themselves -'
James Tolwig gestured an interruption. He swung about in his swivel chair, snapped quick words to the corner where Bagland was seated. The secretary spun about; his face showed a wise smile.
Before Dalavan could guess what was due, Bagland pulled a revolver from his coat pocket and leveled it straight at the visitor.
'You have met Bagland before,' chuckled Tolwig, to Dalavan. 'You took him for what he pretended to be - an ordinary private secretary, and a rather dull one. Actually, he is a private investigator, who has been looking for gentlemen of your ilk.'
'I'm not such a bad secretary, either,' added Bagland, using his free hand to hold a sheaf of papers in front of Dalavan's ugly eyes. 'I've taken shorthand notes on all this conversation, Dalavan. All right, Mr. Tolwig' - Bagland nodded briskly to the millionaire - 'you can call the police.'
Chuckling, glad that he had trapped a rogue, James Tolwig reached for the telephone on his desk. To gain the telephone, his hand was forced to brush a small desk clock that showed the time as ten minutes before nine.
Tolwig scarcely noticed the clock. Hence he did not think of the telegram that had specified the hour of nine. Even if he had recalled the telegram, it would scarcely have mattered at this moment. James Tolwig had ignored that message, to act on his own initiative.
The time was past when proper recognition of that telegram could have proven of vital value to James Tolwig.
CHAPTER II. A POSTPONED TRAIL
IF ever a man behaved as a cornered rat, George Dalavan displayed the part when James Tolwig placed a hand upon the telephone receiver. All of Dalavan's smoothness wilted; the fellow cowered away from the desk and raised trembling hands, as he looked toward the muzzle of Bagland's gun.
'You can't arrest me!' whined Dalavan. 'I've done nothing. I sold you the tiara. That's all.'
'That was enough!' announced Tolwig, sternly. 'Your racket is finished Dalavan.'
The narrow-eyed rogue turned his beady gaze toward Bagland; in despairing fashion, Dalavan pleaded with the investigator.
'Don't turn me over!' he gasped. 'Maybe - maybe I can help you out with other facts! Give me a chance, Bagland!'
The investigator nodded. Tolwig let the telephone receiver drop back upon its hook. With a quick, wise look toward Bagland, Tolwig returned the nod, then leaned forward to hear what Dalavan might have to say. The crook started in with the promised facts.
'This racket is bigger than you think!' blurted Dalavan. 'It goes into millions of dollars! I'm only a front for it - sort of a mouthpiece. I freeze the stuff that's hot. You've probably guessed that, Bagland.'
'I have,' returned Bagland, steadily. Then, to Tolwig, the investigator added: 'We'll hear all that he has to say. This stolen tiara represents but one item, Mr. Tolwig. The racket must involve huge robberies abroad; some smuggling system in addition; a perfect hideout, where the stuff is stored.'
Dalavan nodded at each point. Bagland saw it and made a final statement.
'Behind it all,' declared Bagland, 'must be a master crook, far more dangerous than you, Dalavan. Wait a moment! I have an idea!'
Planting his notebook on the desk, Bagland stepped forward. Dalavan's arms went higher; Bagland shoved the revolver's muzzle against the crook's ribs. Reaching into Dalavan's pocket, Bagland whisked out the piece of paper that the crook had so hurriedly thrust from view, just before writing his receipt.
'Take a look at this, Mr. Tolwig.'
WHILE Bagland continued to cover Dalavan at close range, Tolwig studied the paper. It was a piece of stationery; it bore no writing, but at the top was an embossed seal. The imprint represented a pair of gryphons, each supporting a side of a white shield.
Bagland managed a side glance that enabled him to see the gryphon shield. Facing Dalavan, he snapped the question:
'Who did that come from?'
'The big shot,' returned Dalavan. 'He used it, as sort of a coat of arms. Perhaps you'd like to know his name, and where he could be found?'
'I would!' snapped out Bagland. 'You're going to spill it, Dalavan, without getting any promises from us -'
A sharp interruption came from Tolwig. Looking up from the sheet of paper with the gryphon shield, the millionaire saw straight beyond Bagland and Dalavan.
Tolwig's eyes caught a flash of white in the doorway; with it, the glitter of an aiming revolver. Tolwig's cry was a warning; heeding it, Bagland spun about. The investigator was too late.
A revolver barked. It was aimed straight at Bagland. The man who gripped the gun was Tolwig's own servant, Lovett. The white-coated arrival had taken accurate aim. He fired a second shot; a third. A fourth was unnecessary.
The first bullet had dropped Bagland; the other shots were vicious additions that Lovett gave to insure Bagland's prompt death. Staring across the desk, Tolwig saw the investigator twist in agony and lie still.
Madly, Tolwig bounded from behind the desk. In his left hand, he clutched the sheet of paper with the gryphon shield. With his right, he made a wild grab for the revolver that had dropped from Bagland's hand. Tolwig was a perfect target for Lovett; but the servant added no bullets. It was Dalavan who acted.
The mustached man whipped out a gun of his own. He let Tolwig get hold of Bagland's revolver; then with a vicious snarl, Dalavan opened fire. At a four-foot range, he delivered three bullets into Tolwig's body. The effect of those shots were immediate. James Tolwig sprawled dead across Bagland's body.
George Dalavan's ruddy face showed demonish as the murderer leaned within the focused area of the desk lamp. With eager hands, Dalavan snatched the Lamballe tiara and placed that treasure back into its case. Bundling the fifty thousand dollars, Dalavan added it with the tiara. His hand slid against the desk clock; the timepiece had almost reached nine o'clock.
It was not that fact, however, that made Dalavan turn about. The murderer knew nothing of the telegram that Tolwig had received from Havana. Dalavan's ears caught a faint sound. On that account, the murderer swung toward Lovett.
'Did you hear that?' demanded Dalavan, in a tense tone. 'It sounded like a motor, somewhere outside the house.'
Lovett listened, then shook his head.
'Nobody would be going by here,' remarked the accomplice. 'What's more, the main road is too far for anyone to have heard the shots.'
'Was Tolwig expecting any other visitors?'
'None that I know about. I kept close tabs on him, like you told me to. There was a telegram that came for him, from Havana -'
'That wouldn't mean anything.'
DALAVAN'S tenseness lessened. The murderer was confident that Lovett had kept good check on Tolwig. Dalavan had used Lovett as the inside man before; it was a precaution that he always adopted. The fact that Lovett had not learned that Bagland was an investigator did not detract from Dalavan's opinion. He guessed that Bagland had been careful enough to keep his real identity a secret.
'You'd better slide out and take a gander,' decided Dalavan. 'Peek from the front door; if anyone comes in by the gate, meet them like nothing happened. Tell them Tolwig is out.'
Lovett nodded. He walked from the study. Dalavan snatched up Bagland's notes, put them into the case that held the tiara and the money. He found the receipt that he had given Tolwig; he put that with the other objects.
Looking toward the bodies, Dalavan grinned. He stooped and carefully placed his fingers upon the sheet of stationery that still rested in Tolwig's grasp. Dalavan was prepared to pluck away that bit of evidence.
Dalavan's right hand held its revolver; his left was on the paper that bore the imprint of the gryphon shield. Suddenly, his motion ceased. Rigid in his stooped position, Dalavan listened. With a sudden snarl of alarm, he spun about, to face the opened French windows that led to the porch.
