“Do you know why?”
“No. But the murderer worked mighty quick. It’s a sure bet, Joe, that he isn’t finished. Unless you get started, there’ll be another killing tonight — and maybe one on the next night—”
“Cut it, Burke.” Cardona was impatient. “You’re giving me the jitters. Spring your idea.”
“It strikes me,” declared Clyde, as he seated himself in front of the detective’s desk, “that there must be some connection between Jerome Neville and Hiram Engliss. But all the facts — their work, their ages, their locations — point against it. We just know this — the same guy bumped both of them.”
“Is that all you’ve got to tell me?”
“No. I’ve figured that the connection must be there. No matter how slight it seems, you ought to follow any point that the two men had in common. I’ll go further than that — you ought to follow half a point, if you can get even that much—”
“And what is it?” interrupted Cardona.
“A number,” declared Burke, in a solemn tone. “The number thirteen.”
INSTANTLY, The Shadow’s agent saw that he had scored an unexpected hit. Clyde had come here expecting to sell Cardona an idea that the detective might reject. Instead, he realized that he had struck home. Cardona’s hands were gripping the edge of the desk. The ace was staring eagerly.
“What about it?” came Cardona’s question. “What about the number thirteen?”
“Jerome Neville,” remarked Clyde, “had the telephone number Quadrangle 2-4138. Hiram Engliss had the number Midtown 9-1362. Write them down, Joe. You’ll see that each one contains the number thirteen, as big as life.”
“That’s right.” Cardona was scrawling the numbers on a sheet of paper. “Still, I don’t get your idea, Burke. This thirteen business is important, because” — he paused abruptly — “well, because I’m superstitious, I guess. But what can I do about it?”
“I’ll tell you,” stated Clyde. “It’s a long shot and it may seem a crazy one; but if you follow it, you might get somewhere. There are about twelve hundred pages in the Manhattan telephone book. Why not put a dozen girls to work, each with a hundred pages. Better still, two dozen girls, with fifty pages each.
“Let them run down the columns. It’s quick work spotting every number that has thirteen in it. With a bunch of typists on the job, you can list the names that the girls get. When you’re through, you can eliminate a lot of names — businesses and the like — and the list you have will contain the names of whatever men that killer is still out to get.”
Cardona was drawing circles on his sheet of paper. He put a ring around each number 13; then began to tap on the desk with his pencil. He eyed Clyde Burke for a moment; then made a definite effort to curb the enthusiasm that he had shown.
“I’ll try this out, Burke,” he said. “I’ll work it through the telephone company. What you say may be true — but there’ll be a lot of names in that list when—”
“What of it?” questioned Clyde. “It’s not going to interfere with whatever else you’re doing. Tell the phone company what you want — but make sure you have the list before tonight. If my hunch is right, Joe, there may be other lives at stake—”
“All right, Burke,” interrupted Cardona, with a nod. He was trying to indicate that the reporter had convinced him. “I’ll attend to that matter. By the way, where do you come in on this? You’re looking for a story — is that the idea?”
“You bet I am,” returned Clyde. “Say — if this hunch brings results, I’ll be sitting pretty with the Classic office. You’re sure you’re going through with it, aren’t you, Joe?”
“Leave it with me, Burke.”
“If you’re not sure you’ll have that list by tonight,” warned Clyde, “I’ll take it up with the Classic. They’ll make up that list pronto, just to see if the next murder has a thirteen in it. But I figured the idea belonged to you.”
“Don’t tell the newspaper office!” exclaimed Cardona. “What do you want to do — spoil the story for yourself? I’ll take care of this right away, Burke. Positively. Call me up in an hour; I’ll tell you when the lists will be here.”
CLYDE BURKE smiled as he left headquarters. He had followed instructions from The Shadow. The trump card in The Shadow’s game had been Clyde’s statement that he would get the Classic to work on the list. That threat had been unneeded. Clyde had delivered it solely for good measure.
Back in his office, Joe Cardona was muttering to himself. In his left hand lay the fragment of paper that he had found at Crane’s. The detective was staring at the ragged clew.
“Men thirteen,” mumbled Cardona. “Maybe it means men with thirteen in their phone numbers. Maybe—”
The detective lifted the telephone and put in an official call. True to his statement, Cardona intended to arrange the list that Clyde Burke had suggested.
In a corner of the Classic office, Clyde Burke was preparing a report for Rutledge Mann. The reporter was including every detail — particularly the point of Joe Cardona’s sudden response when he had heard mention of the number 13.
This report was going to The Shadow. Through Clyde Burke, the master sleuth had gained the end he sought. The list that was being compiled for Joe Cardona was actually under preparation for The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW’S LIST
IT was six o’clock when Clyde Burke reappeared at detective headquarters. Despite his nonchalant air, The Shadow’s agent was tense. He had a new duty to perform; one that would require greater strategy than the morning’s job.
Clyde had given his report to Rutledge Mann. The investment broker had forwarded it to The Shadow through a special mail chute in the door of an empty office. Later in the day, a new message had been brought to Mann by a telegraph messenger.
Clyde Burke had visited Mann to get his new instructions. Clyde had not been surprised at The Shadow’s orders. The Shadow had picked the very point that Clyde had noted: the willingness with which Cardona had complied with the request to order the list of names.
The Shadow, however, had seen further than had Clyde. His keen brain had divined that Cardona must have gained a clew. It was Clyde’s task now to discuss that subject with the ace detective. Through pleas or threats; through both, if necessary, Clyde must gain the truth from Joe Cardona.
Headquarters was practically deserted when Clyde Burke arrived. A light was shining from the open door of Cardona’s office. The detective had told Clyde that he would be here. Clyde found him at his desk. Cardona looked up and delivered a sour smile.
“There’s your brain child,” the detective remarked, pointing to a huge stack of papers. “Six copies of the list you talked about. Take a look at one — but don’t let it throw you.”
Clyde picked up a sheaf of typewritten pages. Despite the thinness of the sheets, the stack was bulky. It was fastened at one end by a massive paper clip. Clyde estimated a hundred pages in the sheaf.
“All six lists here?” inquired Clyde.
“All six?” Cardona snorted. “What do you think that big pile is on the table for? That’s just one list you’ve got there, young fellow. Look at it — three columns to a page — more than a hundred pages.”
“I didn’t know there would be so many,” protested Clyde.
“Neither did I,” grumbled the detective. “If I’d known it, I wouldn’t have gone in for this cuckoo idea of yours. Do you know how many names there are with the number thirteen somewhere in the phone number? I’ll tell you. Ten thousand — and that’s a conservative estimate.”