Wyngarth had collapsed in a chair. He looked up to see Junius Tharbel facing him. The county detective had entered the room after the removal of the dog.
“It looks like the hound knew you,” he remarked.
“I never saw the dog before,” whined Wyngarth.
“The dog knew you,” reminded Tharbel. “He took to you, and no one else.” Wyngarth was silent.
“The dog,” added Tharbel, “belonged to Mox.”
Wyngarth clenched his fists; and cowered in his chair. His eyes were wild as they stared toward Tharbel.
“I’ve got nothing to say!” shrieked the prisoner. “Nothing! Nothing!”
“Very well.” Tharbel seemed indifferent. “We’ll keep you as our guest for a while, and see how you enjoy it.”
The county detective called for Scudder. The assistant arrived. Tharbel ordered him to take Wyngarth back to a cell. The prisoner became defiant as he was being led from the room.
“I’ll never talk!” he cried.
“No?” questioned Tharbel. “Well, we’ll find out about that. Remember, Wyngarth, any time that you are ready to make a statement, you can do so. Simply, ask to be brought to me. I’ll be glad to see you.”
There was a quiet impressiveness about Tharbel’s statement. The words had their effect upon Wyngarth. The tall man’s stooped shoulders seemed to sag as the men swung him through the hallway. Tharbel beckoned to the men who had been patiently standing beyond the door.
“That’s that,” he said, as the crowd entered the room which contained daylight. “I’ve landed the man I want. When Hoyt Wyngarth confesses, we’ll know all there is to know about Mox.”
“Aren’t you going to grill him?” demanded Joe Cardona.
“I have completed my examination of the prisoner,” returned Tharbel. “When he talks, it will be of his own volition. He will send for me.”
Turning about, Tharbel spied his fat-faced friend Hollis Harman and the hunter’s companion, Wade Hosth. He beckoned to the pair.
“Let’s get started,” he suggested. “We’ll go back and do some shooting. Scudder” — this to the assistant who had just returned — “when Wyngarth wants to talk, send for me. I’ll be staying out at the lodge.”
JOE CARDONA stood rooted for a full minute after Junius Tharbel had departed with his friends. When the detective turned about, he found himself with a trio consisting of Cuthbert Challick, Joel Neswick, and Scudder. The reporters had followed after Junius Tharbel.
“This beats me,” growled Joe. “Tharbel gets the goods on a guy, then won’t try to make him talk.”
“That’s his way,” interposed Scudder. “I’ve seen him try it before. I guess he figures that the prisoner will worry himself until he weakens.”
“Well,” remarked Neswick, with a smile, “that keeps me over at the inn for a while longer. I can’t say that I mind it. Let’s go over and have lunch, Scudder.”
The two men went out. Joe Cardona was alone with Cuthbert Challick. The detective turned to the tall inventor.
“There’s no reason why you’ve got to stay,” remarked Joe. “You’ve made your statement. You’re not a material witness. I’m going to stay out here until Hoyt Wyngarth talks. If you’ll let me know where you will be in New York—”
“I think I shall remain here,” interposed Challick. “This case is becoming very interesting. Tharbel’s dog test was good — so far as it went. Yes, I shall stay in Darport for a few days at least. Suppose we go over and join Neswick at lunch.”
“I’ll be along in a few minutes,” said Cardona, as they walked from the room. “I want to talk with these fellows who brought Wyngarth in from Albany.”
Outside the jail, Cardona found the men he wanted. He saw Challick’s tall form strolling toward the inn as he talked with the Albany detectives. As Challick disappeared from view, something that an Albany man said aroused Cardona from his lethargy.
“Tharbel is smart,” was the comment. “He grabs Wyngarth. The dog knows the guy. You can’t beat that. I’d like to see somebody else pull one as smooth as that.”
Cardona thrust his hands in his pocket. He stalked away. Growling as he walked toward the inn, he expressed his antagonism toward Junius Tharbel.
“Thought he was smart,” grunted Joe. “Found Neswick. I trumped that when I found Challick. He’s overplayed me now — with that note naming Wyngarth. The dog knows Wyngarth, all right.
“Say” — Cardona stopped short, and his lips moved as he spoke to himself, half aloud — “if I could get a break like that! Find a guy that the dog would recognize! That would make Tharbel look cheap!”
Something crinkled as Cardona clenched his fist within his pocket. Wondering, the detective brought out a crumpled sheet of paper. His eyes bulged as he read the scrawl that ended with the signed letter “S.”
Cardona, like Tharbel, had gained possession of a mysterious note. Like the message which Cardona had seen on Tharbel’s desk, this one began with the words: “You want Mox—”
But instead of Hoyt Wyngarth, in Albany, it named Irving Salbrook, in New York!
A grim smile spread over Cardona’s features. The sleuth saw the opportunity.
The letter “S.” Who it meant, Cardona did not know. But he held a lurking thought that the letter had a double meaning now. To Cardona, “S” signified The Shadow!
He was sure that the mysterious stranger who moved by stealth had thrust his amazing hand into the affairs that surrounded the affairs of Mox, the superfiend.
When he reached the inn, Cardona went to a telephone before he joined the others at lunch. He called New York detective headquarters, and talked with Inspector Timothy Klein. All arrangements were made to snag Irving Salbrook, if he could be located in New York.
Junius Tharbel had applied the test on Hoyt Wyngarth. Joe Cardona had a hunch that he, too, would have occasion to soon apply the same test on another prisoner.
CHAPTER XVI
CARDONA’S TEST
AT dusk the next day, a coupe pulled up in front of Hollis Harman’s hunting lodge. From the car stepped Detective Joe Cardona. Clyde Burke clambered from the driver’s seat. The detective had arranged with the reporter to bring him to this place. He wanted Clyde Burke to be on hand to see what might develop.
Cardona knocked. The door of the lodge opened. The detective strode into a large room where he found Junius Tharbel seated before a fire with his host, and Harman’s friend, Wade Hosth. The three showed surprise when they recognized the New Yorker.
“What brings you here, Cardona?” inquired Tharbel.
“Something that will interest you,” returned Joe. “Some time, ago, you received a note signed ‘S’ — and it enabled you to capture Hoyt Wyngarth. I want to ask you a question. Was the note the only reason for the test that you gave to Wyngarth?”
“The test with the Dalmatian? Certainly. The dog’s response proved that the sender of the note had given me reliable information.”
“All right. Was that the only note you received?”
“With the signature of ‘S’? Certainly. Why should there have been another, after Mox had been betrayed?”
“There is a second note,” rejoined Cardona, “but you did not receive it. The note came to me. Here it is.”
Cardona pulled the paper from his pocket, and handed it to Tharbel. The county detective frowned as he read the scrawled lines. He passed it back to Cardona.
“A hoax,” he decided. “Some one playing a joke on you, Cardona. When did you get this? Where?”
“Never mind the questions,” retorted Cardona, with a grim smile. “I saw your note; this one resembles it in every detail. It’s not a fake.”