“Well,” he said, “we’ll take a chance on the burglar.”
“Of course,” agreed Biscayne. “Your discovery of the marks on the window ledge have proven of great value.”
Cardona accepted the compliment a trifle sullenly. Biscayne might also have mentioned the silver marks on Harshaw’s finger nails, he thought.
No one was speaking now, so Cardona used the opportunity to make a disclosure that would surely meet with commendation.
“Regarding these notes,” he said. “If there’s a third, we’ll know where it came from. I’ve had the post office working on the letters.
“We know already that they were mailed from somewhere close to the Redan Hotel. They’re on the watch now for No. 3.”
“Good!” said Biscayne.
The commissioner nodded approvingly. “I’ve got plenty of work cut out tonight,” said Cardona, rising. “But I’m going to be pretty close to the Redan Hotel, all along. There’ll be other men around there, too — laying low. If Mayhew gives the signal, there won’t be a chance for the guy to get away.”
Biscayne arose also. He accompanied Cardona as they left the commissioner’s office. The two men chatted in a friendly manner on their way to the ground floor.
When they reached the street, Biscayne hailed a cab. He paused to make a few low-voiced remarks as he shook hands with the detective.
“I’m making it my job to work with you, Cardona,” he said. “You can count on me in any way. Whatever theories I have are for your benefit. You’re the man who gets the results.”
“All right, professor,” said Cardona agreeably. “I’m going to get the murderer, no matter how big he is. I’ll get him even if he happens to be—”
“The Shadow,” interposed Biscayne, as he stepped into the cab.
Cardona stood dumfounded as the taxi whirled away.
What had Biscayne meant? Had he talked with Commissioner Weston?
Was his remark a jest? A suggestion? A challenge?
Cardona did not know; but he realized that if Biscayne had intended to make him think, he had succeeded.
For the name of The Shadow was buzzing now, through the detective’s head.
“The Shadow,” thought Cardona. “He’s come in before, when I’ve been hitting it tough. The Shadow’s on the up-and-up. He wouldn’t be mixed in with murder.
“But it’s the stuff he goes after; the smartest crooks are the ones he battles. I wouldn’t be surprised if The Shadow shows up before this is all over!”
Try as he might, Cardona could not concentrate on his problems as he wended his way uptown. One thought kept dominating his brain. He was thinking of The Shadow.
Cardona was in a strangely abstract mood when he arrived at the Redan Hotel to give instructions to Mayhew.
CHAPTER V
DEATH IN THE DARK
DETECTIVE SERGEANT MAYHEW began his unusual duty the moment that Joe Cardona left Silas Harshaw’s apartment.
The big door that led to the hall had been repaired; so had the door between the outer room and the study. They had been fitted with locks instead of bolts, and Mayhew had the keys.
Presumably, Mayhew left the hotel shortly after Cardona. The detectives held a brief discussion in the lobby, and there was no doubt that their words were overheard.
Mayhew stated that he would be at headquarters within an hour, and he turned in the keys of the apartment at the desk.
Cardona went out through the lobby. Mayhew went into the dining room.
From there, Mayhew went to a small side door, but instead of leaving the hotel, he doubled up the stairway, and returned to the murdered man’s apartment. Duplicate keys were in his pocket.
There were several guests in the lobby when Cardona left. One of these was a tall, solemn-faced man who was resting leisurely in a large, comfortable chair.
Another was a powerful, thickset man who lounged in a corner, reading a newspaper. Shortly after Cardona’s departure, this individual went out of the hotel.
The tall man remained for nearly an hour, then he strolled to the street. He did not return. He was not in the lobby when the thickset individual came back at midnight.
Only the clerk remained in the lobby. He was half asleep. At times he roused himself and glanced toward the front; then, gradually, his head lowered.
It was during one of these lapses that the clerk’s eyes became suddenly focused upon a pillar midway between the revolving door and the desk.
A dull light projected from the top of the pillar, and its rays illuminated the entire post. As the clerk was watching, he saw a human shadow move slowly across the post!
Astounded, the man looked toward the floor. There he saw the same shadow; lengthening in an uncanny fashion.
It grew, then dwindled as it continued its even progress toward the interior of the lobby.
The clerk gripped the edge of the desk and shuddered as he watched that mysterious blot travel silently toward the darkened stairway.
Wildly, he sought to discover the living form that the weird shadow represented. He could observe nothing but that moving blackness.
As the gliding shadow reached the bottom of the stairway, it rose against the wall. There, for a brief moment, the clerk fancied that it took on a human form.
Upright, the mass of blackness shrank and seemed to assume a solidity. Then it merged with the darkness — and was gone.
What could it be?
The shadowy shape was no longer visible as it moved upward. It did not appear again until it arrived at the tenth floor.
There it emerged from the stairway and slowly transformed itself into a tall, upright form. It approached the door of Silas Harshaw’s apartment, where it assumed the proportions of a human being.
An odd-appearing figure, he stood beside the silent door. He was clad in a black cloak. He wore a black slouch hat that was turned down to cover his features.
There was a weird, sinister appearance in this man. In motion, his easy, gliding stride was uncanny. Standing still, he was even more mysterious.
Minutes ticked by, and the man of the dark gave no sign that he was alive. Then, from hidden lips, came a soft, whispered laugh.
The eerie sound throbbed through the hallway, and echoed back from the walls. It was the laugh of The Shadow!
The pulsating softness of those mysterious reverberations could not be heard through the barrier before which The Shadow stood.
Nor could Mayhew, on the other side of the door, possibly have heard the sound that followed. Metal clicked against metal, yet the noise was scarcely audible.
A key had been inserted in the lock. It worked as perfectly as the duplicate which Mayhew had retained.
The knob turned. The door opened, inch by inch.
THERE was a single light in the outer room of the apartment. The door to the study was closed. It was a tight-fitting barrier, and Mayhew was safe with his single light, for no rays could filter into the adjacent room.
It was not the light that The Shadow watched, however. The eyes that were hidden beneath the soft-brimmed hat were studying the detective.
Mayhew was comfortably seated in an easy-chair in the corner of the room. By turning his head from left to right, he could view either door, as he chose.
The Shadow was now inside the room. The door closed silently behind him.
Mayhew, totally oblivious, puffed deeply from his cigar, blew a cloud of smoke ceilingward, and rested his head against the back of the easy-chair.
Simultaneously, The Shadow glided directly in front of him.
The black-clad form seemed to dwindle as it swept noiselessly across the room. The man beneath the cloak had shrunk to half his former size.
While Mayhew still continued to speculate upon the swirling tendencies of heavy smoke, The Shadow arrived at the far end of the room.