He hung up the receiver and looked at the commissioner. Cardona spoke and reached in his pocket at the same time.
“An old man found dead,” he said. “Shot through the heart. An old inventor. Living alone in an apartment at the Redan Hotel.”
Weston looked up inquiringly.
“The dead man’s name is Silas Harshaw!” added Cardona.
Weston noted an emphasis on the name. “Silas Harshaw?” he repeated. “Who is Silas Harshaw?”
Cardona flung the envelope triumphantly upon the table, and stared squarely at the commissioner.
“Silas Harshaw,” said the detective, “is S. H.!”
CHAPTER II
A STRANGE DEATH
EARLY evening found Detective Joe Cardona in Silas Harshaw’s apartment at the Redan Hotel. There, the detective anxiously awaited the arrival of Commissioner Ralph Weston.
The death of the old inventor was the very type of mystery that the commissioner had been awaiting.
Harshaw’s suite occupied one entire side of the building. It was on the top floor of the old hotel.
Cardona stood at the entrance of the apartment, beside the door which had been smashed from its hinges.
Within the apartment was Detective Sergeant Mayhew, who was taking orders from Cardona.
A clinking sound announced the ascending of the elevator. The slow-moving car was on its way to the tenth floor. When it arrived, two men stepped out.
One was Commissioner Weston. The other was a tall, stoop-shouldered man, whose shrewd eyes peered through gold-rimmed spectacles. The man’s high forehead and overhanging brow indicated him a scholar.
Cardona divined that this was Professor Roger Biscayne. The introduction proved him to be correct.
Cardona was about to lead the way into the apartment when the commissioner stopped him.
“Let us go over this, step by step,” he suggested. “So far, neither Professor Biscayne nor myself know what has happened here.
“We have been discussing Silas Harshaw on the way to this place, and I find that Professor Biscayne knew the old man. Therefore, he may be able to give us some unexpected assistance.”
“Very well,” said Cardona. “This afternoon, Doctor George Fredericks, Harshaw’s physician, called at the hotel and asked if the old man was in his apartment.
“Harshaw had no telephone in the place. He wanted to be alone and undisturbed. A boy came up and tapped at the door. There was no response.
“Doctor Fredericks expressed anxiety. He stated that he feared something had happened to the old man.
“A policeman was summoned. It was necessary to smash the door off its hinges, as it was double-bolted on the inside. There is the wreckage.”
Cardona led the way into a plainly furnished living room and indicated another door at the rear of the room. Like the first, this door was broken also.
“No one was in here,” declared Cardona, “nor was any one in the room that Harshaw used as a laboratory” — he pointed to the other side of the living room — “so they broke into the old man’s study. There, they found his body.”
The three men walked into the study. The doorway formed an entrance at one corner. The study was a long room, with a single window at the far end.
The window was open; but it was covered with an iron grating. It had a projecting sill, beneath which was a radiator. In front of the window lay the body of Silas Harshaw, sprawled face upward.
As the men approached, they saw a bloody wound in the old man’s chest.
A SINGLE bullet had ended the life of Silas Harshaw. Here, in this locked and secluded room, he had been shot to death. Cardona pointed to a door at the side of the room.
“That’s the bedroom,” he said. “It only has one door, opening off this room. It has two windows, both with gratings. Nothing in there. That’s the layout, commissioner.
“Old Harshaw very seldom let visitors in here. He usually met them in the outer room.”
Commissioner Weston turned to Professor Biscayne.
“Tell Cardona what you know about the place,” he said.
“I am familiar with this room,” declared Biscayne. “I visited Silas Harshaw here, perhaps a half dozen times, in the course of the last six months.
“I suppose that you have learned a great deal about him already; let me give you the information which I possess. Then you can check with what you have discovered.
“Silas Harshaw was working on an invention — a remote-control machine. He was very secretive about his plans, and he had very little success in interesting people in them.
“He wrote to me and asked me to visit him, which I did, about six months ago. The old man took me to his laboratory and brought me in here. He showed me just enough of his work to arouse my interest.
“Then it developed that he wanted me to influence my cousin, Arthur Wilhelm, to invest money in the experiments.”
“Arthur Wilhelm, the soap manufacturer?” inquired Cardona.
“Yes,” replied Biscayne. “Arthur is very wealthy. He agreed to let Silas Harshaw have three thousand dollars as a preliminary fund. Harshaw went to work, and I came here occasionally to see how he was progressing. My last visit was two days ago.
“I came here late in the afternoon. Harshaw’s servant, a man named Homer, let me in. Harshaw met me and brought me into this room.
“He said that he was going out for an hour, and asked me to remain here. He gave me a manuscript that he had written on remote control. I read it during his absence. It was crudely scrawled, in longhand, and was very vague in its details.
“After Harshaw returned, he asked me if I could obtain more money from Arthur Wilhelm. I said that I would find out; but I offered no assurance.
“I left at seven o’clock, and Homer went with me. The servant told me that he had been discharged, and that he was not coming back. He did not know why Harshaw had dismissed him. I could have told him, but I refrained from doing so.”
“Why was that?” asked Cardona.
“First,” explained Biscayne, “I think Harshaw must have mistrusted the man. I don’t think he ever left Homer here alone. He insisted that I bolt the door while I was inside here, two days ago.
“Second, Harshaw was planning to take a trip to Florida, for his health. He told me that in confidence. Naturally, he would not need the servant while he was gone. He did not want people to know of his absence.”
“Do you think,” questioned Cardona, “that Harshaw was afraid some one might try to get in here and steal his plans?”
“Yes,” replied Biscayne, “I do. He told me once that he had a model of his remote-control machine, and that he had put it where no one could possibly find it. He also spoke vaguely of enemies.
“He said — I can recall his exact words — that he kept their names in his head, and that was where he kept his plans, also. He said that they would like to steal his model, but that he had planned to prevent them.
“He mentioned those enemies two nights ago, and his remarks might have been construed as threats against those unknown persons. But he was so vague and eccentric in all his statements that it was difficult to get his exact meaning.”
“Do you really think that he had enemies?” Cardona asked.
Biscayne replied with a broad smile:
“Perhaps they were actual only in his own head — as he himself said. Harshaw was an interesting but complex study in psychology, and my contact with him was too occasional to enable me to fathom him.”
CARDONA drew a report sheet from his pocket and referred to notations which he had made.
“We have covered just about everything that you have told me, professor,” said the detective. “We have tried to trace Harshaw’s servant. The man’s name is Homer Briggs. We have been unable to locate him.