“How about leaving town,” suggested Cardona. “Start on one of your trips to—”
“I might be followed. We’ve got to do more than that. We must deceive the man completely. If he thought that I was dead—”
CARDONA pondered. He was anxious to be of aid to Matthew Wade. The last suggestion was a happy one.
“If you were dead,” said Cardona, taking up the uncompleted sentence, “there would be no fear from Double Z. For the time at least. Your death is what he wants — provided that he cannot get his million. You have given us a tip to-day. At last we have learned that he is after money. But as I said, if you were dead — if he thought you were dead—”
Matthew Wade brightened suddenly.
“You’ve got it, Cardona!” he exclaimed. “Fake my death! Make him think I’m dead!”
“That would be difficult,” mused Cardona.
“I can do it,” said Wade eagerly. “I can do it. Perfectly. But you’ve got to be with me — because I’m coming back later.”
“How can you work it?” asked Cardona.
“Listen,” said Wade. “I’ve got a great plane — a Lockwood Aryan— that travels two hundred and fifty miles an hour. Suppose I set out for Florida with my pilot. Followed the shore line — and disappeared—”
“I get you,” said Cardona, “but where—”
“Where would I land?” Wade laughed. “I’ve got a thousand-acre place in North Carolina. A landing field there that the natives don’t even know about. My pilot I can trust. We’ll put in there; and I’ll lay low until something breaks that will give you a line on Double Z.”
“It ought to work,” declared Cardona. “It ought to work. Your affairs here, though—”
“That’s easy!” exclaimed Wade. “I’m always set to travel somewhere. I leave for Florida unexpectedly. No one knows about it until after I’m gone. I may be off on a long trip. My plane is presumably lost at sea. What happens here?”
“They settle your estate,” said Cardona shortly.
“Not right away,” replied Wade. “They haven’t found the body. There’s no proof that I’m dead. They’ve got to wait.
“Meanwhile, you may have this Double Z mess under control. If it comes to a pinch and I have to get back, you can notify me. I’ll be living in comfort, and Double Z will think that death cheated him of a victim.”
The big man began to chuckle. His whole manner had changed. Cardona began to admire the merits of the scheme, particularly because he had been its sponsor.
“That’s a go?” asked Wade, proffering his hand.
“Yes,” said Cardona, shaking.
“Keep the letter,” said Wade. “Hold it for evidence. Not a word to any one — my life depends on it!”
“You can count on me,” said Cardona, and Wade could tell that the detective meant it. Joe Cardona was a man of his word.
“You’re the only person I’m trusting,” said Wade solemnly. “The only one except my pilot, and he’ll be with me.”
“Right,” said Cardona.
On his way back to headquarters, the detective’s ears still rang with the congratulations which Wade had showered upon him for bringing the thought that had led to this magnificent scheme. They had made the final arrangements. Cardona was to keep his knowledge to himself and to wait for word from Wade. The millionaire, his confidence restored, had shown a return of bravery.
“I might decide to come back,” he had said in parting. “Incognito, you know. If I do, the one place I’ll pop up will be in your office. I like danger, Cardona, if I have a chance to study it. I can do that better in North Carolina than there.”
Long after midnight a small coupe slipped away from a side entrance of Matthew Wade’s home. It traveled to a Long Island airport. There Matthew Wade boarded his plane. The motor whirred; the ship rose and pointed down along the Jersey coast.
Only a few persons present knew who was in the plane. The news spread. There was an item for the newspapers. Matthew Wade had suddenly left New York.
Joe Cardona was among the persons who saw the plane leave. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it safely off. He thought that he alone saw significance in the departure. But he was wrong. Another observer had seen the plane leave — a man in a long, dark coat with upturned collar and broad-brimmed slouch hat.
This man was standing in the background as the plane left the ground. He laughed as the speedy airplane ascended, and his laugh was a strange one. It was weird but mirthless, that laugh. It was a laugh that would have startled Joe Cardona had he heard it, for the eerie sound was the laugh of The Shadow!
How had the mysterious man of the dark arrived at that spot? Only he knew. His presence there proved that he was ever alert; that through his own observation, or through that of his agents, The Shadow had learned of Joe Cardona’s visit to the home of Matthew Wade.
But the detective did not know of The Shadow’s presence. The dark-clad man was scarcely visible upon the gloomy field, over which the faint gray of dawn was just appearing. His laugh, too, was unnoticed. It was lost in the roar of the departing plane.
CHAPTER XX. CARDONA’S TRIUMPH
A WIZENED old man sat in a little room, staring over the curving banks of the Harlem River. He was in a veritable watchtower — the third story of an old building on the border of the Bronx. On the desk before him lay a pile of newspapers.
The old man laughed and showed his toothless gums. He was gloating happily. He picked up a newspaper and read its screaming headlines. He laid his head upon the desk and chuckled convulsively.
The headlines which so pleased the old man dealt with the death of Matthew Wade. The famous millionaire sportsman had been lost at sea in his airplane. But it was the wording of that heading that caused the wizened man’s greatest glee. It flashed its message for all the world to see:
WADE A VICTIM OF DOUBLE Z PLOT
While the old man still chuckled wildly, a buzzer sounded. The hideous creature pressed a button at the side of his desk. He held it with his thumb while a portion of the opposite wall moved aside.
A short man stepped through the opening. The old man raised his thumb from the button. The wall closed. The man who had entered turned. It was Luke Froy, the Chinese-American.
The newcomer sat down beside the desk. He waited for the old man’s wild chuckling to end. The last spasm ceased, and the wizened creature stared at his visitor.
“I have followed your instructions, sir,” he said.
“You mailed just one letter?”
“Yes, Mr. Shellmann.”
The old man became solemn. He picked up an envelope that lay upon the desk. It bore the name of Zachary Shellmann, typed in neat letters. Shellmann tore the envelope to bits and carefully burned the pieces.
“Is everything safe, Luke?” he inquired seriously.
“Yes, sir. Of course, that trouble at Loy Rook’s is still a slight source of worry to me—”
Luke Froy noted an expression of annoyance on Zachary Shellmann’s face. He hastened to reassure the old man.
“It is too bad, that’s all,” he said. “The police have no idea of my connection there.”
“That is good,” exclaimed the old man with satisfaction. “That is good. Look at this, Luke” — he passed the newspaper to the Chinaman— “read it to me. I long to hear it—”
Luke Froy read:
“Matthew Wade was killed by Double Z. Again the police have bungled. Detective Joe Cardona now admits receiving a message from Double Z. He stated that he had intended to keep secret, to protect Wade. This letter was received at headquarters on Monday morning.
“Exactly twenty-four hours later, while Wade and his pilot were winging southward, every newspaper office in New York city received a duplicate of the message which had been sent to Cardona. In view of this, it is safe to say that the disappearance of the plane was engineered by Double Z—”