The Silent Death s-27

by Maxwell Grant

  The Silent Death

  ( Shadow - 27 )

  Maxwell Grant

  Professor Folcroft Urlich Is A Scientist And Genius-Practitioner-In The Art Of Death -Will He Bring Doom To The Shadow?

  THE SILENT DEATH

  Maxwell Grant

  CHAPTER I. EYES OF EVIL

  THE lights of uptown Manhattan cast a vivid, fantastic glow when viewed from the window of the little

  office high in the towering Brinton Building. But the man who stood within the darkness of that

  thirtieth-floor room was not concerned with the spectacle of man-made brilliance. His eyes were focused

  upon the top stories of a huge apartment building across the street.

  The apartment structure was capped by a penthouse, from which a few lights gleamed. One corner of the

  penthouse, which rose flush with the sheer wall of the building, was the spot which this unseen observer

  found most interesting.

  A match glimmered in a cupped hand. As the flame ignited a cigarette, it showed a rough, hardened face.

  The match went out, and the watcher puffed his cigarette. As the glowing tip descended from his lips, the

  man emitted an evil snarl that went well with his countenance.

  A rap at the door. The man by the window flicked his cigarette through the opening. He closed the

  window and drew the shade. He hurried to the door and switched on the light just as a second furtive rap

  was given. The man within the room opened the door, to admit a hasty visitor.

  The new illumination plainly revealed the two men as characters of a strangely different type. The

  individual who had been standing in the darkness was short and stocky a ruffian in all save dress. His

  well-groomed appearance did not fit his pudge-nosed, hard-lipped countenance, which bore a wicked,

  leering smirk.

  The arrival, tall and stoop-shouldered, was a gray-haired man who possessed a marked dignity. His

  gaunt face showed firmness in spite of declining years. Only in one feature did he resemble the man who

  had been waiting in the office. His eyes, like those of the other man, gleamed with cunning and evil.

  THE stocky, hard-mannered individual was the first to speak. In a voice which was suave, despite its

  harshness, he questioned the visitor's identity.

  "You are Thomas Jocelyn?"

  "Yes," responded the elderly man, still eyeing his questioner. "You, I presume, are Larry Ricordo?"

  "That's me," answered the harsh-voiced man, with a grin. "Sit down and make yourself easy."

  Thomas Jocelyn seated himself in a chair beside a table in the center of the room. He leaned solemnly

  upon his gold-headed cane and stared at Ricordo.

  "Where is Folcroft Urlich?" he inquired.

  "The professor will he here soon," replied Ricordo, while lighting another cigarette. "I came early — to

  open the office. Plenty of time yet."

  Jocelyn contented himself with the one question. He appeared nervous, despite his composed manner.

  For several minutes, Ricordo stood expectantly, thinking that the old man intended to make a new

  inquiry. Finally, with a gruff laugh, Ricordo slouched into a chair.

  "Well," he remarked, "we're all set. We're going to see the wheels run round to-night. Picking this office

  was a cinch."

  As Jocelyn made no comment, Ricordo desisted after the one attempt to open conversation. He eyed

  Jocelyn almost contemptuously, but did nothing to arouse antagonism. When a firm knock sounded at the

  door, Ricordo leaped to his feet and went to admit the next visitor.

  The newcomer completed an odd triumvirate. He was of medium height, dark-haired and of stern visage.

  He wore a small hat, and his hair formed a flowing mop above a bulging forehead. His face, sallow and

  hollow-cheeked, resembled a living skull from which a pair of sharp, greenish eyes peered with evil gaze.

  This man smiled broadly as he perceived the two already in the room. He threw off his overcoat and

  advanced with outstretched hand, his mouth forming an ugly, irregular slit as the smile continued.

  "Ah!" croaked the new visitor. "Both here, eh? My friends, Jocelyn and Ricordo. You are both friends by

  now, I hope. That is well. We all have much in common."

  "Good evening, Urlich," said Jocelyn, in a calm tone.

  "Hello, professor," grinned Ricordo. "All set. Want to see the lay?"

  "Not yet" — the professor's tone was reproving—"not yet. There is time to spare. It is well that we talk

  first."

  He seated himself and looked from one man to the other. Leaning back, still smiling, Professor Folcroft

  Urlich emitted a cackling laugh of satisfaction. It brought a grin from Ricordo, a nervous shrug from

  Jocelyn.

  "So," declared Urlich. "We shall see our first plan work, eh? We are obliged to Ricordo, eh, Jocelyn? He

  has arranged very well."

  "I do not relish it," objected Jocelyn, in a testy tone. "This is not my business, Urlich. I do not disapprove

  of death, where it is necessary; but to be a witness — "

  Professor Urlich held up his hand by way of interruption. Jocelyn subsided while Ricordo glared

  maliciously.

  "You can end such qualms, Jocelyn," stated the professor, "and it is well that you should do so at the

  start. That is one reason why I have summoned you here to-night. The other is that we may discuss our

  plans plainly. I want no misunderstanding later on.

  "Death is my idea. To a scientist such as myself, human life is a mass. The ego must be forgotten. What is

  one life? Nothing. But one death" — as Urlich paused, the smile writhed snakelike across his lips — "may

  mean much to those who live to profit by it.

  "Death means millions to the three of us. Millions! Do you understand, Jocelyn? Death paves our

  way — and I am the master who provides death. But one who provides death requires human tools.

  Ricordo has brought those instruments. Moreover, one who provides death wisely must have a chance

  for gain — and you bring that opportunity, Jocelyn."

  The dignified man nodded. He chewed his lips thoughtfully; then his eyes lighted as though the talk of gain

  had served as inspiration.

  PROFESSOR URLICH leered as though he had read the old man's mind.

  "That we may all understand," continued Urlich, lowering his evil tones, "I shall recapitulate the desires

  which have brought us together. For years I have taken life — seldom the life of human beings, I admit;

  but life, just the same. I do not quail at the thought of taking human life. To me, it is experimentation on a

  higher plane.

  "Ricordo has chosen a career of crime. He is criminal by instinct, shrewd in all his dealings. He knows

  how to control and utilize men of the criminal type. Therefore, he is following his inclinations.

  "You, Jocelyn, have profited by others' losses. You call yourself a financier. You are actually one who

  traffics in the failures of those less fortunate. Your opportunity will be greater now; for where living men

  once blocked your schemes, dead men will not."

  Jocelyn shuddered at the frank terms, then smiled weakly. Professor Urlich seemed to possess an

  insidious influence over the financier— one which caused the man to forget his qualms despite himself.

  "Simple plans are most effective." As Professor
Urlich proceeded with this statement, he drew a folded

  paper from his pocket. "Here is the list which you gave me, Jocelyn. It names more than a dozen

  big-moneyed men whose deaths will prove highly profitable to you, and therefore" — Urlich stopped to

  stare firmly at the man opposite him— "profitable to myself and Ricordo.

  "Your part, Jocelyn, is to simply remind me of the strategic time for any such deaths. The rest lies in my

  hands — with the aid of Ricordo. You have named the first man. You will see him die to-night. I trust that

  your plans are made with all precaution."

  "They are," declared Jocelyn, with a nervous laugh. "If Alfred Sartain dies to-night — "

  "— when Alfred Sartain dies tonight," put in Urlich, with his wicked sneer.

  "With Sartain eliminated," agreed Jocelyn, "I am sure of an immediate profit of at least five millions. He

  has practically agreed to refinance the Universal Chain Stores. I have large proxy holdings in the National

  Syndicate and in Amalgamated Stores. If Universal fails to gain the money that it needs, the concern will

  go into the hands of the receivers. My stocks will rise — "

  "Sartain is the only salvation for Universal?"

  "Positively. All depends upon him."

  "You will see him die to-night!"

  Larry Ricordo was on his feet, rubbing his hands warmly as he heard these words. He swung toward

  Jocelyn, to add weight to Professor Urlich's statement.

  "You bet Sartain will take the bump," he declared. "Say! Maybe you don't know that I could be the

  biggest shot in New York if I'd wanted to stay in the racket. I dropped out because I saw bigger dough

  this way — without the chance of getting filled with lead by some other guy's mob.

  "I'm supposed to be out in the sticks — too hot for me here. But I've got a couple of real gazebos working

  for me. When Sartain comes into that penthouse of his, he'll be covered — "

  "One moment," interposed Urlich, staring cold at the gang leader. "I told you that violence would be

  unnecessary, Ricordo."

  "That's all right, professor," responded Ricordo. "I'm not interfering with whatever plans you've got. Just

  playing safe, that's all. Duster Brooks is planted as Sartain's butler."

  "That I understood."

  "And I've got Slips Harbeck and a couple of gorillas in an apartment on the top floor. They won't move

  unless we see that Sartain is going to get away. They'll wait to hear from me."

  "Very well," said Professor Urlich. "Nevertheless, your precautions were not needed." Then, to Jocelyn:

  "Ricordo is lacking in the technique of murder. During Sartain's absence, the penthouse was renovated.

  Ricordo provided a competent supervisor in the person of Duster Brooks, who is acting as Sartain's

  butler. Brooks had charge of the work. He is there to-night.

  "Alfred Sartain will die — presumably from natural causes — due to my well-planned instructions."

  The professor glanced at his watch. He noticed that the time was nearly half past eight. He went to the

  wall, and turned out the light; then to the window.

  "Come," he ordered through the darkness.

  THE other men approached. The curtain raised under Urlich's touch. It was like the lifting of asbestos

  before a drama.

  Silhouetted before the sparkling glow of the city lay the huge apartment building. The dim lights of the

  penthouse were the same as Larry Ricordo had viewed them. The corner was still black, and it was this

  spot that the professor indicated.

  "There is the studio," he remarked, in a low tone. "It is Sartain's custom to retire there, alone. This will be

  his first visit upon his return. He is expected by nine o'clock, with his secretary. The chain-store

  representative will call at half past.

  "Brooks has given us all the information. The documents are on Sartain's desk for his consideration.

  There is no reason why he should depart from his usual custom. It is upon such simple, commonplace

  actions that all great deeds of hidden crime should be built.

  "Your presence here will inspire your confidence in my powers. Ricordo has already evidenced his

  doubts. You, Jocelyn, may also be apprehensive. But as you witness each step, and hear me explain its

  cause, you will understand."

  The professor's tone had taken on the quiet notes of a scientific lecture. His calloused words brought a

  grunted laugh from Larry Ricordo. Thomas Jocelyn shuddered. Nevertheless, the financier stayed as

  close to the window as did the gang leader. There was a fascination in that scene across the street.

  "You will witness death," repeated Professor Urlich, by way of conclusion. "Death undisturbed; death

  unsuspected; death that will be regarded as accidental. Ricordo may trust to guns and violence. I deal

  death with silent skill. That is the death that you will see to-night — and which will strike again and again.

  Silent death!"

  The professor paused. The men by the open window remained motionless. Once more those insidious

  words sounded from the lips of Folcroft Urlich.

  "Silent death!"

  CHAPTER II. IN THE PENTHOUSE

  PROFESSOR URLICH had spoken correctly when he stated that Larry Ricordo had methods different

  from his own. The gang lord who served the professor's evil designs was quite as anxious to see Alfred

  Sartain die as was Urlich himself. Hence he had taken even more precautions than those that he had

  mentioned to his companions.

  Besides the gangsters stationed in a vacant apartment beneath the penthouse, there were others outside

  the apartment building. They were there to see that nothing might disturb the scene above; to interfere

  with the entrance of any other than Sartain, his secretary, and the chain-store delegate who had to-night's

  appointment.

  Thus, when Alfred Sartain alighted from a taxi outside the building, at precisely ten minutes of nine, he

  was covered by slouching, hidden watchers. The millionaire was accompanied by one man, obviously his

  secretary, who lugged a pair of suitcases. The doorman saluted as they entered, and helped the secretary

  with his burdens.

  When the elevator reached the penthouse level, Sartain rang the bell at the entrance. He was admitted by

  a quiet-faced, middle-aged man in uniform. The secretary followed.

  "Good evening, sir," said the butler, in a pronounced English accent. "It is good to see you return."

  "It's good to get back, Brooks," said Sartain, with a smile.

  The millionaire was a brusque man of fifty years. He gave his coat and hat to the butler, and strolled

  about the living room. He stopped and sniffed the air.

  "Paint," he remarked.

  "Yes, sir," responded Brooks. "The penthouse was renovated during your absence, sir."

  "Of course," laughed Sartain. "I had forgotten it. The old place looks fine, Brooks. You were here to see

  that they did it right, weren't you?"

  "Yes, sir. The studio was done over also. By the way, sir, I placed all your correspondence upon the

  desk. Mr. Broderick called to make sure about his appointment. He was very anxious, over the

  telephone, sir."

  "Yes, he would be," smiled Sartain. "I must go in the studio immediately. You, Hunnefield" — to the

  secretary—"can receive Mr. Broderick. I shall ring for you when I am ready to interview him."

  Brooks opened a door at the far end of the living room. It showed a hallway, beyond that an opened

  doorway. Brooks stepped nimbly ahead of Sartain, a
nd entered the far room. He turned on the light. The

  millionaire walked in and glanced about admiringly.

  THE studio had been redecorated to perfection. The walls were painted with a mural design in gold leaf.

  The large window, with its small panes of glass, had fresh paint upon its heavy iron framework. Sartain

  glanced toward the skylight, high in the sloping roof.

  "Very nice, Brooks," was his compliment.

  A large radiator was hissing softly in the corner of the room. Sartain did not appear to notice the sound.

  He sat down at the desk and began to examine a stack of envelopes. Brooks stood at the door.

  Hunnefield appeared beyond him.

  "That is all, sir?" questioned the butler, as the secretary approached.

  "Yes," returned the millionaire. "I do no wish to be disturbed. You may close the door, Brooks."

  The butler drew the door shut and turned toward Hunnefield. The natural action had blocked the

  secretary's entrance. Now that Alfred Sartain was ensconced in his studio, Hunnefield decided not to

  enter. He walked back into the living room with the butler. Brooks closed the second door as they

  passed.

  When the secretary had crossed the living room, Brooks threw a quick glance toward two objects. One

  was a bell in the corner. It was silenced by a small plug of rubber placed between the clapper and the

  bell itself. This was the spot where a summons from Sartain's room might be heard.

  Brooks smiled. That plug made a ring impossible. But one quick, deft twist would remove it. That action

  would come later.

  Brooks also glanced toward a telephone in the corner. There was a switch beneath it. Pressed home, that

  switch connected up with the telephone in the studio. It was not quite tight now. A slight press would do

  the trick. That, too, would come later. At present, Alfred Sartain was completely isolated from outside

  communication.

  Brooks glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes was the time allotted. Then these details could be quietly

  arranged. Brooks had little work to do. He smiled. With Hunnefield here, his actions would be accounted

  for; and Broderick would arrive later. The sooner the better.