Fritz had slouched to the side of Cardona’s desk. He was standing there as Clyde Burke arose. From the corner of his eye, the false janitor saw the reporter pick up the list of names that Cardona had given him for examination.
“Wait a minute, Burke!” Cardona shot a paw across the desk. “You don’t get that list!”
“Why not?” questioned Clyde, in a surprised tone.
“You’ve got no use for it,” snorted Cardona. “What’s more, it’s my idea now. I showed you the clew. I keep the lists.”
As Cardona plucked the single list from Clyde’s hand, Fritz placed his palm upon the stack of lists that lay at Cardona’s side. Neither detective nor reporter saw the single, rolling motion with which the fake janitor coiled a paper-clipped list into a cylinder. Turning toward the wall, Fritz thrust the packet into his overalls.
“I don’t get you, Joe,” pleaded Clyde. “I’d like to look over one of those lists. Maybe I’d get another idea. I won’t show it down at the Classic office.”
“Nothing doing,” growled Cardona. “I know you’ll keep quiet about the paper I showed you. But a list like this is something that could lay around. I’m taking these lists up to the commissioner’s tonight. Nobody gets a copy until he says so.”
FRITZ had stooped beside the desk. He came up with a cluster of torn envelopes that Cardona, who scorned wastebaskets, had chucked on the floor. Thrusting an envelope in front of the detective’s eyes, Fritz inquired:
“Any goot?”
“No,” returned Cardona.
Fritz dropped the envelope in front of Clyde Burke, turning it over as he did so. He thrust a second envelope in front of Joe Cardona.
“This one,” asked the janitor. “Any goot?”
“No! shouted Cardona. “None of them are any good. That’s why I threw them on the floor. Chuck them all out, Fritz.”
Clyde Burke was staring at the envelope which Fritz had laid in front of him. On the flap — the side that Fritz had turned upward — was a coded sentence in blue ink. A message from The Shadow!
“List not needed,” read Clyde. “Agree to all Cardona asks. Off duty.” The words faded as though an invisible hand had wiped them from the envelope. Clyde was still staring when Fritz turned and picked up the envelope — now blank — to take it away with the others that the janitor held.
Joe Cardona still held the list that he had taken back from Clyde Burke. The detective placed it on the stack that lay beside him. He bundled up the lists and arose from his desk.
“I guess you’re right, Joe,” remarked Clyde. “I can’t do anything with that list — maybe you can. Take credit for it when you talk with the commissioner. If anything comes out of it, the trouble will be worth while.”
“The commissioner will like the idea, all right,” asserted Joe. “He’s strong for this deductive stuff. But he’s a critical bird too, Burke. Ten thousand names” — Cardona shook his head doubtfully — “it’s an awful lot. Too big a list, Burke. Too big.”
Clyde had risen. He paced beside Cardona as the detective started from the office. Clyde preceded Joe through the door. Momentarily, from the corridor, Clyde glanced into the office. Fritz was facing the wall, busy with his mop. Overalls and stooped shoulders were the only impressions that Clyde gained in this parting glance.
Even to his agent, The Shadow’s disguise had been perplexing. Clyde Burke, as he walked forth with Joe Cardona, still wondered how that message had come upon the envelope which the dull-faced janitor had picked up from the floor. Clyde had rejected the truth — it seemed incredible — that the supposed Fritz was The Shadow. Yet Clyde had obeyed the message; for it had been in the code that The Shadow always used.
IN Joe Cardona’s office, the tall figure of Fritz ceased mopping. The false janitor moved into the corridor and reached his locker. He deposited mop and bucket. He drew black objects from the locker.
Two minutes later, a phantom form glided from the side exit. The Shadow, guised in blackness, merged with the gathered dusk. A soft laugh came from his hidden lips.
The Shadow had seen Cardona’s clew. The Shadow had gained a copy of Cardona’s list. His strategy had worked, through Clyde Burke’s capable following of instructions.
Headed for his sanctum, The Shadow was prepared to combat coming crime. While police were engaged in twofold search for plotter and murderer, The Shadow had chosen the final method as his own.
The Shadow planned to frustrate crime by discovering the next victim whom the killer sought!
Clyde Burke had suggested the making of a list. Cardona had followed the reporter’s idea. Ostensibly, the plan was Burke’s; apparently, the list was now Cardona’s.
Actually, both the idea and its completion belonged to The Shadow. He had supplied the purpose; he had gained the copy that he needed.
Ten thousand names! Such was the list that The Shadow had acquired. With his sight of Cardona’s clew, he was ready to put the list in use!
CHAPTER XVII. MOVES IN THE GAME
Two hours had passed. The blue light was burning in The Shadow’s sanctum. Upon the table lay a torn fragment of paper. It was an exact replica of Cardona’s clew. The Shadow had prepared it from memory:
M E N
1 3
Beside this reminder lay the stacked up papers of the list which The Shadow had taken from Cardona’s office. Long-fingered hands were running down the columns of a final page.
A strange clock rested upon the table. Instead of hands, it showed marked circles which registered the passage of seconds, minutes and hours. Each second seemed to pause as though waiting The Shadow’s order to depart. Meanwhile, the hands were finishing their task with untiring swiftness.
Though The Shadow’s work was thorough, his rapid study of the listed names had been moving at the rate of one page a minute. Allowing for the time that it had taken for him to reach the sanctum, with brief minutes out for calls to Burbank, The Shadow had reached the finish of his survey in one hundred and twenty minutes.
With the last page checked, The Shadow gathered up the heap and deftly removed four pages. He spread these upon the table. Each page bore a mark — a penciled circle around a chosen name.
One page showed the marked name of Jerome Neville, with the telephone number Quadrangle 2-4138.
Another revealed a circle about the name of Hiram Engliss, the telephone number Midtown 9-1362. The Shadow placed these pages aside.
The third page showed the marked name of Dudley Arment, with the telephone number Carmody 5-9213. The fourth also had a marked name: Clement Hessling, Riverview 6-3130.
Earphones clicked as The Shadow drew them from the wall. Burbank’s quiet tone came across the wire:
“Burbank speaking.”
“Report.”
“Report from Marsland. He is at the apartment house where Clement Hessling lives in Greenwich Village. There is a party at Hessling’s. Marsland on watch.”
“Instructions. Marsland to remain on duty.”
“Instructions received.”
A pause; then came Burbank’s next statement:
“Report from Vincent. He is stationed outside Tewksbury Court. Dudley Arment out of town. Expected back tonight.”
“Instructions,” ordered The Shadow. “Vincent to remain on duty until nine thirty. Then to join Marsland.”
“Instructions received,” came Burbank’s final reply.
A map of Manhattan came into view upon The Shadow’s table. A long, white finger touched one spot; then another. The Shadow was picking the locations where Clement Hessling and Dudley Arment lived.
IN some remarkable fashion, The Shadow had picked these two men from the entire list of ten thousand.