Cranston nodded as he shook hands with the lawyer. Evidently McEwen’s name was one which he had recognized.
Satruff waved Cranston to a chair. He then closed the door of the living room and returned toward the fireplace. Satruff glanced at McEwen. The lawyer was studying Cranston.
It was evident that Satruff had invited his attorney here for some specific purpose. Whether or not McEwen was responding as Satruff had expected was something that could be left only to conjecture.
Satruff took it for granted that McEwen was satisfied.
WITH his back to the fireplace, Satruff spoke directly to Lamont Cranston. A glimmer of interest appeared in the visitor’s eyes as the millionaire host began his discourse.
“Cranston,” declared Satruff, in a confiding tone, “I realized last night that I owed you a debt of gratitude. I have appreciated that fact even more since then. I know that in you I have found a true friend.
“When I discussed the matter with McEwen, here at dinner, I explained that a man in my position must be very careful about taking others into his confidence. The more wealth that a man accumulates, the more does he separate himself from the world at large. He limits his potential friendships to those few who can understand the situation of a moneyed man. Do you agree?”
“Quite,” acknowledged Cranston quietly. “That is one reason why I prefer to roam the world at large, rather than confining myself to a limited area. My real friendships are found in most obscure localities.
“A British consul in Timbuktu; the chief of staff of a maharajah’s guard” — Cranston paused to smile reminiscently — “those are typical friends of mine. I have others who possess great wealth, such as Pascual Cordillez, the Chilean mine owner. I understand these men because I have met them completely freed from thoughts of profit-making friendship.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Satruff. “You see, McEwen, that Cranston’s experience has been parallel to mine. That is why, in the light of what occurred last night, I think it best to tell him of the peculiar circumstances which surround me.”
McEwen nodded in half-given approval.
“Cranston,” said Satruff, in a serious tone, “there was a reason for that gang raid here last night. Those mobsters came with well-planned purpose.”
“So Detective Cardona seemed to indicate.”
Satruff nodded as he heard Cranston’s reply. He knew that Cranston had not been present when Cardona had set forth his theory; but the gleam in Satruff’s face indicated that he had felt sure that Cranston had divined the detective’s hunch.
“Cardona spoke to me along that line,” remarked Satruff. “He suspected that Pug Hoffler had received some information that this place could be robbed. But what Cardona did not guess — and what I did not tell him — was the amount of available wealth that lies within my vault.”
Satruff paused to judge the effect of his words. Cranston made no comment; nor did he indicate any undue surprise.
“Nor,” continued Satruff, “did I tell Cardona why I might happen to be holding so much cash in my home, instead of keeping it in safe deposit. I suppose, Cranston, that you will consider it odd that a man of wealth should commit such an indiscretion.”
“Hardly,” observed Cranston, in his monotone. “Not in your case, at least.”
“Why not?” queried Satruff in surprise.
“Because,” returned Cranston, “the initial of your middle name is D.”
TOBIAS MCEWEN stared as he heard these words. Folsom Satruff was taken aback. He had been preparing Cranston for a surprise; instead, his guest had delivered one.
“You mean,” ejaculated Satruff, “that you have guessed that I am—”
“Dorand,” interposed Cranston.
Satruff turned to McEwen. The lawyer nodded as he caught his client’s look.
“You were right, Satruff,” he said. “I had thought it inadvisable to take any party into your confidence. But since Mr. Cranston already suspects the truth, it is better that he should have been told.”
“I am Dorand,” announced Satruff, turning to corroborate Cranston’s suggestion. “In fact, Dorand is my middle name — but I have never used it except as an individual title. McEwen, here, has records of all my philanthropies. When I have finished with my efforts to aid unfortunate persons, I may, perhaps, reveal my identity. Until then, however, I have preferred to keep it secret.
“Last night’s episode, however, has convinced me that my work has been watched. It has reached the ears of men of crime. Pug Hoffler came here knowing that my vault contained thousands upon thousands in actual cash.
“His dying words told me that he was but one who shared the secret. That, Cranston, has placed me in a most difficult situation. I must either give up my benefactions or else reveal myself as Dorand. That, in turn, will mean an end to my plan of philanthropy, for I have chosen to keep my true identity unknown.
“Either course is distasteful. I felt that it would be wise for me to study my predicament. I knew that I could rely upon McEwen. I also wanted the advice of some one who would be qualified to give it. Inasmuch as you had saved my life through your prompt action in the strong-room, I decided that you were the proper person with whom I should confer.”
LAMONT CRANSTON was thoughtful. He had placed a cigarette between his thin lips. Each well-timed puff came as the expression of a growing chain of thought. Cranston, himself a millionaire, was surveying Satruff’s situation.
“I take it,” came Cranston’s easy tone, “that you have made your work known to persons in whom you have confidence. That is, to persons other than Mr. McEwen.”
“To only two,” acknowledged Folsom Satruff.
“The others,” remarked Cranston, “are—”
Although Cranston’s voice paused, there was something in his tone that indicated his ability to supply the names himself. Folsom Satruff caught the suggestion; nevertheless, the man who called himself Dorand was prompt to give the identities of those whom he had mentioned.
“One,” he stated, “is Bartlett Okum. As my secretary and my aid in philanthropic work, it was necessary that I should tell him everything. The other is Doctor Wesley Harlow, a young man in whom I have great confidence.”
“You have told no one else that you are Dorand?”
“Absolutely no one.”
“Then,” decided Cranston, “if the news has leaked out, it must have been through the indiscretion of either Okum or Harlow.”
“Or myself,” interposed Tobias McEwen.
“Hardly through you, McEwen,” laughed Satruff. “You, as a lawyer, make it a business to keep the affairs of your clients to yourself.”
“There are crooked lawyers,” declared McEwen.
“But you are not one,” responded Satruff. “We can count you out, McEwen. At the same time” — Satruff’s voice was kindly — “I do not feel that I should mistrust either Okum or Harlow. I have discussed my work as Dorand with both of them. There is every possibility that one of my conversations might have been overheard.
“In fact, I cannot say with positive surety that Pug Hoffler knew I was Dorand. I merely suppose that; and I can also add that somehow, certain of my benefactions may have been traced back to me, although I have used every possible method to prevent such an occurrence.
“What I want to know is how I can keep on with my beneficent work without running the risk of further gang raids. I should like to preserve the secrecy which surrounds Dorand as long as possible.”
“Inform the police.” The suggestion came from Tobias McEwen. “Tell Detective Cardona that you are Dorand. Let him protect this house from raiders.”
“If I were convinced,” returned Satruff, “that a real threat hung over me, I should follow your advice, McEwen. But that would be the beginning of the end so far as the philanthropic work of Dorand is concerned. The police serve the law. If emergencies arise, they are forced to show their hand.