It was a pad of paper. Zull started to step across the room. Burke could tell that his objective was the pad.
Suddenly, Zull stopped. He turned to Detective Crowell.
“That’s enough here, Crowell,” he snapped. “Take the boys downstairs if you want to tell them more.”
“All right, sir.”
BURKE and his companion were ushered to the steps. As they started to descend, Burke turned suddenly.
“Must have left my notes up there,” he said. He started up the stairs. Before he reached the top, he stopped. “No,” he laughed, “here they are, in my pocket!”
He rejoined the other men and they descended to the street.
Before Crowell left the two reporters, to return upstairs, Burke asked him a single question.
“Will Inspector Zull have anything to say before he leaves?”
“He’ll have something to say,” rejoined Crowell with a grin, “but not to you fellows. He always looks around a while and keeps things to himself. Wants to check up on us, you know.
“He may give me a couple of suggestions. Same with Devlin, who will be here inside half an hour. Devlin was out when we got wind of this. They sent me up ahead.”
With that, Crowell went back into the building.
Burke looked at his companion. The other reporter shrugged his shoulders. Burke drew him to a street lamp. This was an isolated spot, a quiet zone amidst the roar of New York.
“Let’s see what you got,” said Burke, glancing at the notes the other reporter held.
“Not a lot,” was the reply. “Zull is a cagey bird. I’ve run into him before. We’ll have to slide down to headquarters on this case.
“Devlin will know more after he talks with Crowell and Zull. There he goes now.”
Burke looked up just in time to see a short, broad-shouldered man turn into the entrance that led upstairs to the room where Harkness had been murdered.
“He’ll spend half an hour with Zull,” commented the reporter, while Burke was checking the notes. “Maybe more. Maybe we’d better stick here and pump Devlin when he comes out.”
“I’m going to turn in what I’ve got,” replied Burke.
He left the other reporter and walked to Seventh Avenue. There, he found a public phone booth and called a number.
IT was not the number of the New York Classic. It was an unlisted special number that Burke called on important occasions. A quiet voice answered him.
“Burke calling,” said Clyde. “Reporting on Harkness murder.”
“Go ahead.”
Burke gave the simple details that he had received from Detective Crowell. He added that Acting Inspector Zull was on the job. Then he stressed an important point, speaking in a low voice.
“Zull has found something important,” he said. “A pad of paper — lying on a bookcase. He was going to pick it up, but didn’t. He told us to leave. We went.
“But I came up the steps again — just far enough to see the bookcase. The pad was gone. I think Zull took it.”
“Purpose?” came the quiet voice.
“I don’t know — unless he wants to take credit on this case, which is likely. Crowell evidently didn’t notice the pad. Devlin is coming up — he’s there now.
“Maybe Zull wants to study the pad alone, without the detectives knowing it. He’s an efficiency man — special investigator — and it may mean something to him to get dope the others don’t have. It’s got me puzzled.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Burke was still puzzling over the matter when he started for police headquarters. He had given his report to a man whom he had never met; but whose voice he knew well. The man was known to him as Burbank and through him, Burke’s messages were relayed to another man whose name Clyde did not even know.
For Burbank, like Burke, was an agent of that mysterious person known as The Shadow — a superman who defeated the master minds of gangdom with their own methods.
The Shadow was interested in the death of Richard Harkness. He was interested in all mysterious murders. Clyde Burke, now on the staff of the New York Classic, was an ideal man to serve The Shadow’s purposes.
BACK in the room where the body of Richard Harkness lay, Acting Inspector Zull was talking with the two detectives. Devlin was a more experienced man than Crowell. He was inspecting carefully, and Zull was watching him approvingly.
Devlin had just come from headquarters. He was telling Zull of other investigations that were under way in connection with this case.
The housekeeper was being quizzed. Lester — young associate of the murdered man — was at headquarters.
“It looks like the solution has got to lay right here,” was Devlin’s comment. “Crowell and I have got about all the data we can get. You haven’t any suggestions that might help, have you, Inspector?”
“You’re doing a thorough job, Devlin,” replied Zull. “You’re in charge now. I’m going down to headquarters.”
He descended the stairs and stood at the street door. His keen, shrewd eyes roamed in both directions. Suddenly, they became centered upon a spot across the street.
Zull glanced at his watch. Immediately afterward, he again concentrated on that spot.
“Pretty near an hour since the reporters went,” he said half aloud. “They got wind of it quick. I wonder—”
He strolled out into the street. He crossed casually and went by the place that he had been observing. It was dark here, and Zull threw a sidelong glance at the blackness of a building wall.
“Maybe I was imagining,” he said. “It did look as if something was moving — something like a shadow—”
He strolled along the street and passed a light. A few yards farther on he stopped and turned as though remembering something.
His eyes were upon the glare beneath the light. There, he detected a peculiar shadow — it seemed almost to resemble the silhouette of a man.
There was a grim smile on Zull’s face as he continued his way slowly along the street. He stopped at a little alleyway that led between two buildings. There he paused thoughtfully. He could see the outline of the top of a wall twenty feet within the alley.
The place was a cul-de-sac — a veritable trap with its only outlet to the street. Inspector Zull strolled onward. Again he stopped.
This time, he turned and began to retrace his steps.
His scheme was well planned and well timed. The shrewd detective inspector was sure that he was being followed. If so, the man who had been behind him in the darkness should be close to the little blind alleyway.
It would be the logical place for the follower to hide. Zull grinned as he realized that the trap was set.
He proceeded carefully until he reached the corner of the cul-de-sac. There he paused and brought two objects from his pockets a flashlight and an automatic.
PEERING around the edge of the wall, the inspector turned the rays of his torch into the little alleyway. They revealed a short, narrow, stone court, with a brick wall at the end.
There were shadows there — deep shadows yet no sign of a living being. Zull had his gun ready, but he was not anxious to use it until he found his man — and the man seemed absent. If there happened to be a human being lurking in that darkness, it was plain that Zull had trapped him.
Still, the inspector sensed danger. The man could fire at him from the gloom. Nevertheless, Zull felt that he had the advantage.
In the space of twenty seconds, Zull had eliminated all parts of the cul-de-sac, except two shadowy corners near the far wall. Zull now doubted that any one could be there. But it would be easy to find out.
He turned out the flashlight and crept into the darkness. He weaved his way inward, his automatic moving backward and forward in his hand.