Maxwell Grant - The Shadow 070 by The Blue Sphinx

Author:The Blue Sphinx [Sphinx, The Blue]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-14T23:24:29+00:00

They had turned on lights all along the line. After discovering the dead bodies of the curator and the chief attendant, they had called police headquarters from the curator’s telephone.

“There’s not much mystery about the killing,” announced Grewling, turning to Rush and Malden. “The museum closes up at eight. Somebody must have rung the bell; after that, Hollis let him in and he killed Rubal.”

“What about the other attendants?” inquired Rush.

“They go out at eight o’clock, don’t they?” retorted Grewling.

“I know that,” replied Rush. “But it is possible that one of them could have been responsible for this crime.”

“That’s possible!” exclaimed Grewling. “Here, Toxter”—he turned to a policeman—”dig down to town and look up those other attendants. Bring them out here.”

THE order given, Grewling paused to eye a stout man with a bag who was coming down the corridor.

He recognized a local physician, who had arrived in response to a call from headquarters. He told the doctor to examine the bodies. While the physician was busy, the police chief resorted to his first theory.

“Somebody could have come in here,” he declared. “Some special visitor, between eight o’clock and nine.”

“Just whom would Hollis have admitted?” questioned Malden.

“Any one who might know the curator,” replied the police chief. “That’s a good lead, Mr. Malden. If some ordinary thug had showed up here, Hollis wouldn’t have let him in.”

“He might have forced his way in,” observed Rush.

“He’d have had Hollis to deal with first,” returned Grewling. “No, the thing’s plain, mayor. Somebody got by the door and came in here. Hollis must have heard the shot and come in—to get his dose of lead.”

“Odd that he walked into the trap so easily,” said Malden.

“Not if he knew the man who was calling,” declared Grewling. “He might have thought the shot was accidental.”

New footsteps in the corridor. It was Singler, Malden’s chauffeur. The man had come in to inquire if he might be needed. Malden told him to remain.

“Well, doc?” questioned Grewling, as the physician finished his examination. “Anything unusual?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” declared the physician, in a doubtful tone. “Death may not have been instantaneous in the case of Rubal; but it was with Hollis. In both cases, however, the wounds show tendency to enlargement. I am not an expert on bullet wounds; but I would say -“

“May I take a look at them?” inquired Singler, the chauffeur.

“What for?” snapped the police chief.

“I’ve seen some pretty mean wounds,” replied Singler. “Seven years with the Foreign Legion. I’ve seen what ricochet shots can do. As for dumdums— well, the Arabs never minded using them. As for the Tuaregs -“

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