Cardona raised one hand as Folsom Satruff stepped forward to speak. The detective motioned the millionaire back. His gesture called for silence. All eyes were upon Wesley Harlow, as the physician stared straight ahead and began his story.
Tense listeners stood within the strong-room. All were gazing at one man. None sensed the living presence that had arrived within the passage through which all had come.
The Shadow, shrouded in darkness, was the unseen listener to the confession which now came from the lips of Wesley Harlow.
CHAPTER XXI. HARLOW TELLS
DOCTOR WESLEY HARLOW was a convincing speaker. He had proved that fact to-night, in his conversation in Folsom Satruff’s living room. Trapped under incriminating circumstances, his nerve was slow in returning. As it came back, however, Harlow gave voice to firm and certain discourse.
“I’ll tell my story,” he asserted. “I’ll tell what I know about Pug Hoffler and Rabbit Gorton. I’ll tell about others, too. I came here to-night for money. I came to get one hundred thousand dollars. But I didn’t come to steal it. I came to ask for it; and I did.”
The physician paused and his tone became steadier. It was taking an effort for him to continue, but Harlow was equal to the difficulty.
“There were facts which I did not want known,” he declared. “It is impossible now for me to prevent them from coming to light. So I’m going to talk before others have the chance. I’m going to get clear of all this miserable business.”
“That’s it,” encouraged Joe Cardona. Harlow ignored the detective’s words. He stared straight at Joe.
“There’s a gangster called Lefty Yates,” announced Harlow, “of whom you’ve probably heard. He’s wanted, I understand, for a couple of jobs.”
“Is Lefty Yates in this?” inquired Cardona in surprise. “Say — if I could get hold of that bird—”
“Lefty Yates is innocent,” asserted Harlow. “He is free from implication in this crime and from others with which he was supposed to be connected. He is trying to go straight — but the man he worked for won’t give him a chance.”
“You mean Tex Lowner,” prompted Cardona.
“I mean Tex Lowner,” agreed Harlow. “He can hang anything on Lefty Yates. The fellow hasn’t got a chance.”
“Say” — Cardona’s growl was a sharp one — “where do you get all this stuff about Lefty Yates? How did you come to know him?”
“He is my brother,” stated Wesley Harlow quietly.
THE statement was stunning to Joe Cardona. The detective, until now a challenger, suddenly realized that he had stepped beyond his depth. There was sincerity in Harlow’s tone, and it gave Cardona a glimmer of understanding regarding the physician’s connection with the underworld.
“His real name,” resumed Harlow, easily, “is Merle Harlow. I am thankful that he managed to maintain his alias. One man, however, learned the truth about my brother. That man was Tex Lowner.
“He came to me — Lowner did — and told me that he had the goods on Merle. He threatened exposure; threatened to turn Merle over to the law, just because the kid had gone straight and was away from New York.
“Lowner’s price was one hundred thousand dollars. I told him I could never get it. The amount was preposterous. Then Lowner brought up the fact that I was a friend of Folsom Satruff. He reminded me that Satruff had millions. I was amazed when I heard Lowner talk. I realized that the man had discovered that Satruff was Dorand.”
“I repeat: I was amazed. I thought that only two other men knew Satruff’s incognito, namely Tobias McEwen and Bartlett Okum. You remember” — Harlow turned to Satruff — “when you confided in me regarding your philanthropies and asked me to give you some minor aid in the distribution of funds. You told me then that only McEwen and Okum knew the truth.”
There was a pause; Cardona ended it with a gruff interjection that he addressed to Wesley Harlow.
“I know all about Tex Lowner,” asserted the detective. “I saw him up at your place. I thought you were working with him then. That put me wise, after Rabbit Gorton made his raid. You were in with Rabbit and Rabbit was in with Pug. You fixed it for Pug to pull the first raid, working for Rabbit. When Pug missed out, you brought Rabbit in here.
“No wonder Tex Lowner was on your trail” — Cardona paused to emit a heavy laugh — “when he and Rabbit were after each other’s scalp. Maybe Tex did try to tap you for a hundred thousand bucks. He ought to have been able to do it, knowing the game you were playing.”
Swelling, Cardona looked toward Folsom Satruff. He saw the philanthropist nodding. The detective turned back to Harlow.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” ridiculed Cardona, “to get your brother out of a jam. You were right when you said it was a lot of dough. Your stall won’t work, Harlow. You’re covering up your own trail — or at least you’re trying to.
“You saw a way to tap this vault.” Cardona waved his free hand toward the open container. “You bargained in the underworld and you got Rabbit Gorton interested. Tex Lowner wised up and came to you for a cut. He was in the racket — that was all.”
HARLOW stood dumb. His persuasive plea had failed. Harry Vincent, eyeing him, felt sympathy for the physician; yet Harry could not help but believe that Joe Cardona had hit the truth squarely. Folsom Satruff evidently held the same opinion, for the gray-haired philanthropist followed with his own remarks.
“You betrayed me, Harlow,” announced Satruff sadly. “Your own story proves it. An honest man, laboring under a situation such as you have outlined, would have come out with the truth. You did not need to use subterfuge to deal with me. Cardona has given you the lie.”
“I couldn’t tell you the truth, Satruff,” blazed Harlow. “Every time I approached you, I realized that there was only one way to get money from you — namely, through your desire to aid in philanthropic work.”
“You called it philanthropy to seek blackmail money for a gangster?”
“Yes. The money was to be used to save my brother.”
“Enough of that, Harlow,” ordered Cardona. “We know why you pulled this hundred-thousand-dollar hokum. It was to get Mr. Satruff to open his vault. Come clean, Harlow. Don’t try to keep anything back.”
“I have come clean.”
“Yes?” Cardona snorted in contempt. “You’re the guy who killed Pug Hoffler. Why? Because you thought he was going to blab. You’re the guy who tried to kill Rabbit Gorton. Why? Because you thought he was going to blab, too.”
A triumphant look appeared upon Harlow’s sallow face. Cardona stared as he saw the expression. He realized that Harlow had gained a wedge that he sought. The physician’s eyes traveled to the spot where Bartlett Okum was standing. They came back to Joe Cardona.
“I killed Pug Hoffler,” stated Harlow, in the easy manner of a card player delivering a trump. “Yes. I killed him because he was dangerous. What’s more, Cardona, I was glad I killed him, because I did think he was going to talk.”
“That’s an admission,” proclaimed the detective. “Remember that, you witnesses—”
“Wait a moment,” interrupted Harlow. “I grabbed Rabbit Gorton, because I thought he was dangerous. I would have liked to kill him because I thought he was going to talk. There’s another admission for you. They prove nothing against me.”
“They prove you were on the inside,” remarked Cardona. “Working to give a tip-off.”
“Those facts,” corrected Harlow, with all his suavity returning, “prove nothing whatever against me. They prove that there was a man working on the inside. They prove that there was reason for that man to kill both Pug and Rabbit.
“Let me remind you, however, that when I shot Pug Hoffler, Bartlett Okum was ready to fire also. Let me add that it was Okum who killed Rabbit Gorton. I don’t know whether Tex Lowner got the Dorand information from Okum or whether Rabbit Gorton was the one who landed it. At any rate, both of those gangsters were after Satruff’s money. Both of them knew the truth.