“So Varden called you—”
“To give away Cowry’s game. He was excited. When I didn’t come quick, he got cold feet, wrote this note, and beat it. Maybe he’s a crook — maybe he isn’t. That all depends on what we learn about the San Salvador Importing Company.”
Cardona paused emphatically. The puzzled look disappeared from Markham’s face. The detective sergeant voiced his approval of Cardona’s theory.
“Say, Joe!” he exclaimed admiringly. “You sure get to things quick. I’ve got it now. Varden is probably a big shot with the importing company. He’ll be in a jam if it’s phony.”
“These papers prove it,” returned Cardona. “There’s letters here, showing Varden’s connection with the outfit.”
“You should have gotten here sooner,” decided Markham. “Then you could have grabbed this guy Varden.”
“I know it,” grunted Cardona. “Well — I couldn’t have pinched him anyhow. He’d have talked about Seth Cowry, maybe, but I wouldn’t have had any evidence to arrest Varden. We’ll have to look into this San Salvador proposition first. An importing company. Looks like it may be a job for the department of justice.”
CARDONA began to gather up the scattered documents. He laid them in a stack on the table. To them, he added the note that bore Worth Varden’s signature.
“We’ll take this stuff down to headquarters,” announced Cardona. “We’ll hold it there. If Varden comes back, he can call us about it. In the meantime, I’m going to make sure of one thing.”
“What’s that?” queried Detective Sergeant Markham.
“That Varden isn’t somewhere in this house,” returned Cardona. “Shut that door and lock it. Then we can look around a bit. If we don’t find anything, we’ll pick up this stuff and take it with us.”
As though to secure the papers, Cardona replaced them in the drawer. He closed the drawer, saw the sheet of gray paper on the desk, and brushed it to one side. Markham had turned to close the door that led to the corridor. There were no eyes watching now. The Shadow had returned to gloom.
The door went shut. Markham turned the key. Cardona went to an opposite door. It was locked and held a key. The detective turned it and opened the door, to find that it led into a living room.
“Come along,” said Joe to Markham. “We’ll give the place the once-over. But I’ll bet we won’t find Worth Varden.”
The detectives went into the darkened living room. Silence pervaded the lighted study. There, in the desk drawer, lay the documents which Joe Cardona had accepted as proof positive that Worth Varden had fled the city, because of complications involving him with the San Salvador Importing Company.
On the desk lay a gray sheet of paper. Cardona had rejected it as of no consequence. Little did the ace detective realize that he had overlooked the one real clew that might have led him to the trail of a superfiend!
Gray Fist! The gray sheet was a token of a master crook’s evil toils. Yet to Joe Cardona it was no more than a scrap of useless paper.
Joe Cardona had missed the beginning of the trail. In so doing, however, he had left its discovery to another. Invisible eyes had seen Cardona’s actions; listening ears had heard Cardona’s comments.
Waiting and watching, The Shadow was ready to examine clews which the ace detective had rejected!
CHAPTER V
THE GRAY PAPER
SHORTLY after Cardona and Markham had left Worth Varden’s study, a motion occurred at the door which led to the corridor through which the detectives had entered.
The key began to turn in the lock. It was operating under the pressure of some instrument that had been inserted from the other side. Uncannily, the key completed its twist, without the slightest click. The knob of the door turned noiselessly. The door opened.
Blackness projected itself into the lighted room. From this mass materialized a living form. Like a ghost from spectral regions, a tall figure assumed the shape of a being clad in black.
The Shadow had entered.
The folds of a black cloak draped The Shadow’s body. As the tall stranger moved across the floor, the cloak swished and showed a flash of crimson lining. The face of The Shadow remained unseen. The upturned collar of the cloak; the broad brim of the black slouch hat which The Shadow wore — these hid all except a pair of burning eyes that turned directly toward the desk in the center of the room.
Minutes were at the disposal of The Shadow. While Cardona and Markham were looking through the house, the master investigator had his opportunity to form theories of his own. Would they be different from the idea that Cardona had expressed? Only The Shadow knew!
Like Cardona, The Shadow went to the drawer of Worth Varden’s desk. A gloved hand opened the drawer. It plucked forth the papers that Cardona had examined. Standing beside the desk, a tall blot that loomed beneath the light, The Shadow began an examination of the documents.
The papers which pertained to the San Salvador Importing Company were bona fide. A quick inspection proved that fact. The Shadow, like Cardona, compared the note that was with the papers. This was the message, with Varden’s signature, which stated that the importer had fled.
A soft laugh escaped The Shadow’s hidden lips. A gloved hand began to open other drawers. All were empty except one — this held some sheets of blank white paper. The Shadow withdrew one. He picked up a fountain pen that lay upon Varden’s desk, and wrote a few words.
Another comparison; again the laugh. The Shadow had detected something wrong with Varden’s supposed confession. Although the importer had evidently written it in this study — at least, so Cardona had supposed — there were two factors which made The Shadow doubt the fact.
The paper on which the message appeared was of different quality than the paper in Varden’s desk drawer. The ink used in the message was of differing hue from the ink which was in Varden’s fountain pen. The Shadow knew at once that the note could not have been written by Worth Varden after the importer’s telephone call to Joe Cardona.
The deduction was masterful because of its simplicity. It showed the keen directness of The Shadow’s methods. It gave The Shadow a prompt inkling to the fact that the note might be a forgery.
KEEN eyes studied the writing on the suspected note. A tiny glass, of microscopic qualities, appeared between The Shadow’s thumb and forefinger. The eye that studied the writing through that lens saw the inscribed letters raised to great size. The eye of The Shadow detected proof of forgery.
The edges of the inked lines were blurred. They proved that the writer of this note had worked slowly; that he had copied some actual writing of Worth Varden. The forgery was an excellent one — when not subjected to microscopic examination. Yet the forger had unwittingly left the tell-tale marks through the very care which he had exercised.
The Shadow laughed softly. He crumpled the sheet of paper on which he had sampled Varden’s ink. It disappeared beneath his cloak. Burning eyes surveyed the room, while a gloved hand replaced the examined papers in the desk drawer.
The Shadow was working out his theory. He had discovered facts of vital importance. He noted a ticking clock upon a side table; his keen brain began to take in the time element involved, in this mysterious and peculiar case.
Worth Varden had called Joe Cardona nearly one hour ago. At that time, the importer had probably been alone. He had desired Joe Cardona’s presence here. The detective had promised to come. Varden had stated that he had facts to show regarding a racketeer named Seth Cowry.
No such evidence was present now. All that Cardona had found were documents that incriminated Worth Varden, without mention of Seth Cowry. The Shadow knew that events during the past hour had brought about an important change.