The Sledge-Hammer Crimes by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781608771271
Amazon: 160877127X
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1936-08-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER X. MILLION DOLLAR MURDER

NEW morning. New crime.

Clyde Burke was standing within the lower vault room of the Channing National Bank. Daylight was streaming through a yawning opening to a narrow alleyway. Joe Cardona was present, making a grim survey.

"Another mallet job," growled Cardona. "The same as the museum. The same as Clayborne's. The alarm system went on the bum. But look what they had to sledge through! Concrete!"

Clyde noted the stone foundation. The edges were clean. Moldy powder had been erased.

"They grabbed the watchman," added Cardona. "He was upstairs and never heard the hammering. We found him, bound and gagged. No murder this time." Joe paused; then added, growling: "Murder wasn't necessary."

"How much swag?"

Cardona hesitated at Clyde's query; then decided to answer.

"A huge haul, Burke. More than a million! This hole touches the rear wall of the vault. They cleaned out currency and securities."

Clyde followed Cardona upstairs. Other reporters were there, gathered about the president's office. Clyde walked through the door with Cardona, while the other news hounds scowled.

Police Commissioner Weston was in conference with bank executives. They had finished questioning the watchman. Another eager informant had gained the floor. Cardona mumbled the man's name to Clyde:

"A teller named Tatnall. He thinks he can tell us something."

"Go on, Tatnall," Weston was encouraging. "What was it that Mr. Moreland said to you?"

"He spoke of clicks, sir," stated Tatnall. "They came from the wall of his office. It's right over the lower vault."

"Clicks!" exclaimed Weston. He swung to Cardona. "That's what Lemand heard at the museum."

The commissioner looked about. He demanded:

"Where is Mr. Moreland?"

"Not here," rejoined the bank's cashier. "He seldom arrives early, commissioner."

"Where does he live?"

"At the Hotel Runnymede."

Weston ordered Cardona and Tatnall to accompany him to his car. Clyde followed along to the street. Cardona motioned him aboard the commissioner's limousine. Weston made no objection; for Clyde had previously proven himself useful.

When they reached the Hotel Runnymede, Weston led the troop into the lobby. The hotel was antiquated and quiet; but a stir was in progress when the group arrived. Some one recognized the police commissioner. The manager hurried over with a statement:

"We just called headquarters, commissioner -"

"About what?" snapped Weston.

"About Mr. Moreland," explained the manager. "We found him five minutes ago. Dead–his skull crushed."

Clyde saw a grim look flare upon the police commissioner's face.

"We came here to interview Moreland," declared Weston, sadly. "I suppose our present task is to view the body."

THEY found the dead man sprawled upon the floor of his room. Rufus Moreland had died like Lewis Lemand. His head had been bashed by a heavy missile. Beside the body lay a small, but heavy, table lamp. Its wire had been jerked from the socket. The metal base of the lamp was bloodstained.

"That's the weapon," decided Cardona. "The killer used it like the Aztec mallet. We'll go after finger prints, commissioner."

One hour later, the body had been removed. Weston, dejected, was listening to Cardona's summary. Facts were meager. No finger prints had been found upon the deadly table lamp.

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