Лестер Дент - Death in Silver

There was a frozen, stony expression on the tall man's face. His dark eyes rolled and jerked with unease. His hands were drawn pale and bard at his sides.

These signs should have told an experienced observer that the man was worried and scared. But there were no experienced observers among the stenographers and clerks in the office of Seven Seas. So the glances they gave the tall man were merely the boot-licking smiles of employees who had about as much spirit as rabbits.

A person with spunk did not work long with Seven Seas because Paine L. Winthrop — the owner — was a cold-blooded driver of the old school, an industrial emperor who looked upon those under him as vassals. Had Paine L. Winthrop lived a hundred years earlier, he would have kept a retinue of slaves. And beaten them often!

Maybe Clarence Sparks had an inkling that something was awry. Clarence was a billing clerk for Seven Seas which operated transatlantic freight boats and had no connection with Winthrop's Shipyards — which was also controlled by Paine L. Winthrop — and which built freight steamers. Clarence was a rabbit like the rest of those who worked for Seven Seas. But Clarence also had sharp wits.

"Good afternoon, Commodore Winthrop," said Clarence.

Winthrop's only claim to the designation of 'Commodore' was that he held such an office in an exclusive yacht club. But he liked the title, and the canny Clarence knew it.

Winthrop seemed not to hear. He walked stiffly, mechanically from the corridor door to his private office. His face was rigid; his eyes busy; and his hands hard and gray.

"The old wolf!" grunted Clarence. "Someday somebody is going to give Winthrop what he has coming to him!"

Clarence was a prophet — a great deal more of a prophet than he knew.

Paine L. Winthrop entered his office, turned the key in the door, then tried the knob to make sure it was locked. He stuffed a corner of a silk handkerchief into the keyhole, using a match for the purpose. He pulled off his topcoat and laid it along the bottom of the door. After these 2 precautions, he seemed to feel that no one would eavesdrop.

Striding stiffly to the window, he looked down at the street 40 floors below. Pedestrians there resembled ants. Paine L. Winthrop ordinarily got a thrill out of the view because he liked to think of other people as ants. But now the view made him shiver.

One of New York's frequent fogs was mushroomed over the city. It was especially thick out over the nearby East River but less dense here in the Wall Street sector. Winthrop shivered again and jerked a cord which closed the slats of the Venetian blind.

Seating himself at his desk, be hugged a telephone close and dialed with a trembling forefinger. He missed his number the first time through nervousness, but got it on the second attempt.

Before speaking, he drew out a costly watch and noted that it lacked only a few minutes of being 4:00 in the afternoon. Evidently he recognized the voice which answered at the other end of the wire for no names were exchanged.

"Your t-time is almost up," he said shakily.

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The other did not respond immediately, and Paine L. Winthrop seemed on the verge of repeating his warning. Then a coarse, angry whisper came over the line.

"Winthrop, you are passing up a chance of becoming one of the richest men alive!" said the distant speaker.

"I am passing up a chance of landing in the electric chair!" Winthrop snapped.

"Listen, Winthrop," the other said earnestly. "I have explained to you very … "

"There is no object in arguing," said the shipping magnate. "I may be a hard business man. And I may be a skinflint and a slave driver as some people have called me. But I stay within the Law! Early in my youth, I learned that was the best policy."

The distant whispering voice took on a menacing quality.

"You are already too deep in this to back out' Winthrop!" it pointed out. "We have used your shipyard."

Winthrop flinched as if he had been seized with an inner chill in the region of his spine. But his forbidding face remained set and determined.

"I was deceived," he grated. "I thought the thing being built in my shipyard was for a foreign government. I think I can convince the authorities of that."

"It seems that I made a mistake in taking you into my confidence," said the whisper.

Winthrop snapped, "You certainly did!"

"I should have turned the matter over to the Silver Death's-Headsas the newspapers so dramatically term them," retorted the other.

The mention of Silver Death's-Heads had the effect of nearly causing Winthrop to drop the receiver. The man peered about as if fearing some grisly menace might be in the room with him. Then he got a grip on himself.

"There is no more to be said," he stated grimly. "I have given you a chance to disband the Silver Death's-Heads and destroy the … the thing that was built in my shipyard. You refuse. Therefore, I shall now call the police!"

His voice — charged with desperate excitement — had risen to a yell that had considerable volume. The sound penetrated through the door of the private office, despite the precautions which Winthrop had taken in stuffing the keyhole and covering the crack at the bottom of the door.

At his desk outside, Clarence Sparks heard. He hesitated … eying the door, longing to listen. Then, summoning his nerve, he shuffled over to the water cooler which was beside the door of the private office. He could listen from there.

Inside the office, Winthrop screamed, "I am going to call the police and tell them all about the Silver Death's-Heads ! I am going to tell who is apparently their chief! And I am going to tell whose devilish brain is actually behind all of this!"

The coarse whisper over the telephone said, "I can promise that you will not live long enough to do that, Winthrop."

Winthrop was squirming, perspiring. He shouted, "Killing me will not help! I have a blueprint showing some of your working methods. I have given it to my secretary. And I have told her the whole story!"

"You are bluffing, Winthrop," snarled the whispering one.

"I am not!" Winthrop barked. "My secretary will give the whole story to the police if anything happens to me. Now, will you give this all up, or do I call the police?"

"Call them if you dare," suggested the other.

"I will!"Winthrop banged the receiver up.

Shaky and pallid, Clarence Sparks backed from the door. He had overheard too much for his peace of mind. He was in the same boat with the young man who was fishing for minnows and caught a shark.

The fact that Clarence Sparks was backing away from the door undoubtedly saved his life.

There was a cataclysmic CRASH! The door of Winthrop's private office exploded to fragments. The whole partition wall caved. Part of the ceiling came thundering down.

40 stories below on the street, an ear-splitting crackof sound caused people to look up. It was like the lash of a stupendous thunderbolt. After one glance upward, the pedestrians cried out in terror and began to run.

A cloud of bricks, mortar and twisted steel was falling down the side of the skyscraper, giving at first the impression that the whole great building was coming to pieces. A moment later — to those farther up the street — it was evident that a great cavity had been blown in the side of the fog-piercing edifice.