“At Cranston’s advice, however, I took Vincent into my employ so that the place would be better guarded. Vincent served well to-night. Had I really anticipated this attack, however, I would have revealed myself as Dorand before now.”
“I understand,” remarked Weston. “I can hardly criticize you, Mr. Satruff. The mystery has been cleared by your statement. What is your opinion, Cardona?”
“It’s a set-up,” laughed the detective. “A blind man could see it. Somebody got wise to Mr. Satruff’s activities. Knowing the Dorand business, they figured he would have a lot of dough on hand all the time.”
“Which I have,” admitted Satruff.
“There’s somebody in back of it, maybe,” speculated Cardona. “On the contrary, it may just be that there are some tough birds working on their own. Anyway, we know why Pug Hoffler came here. This guy that got bumped to-night is Rabbit Gorton — he’s a tougher guy than Pug was.”
“This is the man who killed Rabbit Gorton?” questioned Weston, indicating Okum.
“Yes,” replied Satruff. “He acted hastily, but his intent was to save Doctor Harlow, who was grappling with the gang leader. Both Vincent and I saw what occurred.”
“Here is the report, sir,” remarked Cardona. “Detective Sergeant Lewis handed it to me downstairs. He is still there if you want him.”
WESTON mused aloud as he read over the details which had been placed on paper. These were the results of queries which Lewis had made. As the commissioner made his utterances, Lamont Cranston watched him with a steady gaze.
“Okum opened the strong-room door,” commented the commissioner. “Vincent, also hearing the bell, came through the passage. Fired at the gangsters. Repulsed them until Satruff arrived. Gangsters wounded or cornered. Harlow came in, saw Rabbit Gorton about to shoot and wrestled with him to get the gun. Okum fired shots to rescue Harlow.”
The flicker of a smile appeared upon Lamont Cranston’s lips. There had been no mention of mysterious shots from the outer door of the strong-room; no word of a black-garbed being who had made his amazing appearance in the nick of time.
Harry Vincent could be thanked for that. He, alone, could have seen The Shadow. Okum, facing the door of the passage, had gained no such opportunity. The secretary should have heard the shots from the outer door. In his excitement, however, he probably attributed all to Harry Vincent.
“Where were you, Doctor Harlow?” asked Weston, suddenly turning to the physician.
“In my car,” replied the physician. “On the other side of the house. I was just about to drive away when I heard the shots. They were muffled. I came into the house at once.”
“You were armed?” It was Cardona who put the question.
“No,” replied Harlow. “I haven’t carried my gun since I shot Pug Hoffler. I acted hastily then; I wasn’t sure of myself.”
“Why did you attack Rabbit to-night?”
“He looked dangerous. He was going to shoot. I had no gun; I acted without one.”
“The man was dangerous,” observed Satruff. “He was cursing furiously when Harlow leaped upon him. He cried out that he had been double-crossed; that he was going to tell what he knew. He was going to fix some one—”
“You mean he talked like Pug did?” broke in Cardona.
“Exactly,” returned Satruff. “It was too bad that Harlow did not manage to overcome him. Then we could have heard him talk.”
“There’s something in back of this, commissioner,” began Cardona, turning straight to Weston. “I want you to compare these two raids—”
“One moment, Cardona.” Weston’s face had become suddenly stern. “There is an important matter which must be discussed. There is no need of going into trifling details.
“The whole trouble is obvious. The underworld knows that Folsom Satruff is Dorand. Criminals have taken his strong-room as their target. Mr. Satruff has every right to preserve his incognito, now that the law understands the case. He is entitled to protection. At the same time, it would be foolish for him to lay himself open to new attacks.”
“I agree,” remarked Satruff, with a quiet smile. “I have had enough of this trouble. I suppose that it would be best for me to remove all my wealth and put it in safe-deposit vaults. At the same time” — his tone became firm— “I am entitled to protection and it would be a braver part to play if I should go on. I do not care to have my home be the first spot picked by every small-fry gang leader who wants to get some easy money.”
“You have gone too far already,” interposed Tobias McEwen, in a dry tone. “I told you that, Satruff. If you announce yourself as Dorand and state that you have been forced to put your funds into hiding, you will not only lay yourself open to requests for help from unworthy people; you will also fail in your purpose to prevent gang raids here. Will criminals believe that you have actually removed your funds?”
“I hardly suppose they will,” observed Satruff, losing his confident expression. “I suppose that I shall have to abandon everything. To be safe — to be immune from these ruffians who have learned my secret — I shall have to store my money away and abandon this residence.
“Matters have come to an evil pass” — Satruff’s tone showed bitterness — “when a man can not even perform philanthropic work without finding himself preyed upon by criminals, who run rampant despite the law.”
FOR a moment, Commissioner Weston showed suppressed anger, as he took this to be a reflection upon the efficiency of the police. He restrained himself, however, as he arose to his feet. He could see that there was cause for Satruff’s tempered indignation. Weston, himself, supplied the answer.
“This talk is premature,” stated the commissioner. “Let me remind you, Mr. Satruff, that you have called in the police only when crime has already struck. Your own withholding of certain facts has handicapped us.
“There is no reason why you should alter your plans. From now on, you can leave this case to us. You will have all the protection that you require.”
“With police guards patrolling my grounds?” asked Satruff. “That can hardly be termed in accordance with my plans.”
“I shall leave men here to-night,” decided Weston. “After that, however, the policy will be different. You have told me that you are Dorand. Cardona has also heard that statement. So far as the police are concerned, it will go no further for the present.”
Satruff smiled. There was conviction in the commissioner’s tone. Weston, however, followed it with a pointed inquiry.
“Who else,” he asked, “besides those here at present know that you are Dorand?”
“I have told no one else.”
“Adhere to that policy. Leave the rest to me. I shall work out my plans to-night. You will hear from me to-morrow, Mr. Satruff.”
Commissioner Weston prepared to leave. Joe Cardona arose to follow him. Facing Lamont Cranston, Weston addressed the calm-faced millionaire.
“I suppose you have your car here, Cranston?”
“No,” was the reply. “I happened to be on Long Island, and I called the Cobalt Club to order my limousine. They told me that Mr. Satruff wished me to come here. I took a cab.”
“You can ride with me to Manhattan then?”
“Certainly.”
The invitation accepted, Lamont Cranston left with Police Commissioner Weston and Detective Cardona. The trio entered the commissioner’s car, which was parked by the porte-cochere.
As they rolled from the drive, Weston spoke to the companion whom he had invited for this ride.
“Can you come to my home, Cranston?” he questioned. “I shall keep you there but a short while. I want to talk to you to hear your opinion about matters at Satruff’s.”