A blackened pick probed the lock of the door. The barrier opened. The Shadow entered a dark room.
The door closed; the lock clicked. Tiny rays of a flashlight showed Room 642 to be the living room of a small suite.
Curtained French windows lay beyond. The Shadow glided to them. His gloved fingers loosened a catch.
His hands opened the barriers. With a soft laugh, The Shadow stepped out upon a darkened balcony.
He closed the windows with a slight jar. The catch dropped back in place.
His pliable briefcase beneath his cloak, the door of the room locked; the catch closed on the French windows — not a sign remained of The Shadow’s strange entry and exit.
The Shadow had trailed the gypsy Valdo. Through him, he had uncovered Rodney Casper. Soon the pair would be within the living room. There, The Shadow would observe them.
Last night, The Shadow had dropped Valdo, in order to deal with Marty Lunk. Tonight, he had again picked up Valdo’s trail. Apparently, two cases had concerned The Shadow.
Yet two were one. Between Lunk and Valdo lay an important link, through which The Shadow had traced both gangleader and gypsy. Though Valdo was not a member of Marty’s mob, the dark-skinned man knew much about the defeated crook’s affairs.
Wisely, The Shadow divined that Valdo would talk to Rodney Casper. Marty Lunk would be discussed.
Before this evening ended, The Shadow would know new facts concerning crime.
The body at the morgue — the occupants of the house where Valdo lived — the mission of Rodney Casper in New York — these were important matters that The Shadow had come to learn!
CHAPTER VI. VALDO’S SCHEME
“Ese es su sitio, Valdo. Quiere hacer el favor de sentarse?”
“Si, senor. Garcias.”
Rodney Casper and Valdo had arrived in the hotel room. The man from the steamship was inviting the gypsy to take a chair beside the window. Valdo’s teeth formed a gleaming smile as the gypsy heard the words in Spanish. It was a language which Valdo understood.
“El buen castellano,” remarked Casper. Then, in English: “We must forget our Spanish. Valdo, except when emergency makes it advisable. You have learned to speak English surprisingly well. It would be best to cultivate it.”
“Yes,” acknowledged Valdo. “I agree that it is wise.”
“You are a remarkable fellow, Valdo,” stated Casper, eyeing the gypsy shrewdly. “Most of your tribe speak nothing but their own language. I remember when you were with the Gitanos in Spain. You were their interpreter.”
“That is what I have always been,” returned Valdo.
“In Italy, among the Zingari as they called the Rom there. When I was with the Czigany — it was the same as with the Gitanos in Spain. The Rom are one; but I have journeyed with different tribes. That is why they have always asked me to talk to the gaje.”
Casper was nodding as he stared at Valdo. Drawing a case from his pocket, he extracted a cork-tipped cigarette and lighted it. Neither Casper nor Valdo were looking toward the French windows. They did not see the eyes that were watching through transparent curtains.
The Shadow had cleverly locked the windows behind him. Had he needed to do so, he could have reopened them with his thin pick. But The Shadow did not require this. From his position, he could view the moving lips of Casper and Valdo. He had read their Spanish statements; he was observing their remarks in English. To The Shadow, the words were as plain as if he had heard the spoken voices.
“It is well,” declared Casper. “English is best while we are in New York. I have passed as Frenchman, Spaniard, Englishman — the last named is best while I am in New York. I am a cosmopolitan, Valdo — at home in any country.”
CASPER puffed his cigarette. His eyebrows narrowed. He looked about him uneasily, as though to make sure that no one could be listening. Valdo seemed to know the question that was coming, as Casper leaned forward and hissed:
“What of Mandrez? Have you found him?”
“Yes.” Valdo’s reply was solemn. “I have found him. He is dead.”
“You fool!” Casper drew back with clenched fists. “You killed him!”
“Me na chinghiom les!” protested Valdo, in his gypsy dialect. Then, realizing that his words were not understood, he repeated: “I did not kill him. I found him — dead.”
“Where?”
“In the place they call the morgue.”
Casper’s eyes opened wide. The shrewd-faced man stepped forward as Valdo drew a clipping from his pocket. Holding the newspaper item to the light, Rodney Casper read the details of the finding of a body in the river.
“I went to see,” explained Valdo. “I found him — Mandrez. I pretended that I did not know him. There was a smart man there — a detective — who told the others that the dead man was Spanish.
“This detective asked me if I was Rom. I told him yes. I said the dead man was gajo — no Rom. They asked me nothing more. But I had seen Mandrez — dead.”
“I wanted to find him living!” snarled Casper, pounding his right fist against his open left hand. “I would have made him tell his story. Those gems he stole were worth millions, Valdo. He did not know how to get their proper value!”
Rodney Casper chewed his lips; then, in an easy tone, he urged the gypsy to reply.
“Tell me, Valdo,” he said. “You knew that Mandrez stole those gems. He was the only one who knew their hiding place. You followed him to America. You did not believe him when he said that he was coming to meet me in Buenos Aires.
“I offered Mandrez fifty thousand dollars to get the jewels for me. That was ample for his work. I could have sold the gems for nearly their full value. But Mandrez came to New York. He double-crossed me, Valdo.”
“More money,” interposed the gypsy, with an ugly smile. “That is what Mandrez wanted. That is why he came to New York.”
“To turn the jewels over to a gang of low-class crooks,” growled Casper. “Figuring on a larger share. They killed him. They have the gems. All is futile, Valdo.”
“No.” The gypsy’s face seemed to reflect the shrewdness which Casper had shown. “I do not think the gems are lost. Gangsters — they may have killed Mandrez — but not while he still had the gems from Spain.”
“What makes you think that, Valdo?”
“Mandrez was no fool.” The gypsy was emphatic. “He knew much, did Mandrez. I think that he had talk with some man who has much money. That man promised him more than do you.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Casper puffed hard at the cigarette. “Yes — that would be the game. Mandrez could have told the truth to some millionaire. Gems — of fabulous wealth — hidden in the Duke of Almanza’s castle near Seville.
“Gems that the republicans would seize, could they discover them. Forfeited wealth, which the Duke of Almanza never could reclaim. Mandrez knew the hiding place. All he wanted was the guarantee of purchase — a sum greater than the fifty thousand that I had offered him. He had the transportation money which I had forwarded him.
“You are right, Valdo. Mandrez would not have dealt with crooks. He had fifty thousand dollars sure from me. He wanted more — he also wanted some one whose high repute would be protection.”
Casper paused to speculate. So far he had traced a theory. He was trying to puzzle out the subsequent events.
“Mandrez,” he muttered. “One time servant of the banished Duke of Almanza. Unclaimed wealth — millions that Mandrez could sell to the highest bidder. That much is plain. But after that—”
“Mandrez had the money,” interposed Valdo. “You see? Much money. That is when the crooks find him. They take away the money. They throw Mandrez deep in the river. With pieces of iron, so large—”