Time and again, Cranston had accompanied the commissioner; and Barth had come to welcome his presence. For Barth fancied himself an expert on crime solution and he liked to impress Cranston with this ability.
Master crime investigator, The Shadow had found it advantageous to gain first-hand information on various cases. As a friend of Acting Commissioner Barth, The Shadow gained those opportunities. One had come this very afternoon. The Shadow had been chatting with the commissioner when a hurry call had come to the Cobalt Club.
WHEN the elevator reached the third floor, a waiting policeman saluted the commissioner and directed both arrivals to Lentz’s suite. Passing through the outer room, they reached the inner office, to see the body still lying on the floor.
Two men were present with the dead form of the inventor. One was a solemn-faced police surgeon. The other was a swarthy, stocky man from headquarters: Detective Joe Cardona, acting inspector who had come to the scene of crime.
“Hello, commissioner,” greeted Cardona. “Well, we’ve picked up some new dope while you were on your way here. Don’t get too close to that door; you may step on some of the evidence.”
Barth backed away, staring through his spectacles. He saw nothing on the floor by the door. Cardona grinned. He motioned toward chairs in the corner.
Barth nodded and sat down. The Shadow, in the deliberate fashion of Lamont Cranston, took a seat beside him.
“To begin with,” asserted Cardona, bringing out a notebook and referring to it, “we’ve got a line on this afternoon. There wasn’t anybody who came into this office between one o’clock and five. That is, just before five.”
“How did you learn that?” inquired Barth, eagerly.
“From Markham,” explained Cardona. “He went up to Ninety-sixth Street and found Lentz’s stenographer at her apartment. Girl named Grace Farthington. Markham talked to her and put her on the wire. She answered some questions that I asked her.”
“Excellent! Proceed, Cardona.”
“Miss Farthington came back from lunch at one o’clock. That’s when Lentz went out to eat. She cleaned up the inside office. Emptied the ash tray; got out a package of blueprints. When Lentz came back, he began smoking and working. Right through until five o’clock.”
“Ah! Is that his package of cigarettes on the table?”
“Yes. He smoked all but two of them during the afternoon. I questioned Miss Farthington on that. She said he smoked a pack in the morning and another in the afternoon. Regularly.”
“Good. Always the same brand?”
“Yes. Crowns. Cork-tipped. But I’ll get back to that, commissioner. After I’ve completed the story.”
Cardona paused. He rubbed his chin and registered a slight smile. Joe had a hunch that his coming remarks would make an impression on Wainwright Barth.
“Lentz spoke to Miss Farthington shortly before five o’clock,” declared the detective. “Told her she could go home. She left; on the way to the elevator she bumped into a tall man in a gray overcoat. He was coming to this office.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Barth, adjusting his pince-nez. “Did he speak to the girl?”
“No. It wasn’t until she was getting on the elevator that she saw him enter this outer door. But the corridor was gloomy. Dusky outside and no lights. So the girl didn’t glimpse the fellow’s face. She decided there was no use to go back. The man had already entered the office.”
“Proceed.”
“Just after five o’clock, a cigar salesman named George Garsher came into the lobby. Spoke to the elevator dispatcher — fellow named Jennings — and to Terry O’Dool, the officer on this beat. Garsher came up to deliver a box of cigars to Lentz.”
“Was that something usual?”
“Yeah. Garsher has been selling cigars in this building for a month. Lentz was a regular customer.”
“But he smoked cigarettes—”
“Only around the office. Both Miss Farthington and Garsher told me he used to take the cigars home. For himself and his friends, in the evening. I checked on that, commissioner, by calling a jeweler named Wilson. Friend of Lentz’s — name here in an address book — and he gave me the same information.”
Barth nodded admiringly. He looked toward Cranston to see if his friend was also approving of Cardona’s thorough methods. But the face of Lamont Cranston was immobile — a chiseled countenance that registered no more than passing interest in Cardona’s statements.
“GARSHER says he knocked at the door of this inner office,” resumed Cardona. “No answer. So he walked in. Found the body. Kind of shook his nerves; but he managed to call downstairs. Number of the building phone was attached to the mouthpiece in the outer office. Garsher brought up Jennings and O’Dool.”
“What of this tall man?” demanded Barth. “The chap in the gray overcoat, that the stenographer saw?”
“No sign of him. He must have left before Garsher came up. He didn’t go out afterward.”
“How do you know that?”
“The rush was past. Elevator operators would have noticed him. The last car that came down full was the one in which Garsher went up.”
Cardona paced across the room. He stopped by the table. There he carefully picked up the ash tray and brought it over to the commissioner. Barth stared with interest while Cardona pointed out a black stump twice the thickness of a cigarette.
“Know what that is, commissioner?” asked the detective.
“It looks like a cheroot!” exclaimed Barth.
“That’s it,” acknowledged Joe. “One of those little cigars that are black and thin. Lentz never smoked them. Miss Farthington didn’t know what a cheroot was when I asked her over the telephone.”
“You mean that the murderer—”
“Must have smoked it when he came in to talk with Lentz. Or maybe he was carrying it and it had gone out. Anyway, he made the mistake of leaving it here.”
Cardona replaced the ash tray on the desk. This time the eyes of The Shadow followed him. There was keenness in the gaze of those optics that shone from the false countenance of Lamont Cranston.
“We know that Lentz had a visitor,” decided Cardona. “He must have got up from the table to walk with the fellow to the door that leads into the outer office. That’s where the guy turned on him and plugged him. From here.”
Stepping across, Joe reached the connecting door and wheeled about, facing the spot where the body lay. He motioned to the commissioner.
Barth arose; Cranston followed.
“One back step as he fired,” remarked the detective, “would have put his foot right there. On that varnished spot by the wall. Where you looked, commissioner, but saw nothing.”
Barth stooped. An eager exclamation came from his lips. He motioned to Cranston and pointed. In leisurely fashion, The Shadow leaned forward.
Like Barth, he saw the perfect imprint of a rubber heel.
“THERE’D have been no reason for anyone else to step there,” asserted Cardona. “Particularly from that angle. Only the murderer would have done it — when he fired. Look at the suction imprints, commissioner. Diamond-shaped. Apex is the only brand of rubber heels that makes a mark like that.
“So we’ve got the size, the make of heel, and we know that the heel was a new one. If we get a suspect whose shoe matches, we’ll know we’ve landed the bird we want.”
Barth rubbed his chin half doubtfully. Cardona smiled. Slowly, the detective began a list of assertions.
“Tall man,” counted off Joe, “with a gray overcoat. Smokes cheroots. Wears a shoe with a new Apex rubber heel. Killed his victim with an old-fashioned muzzle-loading pistol. An antique.”
“What!” exclaimed Barth. “How do you know that, Cardona?”