The Shadow 324 The Black Circle by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1949-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. A JOB FOR THE SHADOW

It was nearly midnight and a group of men were seated in Grayle’s office, where the museum curator had summoned them. Along with Cranston, Weston and Cardona, the group included Quentin Langley and Terry Trent.

“And that is the story,” stated Grayle, “as Hector and Baldwin will testify. Now would you like to hear the proof of all that I have told you?”

Nods were the reply. Reaching to the edge of his desk drawer, Grayle smiled thinly and said:

“Then, listen to the play-back.”

It came, a bit crackly, for the automatic recorder in Grayle’s desk was something of a museum piece in its own right. Word for word, detail for detail, the listeners heard the conversation that Grayle had held with his masked visitors. Speed’s voice, sullen, boastful, according to his moods, would be difficult to identify from this record, but the listeners hoped that somewhere a revealing statement would slip in.

None came. The nearest to a slip was when Speed had dialed the number at which Stick answered. There, the record dwindled to a mere scratch, until Speed’s voice came very sharply: “Keep out of this, Grayle!” From then on, the words were clearer than before and even Grayle’s tone was more distinct.

“We were getting acquainted,” said Grayle, during a lull in the recording. He shook his head with a smile of recollection. “I was hoping that I could trick my masked friend into some betrayal of his identity. Of course, I had won his confidence, more or less, by telling him that the tiara was only a replica.”

“Which was a mistake,” declared Commissioner Weston. “It will be hard to guess what they will do with it now.”

“But it actually was an imitation!” exclaimed Grayle. “Hector and Baldwin both saw me test it with the ultra-violet light. Besides, I checked it against the catalog description.”

“It couldn’t have been phoney,” put in Terry Trent, bluntly. “I stayed with the real tiara from the time it left Martingale’s until it was stolen from Mrs. Worthingham.”

“Perhaps the criminals themselves exchanged it.” This came from Quentin Langley. “They might have come here just to throw everyone off their trail.”

Trent wheeled, meeting Langley eye to eye.

“You seem to have a lot of ideas,” snapped Trent. “Maybe you should have, considering that all these robberies happen at parties you throw, or among people you know.”

“I manage many functions,” retorted Langley, haughtily, “and I have a wide range of acquaintances. It is my business to promote charity functions and provide entertainment. I was attending to my business tonight. How were you doing with yours, Mr. Trent?”

Trent couldn’t answer that one. It was Cranston’s turn to provide a few opinions.

“Mr. Grayle was in a dilemma,” declared Cranston, “and a statement of fact was his best way out. The same should apply where the public is concerned.” Looking toward Weston, Cranston added: “Crooks may be discouraged from further robberies when this news gets about.”

“Exactly,” agreed Langley. “Why there must be a dozen bands of such rascals running rampant.

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