“A way that comes in is a way that goes out. Through those who have met the little boats from the rum ships, you have gained the help of Silk Dowdy and those other men who are watching Legira. When the money is ours, it shall go out as the liquor has come in.
“I have not told you this before, Ballou. I am telling you now, because I think that it is important. We soon shall have the money.”
“You think that Legira—”
“I think that Legira will do all to get that money tomorrow. If he fails, I shall work swiftly when I deal with those men in Santander. I can win their confidence — so quick that all will be very easy.
“So watch, Ballou. Stay at your hotel and have your men report. Have them ready for your word. If Legira should manage to get the money, it must be taken from him. If he should not so manage, you must strike at midnight. My threats will never fail!”
Pete Ballou rubbed his hands enthusiastically. Zelva looked at him with a smile. The scheming South American was pleased at his own craftiness. He was also smiling at Ballou’s simplicity.
There were other factors that Zelva had considered but had not mentioned. False implication of Legira in the death of Hendrix might cause complications. Pete Ballou, at large, was a menace. That was another important reason why Zelva planned prompt action.
He could not afford to have Ballou, the actual murderer, continuing the work of watching Legira’s home. But Zelva, crafty leader of crooks of many nationalities, was too wise to put pessimistic thoughts into the mind of Pete Ballou.
“You must go now,” declared Zelva. “Be careful when you leave. Do not come here again.”
He paused and stared at the floor beside the window. A shadowy blot was swaying on the floor. It seemed to glide away as Zelva watched it.
The chunky South American looked quickly toward the window. He was too late to spy the form that had risen and swung over the edge of the rail outside. Zelva strode to the balcony. He looked below at the projection two floors beneath. He saw nothing except blackness. He lingered; then returned to the room.
IMMEDIATELY after Zelva’s departure from the rail, the blackness on the balcony beneath became a living mass. The window of the room below rose silently, then closed. The Shadow had made a quick drop of nearly twenty feet. Silently, he had waited; then had gone.
Rodriguez Zelva shrugged his shoulders when he stepped back into the room. His interest in that fleeting shadow had faded. He said nothing about it as he motioned Pete Ballou toward the outer door.
Ballou was cautious as he left the Goliath Hotel. He walked down a few flights before he summoned an elevator — a plan that he had used when he had come here. He rode to the Hotel Oriental in a taxicab and went immediately to his room.
The hallway was dim, due to a burned-out light. As he pushed the key into the lock with his right hand, Ballou encountered the surface of the door with his finger tips. Entering his room, he noted a stickiness on his fingers and thumb.
Ballou turned on a table light and pressed his fingers upon a newspaper that lay there. His fingers left a dark smudge. Ballou decided that paint must have been applied to the door. He did not bother to investigate. He tossed the newspaper into the wastebasket and went into the bathroom to wash the paint from his fingers.
The moment that Ballou had stepped from the room, a tall figure emerged from the corner. Stooping, the unseen visitor plucked the newspaper from the basket. Deft, black-clad fingers tore away a portion of the front page and replaced the newspaper so that the damaged part was beneath.
The figure of The Shadow was revealed as the strange visitor glided past the opened door of the lighted bathroom. Then the outer door of the room opened and closed without the slightest semblance of a sound.
The Shadow had arrived here before Pete Ballou. Now he was gone. At Zelva’s, he had learned the plans of the conspirators and had discovered that they knew nothing of the trick by which Legira had deceived them. Here, at Ballou’s, The Shadow had laid a simple but effective trap that Pete Ballou had not suspected.
Once more, The Shadow was on his way. Somewhere, amid the silent, early morning streets, he was planning new work for the morrow. His plans concerned more than Alvarez Legira and Pete Ballou. For now, The Shadow knew both the identity and the ways of Rodriguez Zelva — the man higher up.
CHAPTER XIX
CARDONA RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS
DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was not in a pleasant mood when he strode into the office of Inspector Timothy Klein, the morning after the murders in the apartment of John Hendrix. The sight of the inspector’s face did not raise the detective’s spirits.
“You’ve seen this, Joe?” was Klein’s first question.
The inspector indicated a newspaper which lay upon the desk.
“Guess I’ve seen it,” responded Cardona. “I read all the morning papers.”
“This is an evening edition,” said Klein, quietly. “I just bought it.”
Cardona picked up the sheet and stared at the headlines. Then he began to scan the paragraphs below.
“Nothing new,” he growled. “This stuff about Hendrix having negotiations with South American interests don’t mean anything. I looked into that last night.”
“Read here,” remarked Klein, leaning forward and pointing to a paragraph set in bold-face type.
Cardona’s eyes flashed angrily as he perused the lines. He threw the newspaper on the desk and stared sullenly at Klein. The inspector’s face was serious.
“Panning me, eh?” grumbled Cardona. “Playing up the fact that I let the murderer get away. Fine guys, these reporters! Tell them facts and they turn against you. How could I have done any more than I did? I had my men posted all around the place.”
“You lost your man, Joe,” returned Klein, in a sober voice. “You went there to get him — if he was still on the ground. He made a getaway.”
The detective was forced to admit the logic of the argument. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked about the room, wearing an expression of impatience.
“Any new clews?” inquired Klein.
“No,” answered Cardona. “I was in here at seven o’clock; then I went out again. I’ve been figuring gangsters in this mess, but so far I haven’t gotten any trace of the men I want. Those finger prints are a blank. I’ve had them compared with the records. They don’t fit any crook that is on my list—”
“Gangsters, eh?”
“Sure thing. Three killings. A clean getaway. That guy was a tough baby. I’ll get him, though; get him if it takes me a long while!”
“The quicker the better,” commented Klein. “You know the public, Joe. They eat up anything about the inefficiency of the police. That getaway was bad business.”
“There’s a lot of angles to this case,” declared Cardona, seemingly anxious to change the turn of the conversation. “It may have been Powell they were out to get — not Hendrix. I’ve got men working on the Powell angle.”
“What was Powell’s job?”
“Sort of an investigator for Hendrix. Worked on different jobs. No one seems to know just what he was doing lately. That’s the rub of it. He reported direct to Hendrix. Either one might have been able to give us the dope we need. But both were bumped off.”
“Keep after it, Joe,” said Klein. “That’s all I can tell you. But you know how the commissioner flares up when he reads stuff like this.”
Klein pointed to the newspaper and Cardona nodded. The detective was well acquainted with the foibles of the police commissioner. He felt that Klein understood the difficulties of last night’s situation; but, unfortunately, Klein was merely an inspector.