Maxwell Grant
Hidden Death
CHAPTER I
CARDONA HAS A HUNCH
RALPH WESTON, police commissioner, was seated at his desk. With one elbow on the broad, glass-topped surface, he rested his chin upon his hand and stared intently at Detective Joe Cardona.
It was the first meeting between the recently appointed police commissioner and the ace detective, who was recognized as the best sleuth in New York.
Beside the commissioner’s elbow rested a large stack of typewritten reports. He had been referring to these.
Now, with the detective actually present, Weston tapped the pile of papers as he spoke.
“I have been studying your records, Cardona,” he said. “I wish to commend you upon the capability which you have displayed. You have been a most important factor in the combat against crime.”
Cardona, swarthy and stern-visaged, showed no change of expression as he heard the compliment. Weston’s commendation pleased him, but the detective had a habit of maintaining his poker face under all circumstances.
Weston, keenly observant, smiled thoughtfully as he watched the detective.
“I have made an exhaustive survey of your work,” the commissioner continued. “I find that you possess a remarkable aptitude in the practical solution of crime problems.
“I note, however, that you seldom resort to theory. That is the matter which I wish to discuss with you today.”
Cardona’s eyes narrowed as he returned the commissioner’s stare.
“Just what do you regard as theory, commissioner?” he questioned.
“All crimes,” explained Weston, “demand a double treatment. Practical methods, such as arrests, grilling, dragnets, and the like, are useful in the majority of cases. Theory, in which crime is considered as a serious study, is just as essential as practice when one is confronted by a baffling problem.”
“That’s well and good, sir,” declared Cardona. “I use theory, but I mix it with practice. My idea is to get at the facts in a case. The quicker you do that, the quicker you get results.
“I can track down half a dozen facts while I might be bothering around with one fancy stunt that would lead to nothing. Get the goods, and forget the rest of it. That’s what works!”
The commissioner was silent. A slow, thin smile appeared upon his lips.
The smile made Joe Cardona uneasy. He felt that his emphatic statement was due for a criticism. He waited, resolved to stand by what he had said.
“You have given me your definite opinion?” questioned the commissioner.
Cardona nodded.
“You actually believe,” continued Weston, “that the final report on a solved case should be free of all extraneous impressions and unsound notions?”
“Certainly,” said Cardona.
“Then why” — Weston’s voice was deliberate as he tapped the typewritten papers — “why have you frequently left an element of profound uncertainty in connection with cases that you have declared to be completely closed?”
Cardona looked puzzled. He tried to grasp the commissioner’s thoughts, but failed. The detective did not know what to reply, and Weston seemed to enjoy Cardona’s bewilderment.
“Let me speak more specifically,” declared Weston, leaning back in his chair. “In at least six of your reports, you have referred definitely to one individual, whom you claim has played an important part.
“You have established this person in your own mind. You have linked him with widely differing affairs. Yet, you have not presented one tangible bit of evidence to prove that this person is a single individual.
“He might be one, as you suggest. He might be three. He might be six. He might” — the commissioner’s voice slowed with emphasis — “he might be none at all!”
“You mean” — Cardona was speaking in a confused manner — “you mean that I — that in those cases—”
“I am referring,” interposed Weston, “to a person whom you have called The Shadow; an individual whom I am forced to regard as mythical.”
THE words were stunning to Cardona. The detective realized that the commissioner had picked his weakness.
To Joe Cardona, The Shadow was a most important personage — a living being who fought with crime, but who had always managed to mask his identity.
Often, during his career, Cardona had been aided by both information and action which had come from an unknown source. The similarity of these instances had convinced him that one man was back of them all.
So far, the detective’s theory had not been seriously questioned at headquarters. Now, the new police commissioner had delivered a bombshell, and Cardona was at loss.
“You say that you deal in facts,” came Weston’s voice. “Therefore, you should form your conclusions upon facts.
“So far as The Shadow is concerned, your only identification is that he is a man dressed in black, who appears and vanishes in a most fantastic fashion!”
“That proves that he is real,” declared Cardona.
“It proves nothing of the sort!” responded Weston. “Suppose, Cardona, that you had come into this office and found me sitting at this desk, wearing a black cloak and a black hat. In accordance with your past policy, you could have gone back to headquarters to report that you had seen The Shadow here. Actually, you would have seen me — with my identity hidden — not even disguised.”
“But the crooks know that The Shadow is real!” protested Cardona. “I’ve heard dying men call out his name. I’ve heard others testify—”
Weston held up his hand, and the detective ended his excited statement.
“What does that prove?” questioned the commissioner smoothly. “It shows one of two things: Either that certain criminals have been deceived as easily as you, or else that those crooks have taken advantage of your weakness, and have deceived you.
“Your fault, Cardona, is lack of analysis, so far as this one point is concerned. You have permitted yourself to fall into an error that could cause you disaster.
“Suppose that criminals at large should learn of this absurd notion? Suppose, also, that your mistaken judgment should be supported by our other detectives?
“Surely you can see the logical result,” continued the commissioner. “Any malefactor who chose to hide himself within the folds of a black cloak would enjoy virtual immunity.” The commissioner smiled.
“He could come and go at will — while in their reports, detectives would mention The Shadow — and that would be the end of it!”
“That’s a bit exaggerated, sir,” objected Cardona. “You’ve got to see my viewpoint. The Shadow doesn’t appear every day in the week — not by a long shot! But whenever he has shown up, it’s always helped.
“I didn’t have to mention him in my reports. None of that stuff went to the newspapers. At the same time, I’m positive that The Shadow was in the picture — and it was my job to say so!”
“Cardona,” said Weston seriously, “I gave you an exaggerated impression merely to enable you to appreciate your own mistakes.
“No thinking man could share your views on this matter of The Shadow. Let us agree that some unknown person, or persons, can be connected with certain crimes that have occurred.
“To give that person, or those persons, an identity that is vague and uncertain is an unwarranted procedure.
“As your superior, I am instructing you at this time to make no such references in the future. Should you discover any one who has cloaked himself in black and has adopted the name of The Shadow, you may make a report to that effect.
“‘John Doe, alias The Shadow,’ would be an actuality. The Shadow — as a personality — is nonexistent. Is that clear?”
Cardona nodded. He saw perfectly the commissioner’s point. Weston was right. Nevertheless, Cardona could not fully reject his own impressions.