The Shadow 069 The Four Signets by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1935-01-01T00:01:28+00:00

“All right,” growled Mallan. “I’ll do that. I’m beginning to get the idea. I was a fool to hand these things to you anyway. I’m lucky to get ‘em back. I suppose I’m fired. Is that it?”

“Yes,” assured Zurick, while Laverock and Kent chimed their agreement. “You were paid recently for work that you actually did. We accepted your report concerning the visit of Perry and Zane Dolger, when they called on Philip Lyken. But since then, Mallan, you have been guilty of gross negligence of duty.”

“I’m satisfied,” said the detective, rising. “You paid me enough the other night. I guess we’re happy all around, in a way. With Lyken and Phraytag dead, you’ve got no more work for me to do.”

“Your conjecture is correct,” asserted Zurick. “Nevertheless, Mallan, you were technically in our employ, even though”—Zurick was rising as he spoke— “even though you neglected the work. Therefore, I and my associates feel that you are entitled to some small emolument.”

So saying, Zurick strolled past the table and accompanied Mallan to the door. There, while Laverock and Kent watched steadily, Zurick drew an envelope from his pocket and passed it to the detective.

As Mallan smiled and took the envelope, Zurick calmly drew the report sheets from the detective’s grasp. He tore them into pieces, applied a match and let them fall, blazing, into a metal wastebasket.

“Good night, Mallan,” said Zurick, opening the door. “Should I require your services—that is in a capacity where I deem you competent—I shall not hesitate to call upon you in the future.

“Timothy”—this to the servant, who had arrived from the parlor— “get Mr. Mallan’s hat and coat. He is leaving.”

The philanthropist stepped back into the study. The door closed, leaving him in new conference with his two associates.

Mallan stared blankly at the door. Beyond it, he could picture those three faces, Zurick, Laverock and Kent. Those were three names that Mallan intended to remember; but they were also names that he never expected to mention.

“Well, Tim,” said the detective, as the servant helped him on with his coat. “I guess I won’t be seeing you again very soon. But keep on the job, old socks. Some day you’ll be old. And boy, when you get old, you get smart!”

Timothy made no comment. He did not seem to appreciate the tact that Mallan had reference to the three philanthropists. The servant opened the door; Mallan stepped to the sidewalk and strolled along, looking for a taxi.

“Maybe I’m dumb,” mumbled the detective. “Ought to have hollered for a thousand bucks tonight. But, boy! I was lucky to get out with my shirt! Foxy! Say—that’s nothing to what those guys are -“

Mallan stopped muttering as he hailed a cab. As he stepped into the taxi, still thinking about money, the detective remembered the envelope that Zurick had given him. Mallan tried to remember the word ‘emolument’ that he had heard the philanthropist use.

“Can’t recall it,” he grumbled, as he pulled the envelope from his pocket. “Anyway, the word sounded good enough for a hundred-buck tip.

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