A wild look came upon his face. His eyes bulged, and his hands shot toward his throat. The tiny cord was there, tightening into the flesh! The detective’s clawing fingers could not loosen its terrifying pressure!
A gurgle sounded in the doomed man’s throat. His gangling form toppled backward and slumped against the curtain. Hasbrouck went down slowly, his fall governed by that cord which bound his neck. The cruel thread was biting — strangling — killing!
Invisible hands came from the curtain. Hasbrouck’s inert form was drawn into darkness. A short, sizzling sound came from behind the velvet curtain. Then all was silent in the hall.
Ten minutes later, Larkin came downstairs and locked the front door. The secretary turned and went upstairs, passing the spot where Don Hasbrouck last had stood. There was nothing to indicate that the detective had not left the house.
Detective Hasbrouck’s forebodings had been realized. Here, in this great, sinister, silent house, he had met his fate. His lips were sealed by death!
CHAPTER II
THE SOCIETY SUICIDE
A QUIET-FACED man was seated in an office on the ninth floor of the Badger Building. The door of his private room was open. Beyond was a stenographer at a desk.
The glass-paneled door at the outer entrance bore the number 909, in reverse figures. Beneath it, also in reverse, was the inscription:
RUTLEDGE MANN Investments