mr. Satruff,” declared Cranston calmly. “Fortunately, I provided myself with an automatic. When I saw Satruff miss the gang leader, I fired and wounded the man. I added further shots from the little passageway. Satruff did effective work also. We managed, to drop the entire crew.”
Cardona finished his notations. He glanced about, saw Riggs, and put brief questions to the servant.
“You were in the kitchen, Riggs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when you heard the shots?”
“I ran into the front hall. I opened the door by the regular driveway, hoping that I could call for aid—”
“All right. We were there to hear you. Now for your story, Doctor Harlow.”
“It is rather odd,” declared the physician, in an uneasy tone. “I had left the house just after Mr. Cranston arrived. I was seated in my coupe, out near the porte-cochere, when I thought I detected some one prowling across the lawn.
“I decided to investigate. I alighted and went in that direction. Seeing no one, I rounded the house very cautiously. It was quite dark on that side; I waited there a while until suddenly I heard the sound of gunshots. I hurried to the side entrance. I dashed in and saw the gangster — Pug — about to fire at Mr. Satruff. I raised my revolver—”
“Wait a moment!” Cardona’s interposition was a sharp one. “Mr. Satruff was armed; so was Mr. Cranston. They were in a home, protecting it. But you were out in your car. How does it happen you had a revolver?”
“I always carry one in the car.”
“You have a permit?”
Harlow fumbled in his pocket and produced the necessary paper. He handed it to Cardona. The detective examined it and passed it back.
“I drive a great deal at night,” explained Harlow, in a nervous tone. “I thought it best to carry a gun for emergencies.”
“All right, doctor.” Cardona’s tone was steady. Then, to the others: “We’re getting to the part I want. How did Pug Hoffler happen to be killed? Who fired the shot?”
“I fired it,” stated Harlow. “I wanted to save Mr. Satruff’s life.”
“Harlow’s action was well intended,” remarked Satruff. “He was naturally excited and quite within his rights. The deed, however, was hasty, as well as unnecessary. I should much have preferred that Pug Hoffler was turned over to you, Detective Cardona.”
“You say that Doctor Harlow’s shot was unnecessary?” quizzed Cardona.
“Yes,” admitted Satruff, in a reluctant tone, apparently regretting his statement. “I could easily have killed the man. I was covering him with my revolver. He began to talk, however, and I wanted to hear him out.”
“Ah!” Cardona caught this last statement. “What was Pug saying just before he died?”
“At first,” explained Satruff, “he made a motion as if he intended to shoot me. He desisted when he saw my revolver. Then he snarled that if he went to prison, he would see that another went with him. He said that he would tell what he knew about some one.”
“Did he give the name?” queried Cardona eagerly.
“No,” returned Satruff. “He was lifting his gun as he spoke, but he seemed incapable of using it. We were listening: Cranston, Okum, and I, but before Pug could speak further, Harlow made his sudden entry and shot the man dead.”
“I didn’t see the gun in Mr. Satruff’s hand,” broke in Harlow impatiently. “I saw the gangster make his move — I fired instinctively.”