A car had swung into the Carthers drive. The man at the wheel had heard the shots. He had brought his car to a quick stop; now the long beam of a searchlight spread across the lawn.
As plain as in the light of day, The Black Falcon was shown by the hedge. Beside him stood a rangy henchman. The two were holding revolvers; both were uncovered by the sudden illumination.
Instantly with the arrival of the light, The Black Falcon sprang through the hedge. His henchman remained, staring along the line of the searchlight’s beam. Spying Commissioner Weston, caught in the same glare, the big mobster fired. Weston, dropping away, stumbled upon the lawn and fell to one knee before he could catch himself.
The commissioner was a perfect target for The Black Falcon’s henchman. As the mobster aimed to kill, Weston was unable to bring his own hand up in time to beat the shot.
A gun boomed from the driveway. The arrival in the car with the headlight had leaped to the ground. His shot, at hopelessly long range, was both perfect and timely. Commissioner Weston saw the threatening mobster crumple on the turf.
Cardona and others had piled from the study window. They were hastening across the lawn, firing wildly toward the hedge. Then came the roar of a motor. A car on the side lane shot off into the darkness. The Black Falcon and his band were escaping from the scene with Elias Carthers as their prisoner.
Not even the perfect marksman from the driveway could stop that flight. He had arrived in time to drop the mobster who had gained the bead on Commissioner Weston, but the car to which The Black Falcon had dashed was protected by trees beyond the hedge.
Commissioner Weston regained his feet. He saw Joe Cardona reach the hedge and stop short staring toward the lane. Then the detective turned back to examine the body of the dead mobster. Still in the glare of the headlight, Commissioner Weston turned toward the car in which the sharpshooter had arrived. Coming across the lawn was the marksman who had saved Weston’s life.
“Cranston!” exclaimed the commissioner, as he recognized the faultlessly garbed figure of his millionaire friend. “You! Great work, old man! You saved my life.”
“A bit different from big game hunting,” returned Cranston, with a quiet smile. “Fortunately, commissioner, I have used the permit which you gave me. I always have a gun in my car. It came in useful upon this occasion.”
Joe Cardona was striding across the lawn. The detective’s face was glum. Joe became active, however, as he reached the commissioner.
“They’ve made a get-away,” he announced reluctantly. “Looks like they took Elias Carthers with them. I’m going to the house to call headquarters. Maybe the patrols can grab them. That was The Black Falcon—”
“I know it!” snapped the commissioner. “Get into the house, Cardona! Get the call through — and clear the study! Where is Wistar, the secretary?”
“Dead,” returned Cardona, as he turned and began a quick jog toward the mansion.
“Come, Cranston,” urged Weston, turning toward the one who had saved his life. “This is serious business. Murder and abduction. We must study the evidence.”
Side by side with his millionaire friend, Commissioner Weston started for the gray stone mansion. Weston was alert. Though he had failed to stop The Black Falcon, he was hopeful that he and Cardona might uncover clews that would lead to the trail of the daring crook.
Little did Weston, relying upon his own capability, realize that beside him was a person whose skill as a sleuth far exceeded that of Weston and Cardona combined.
The commissioner had no inkling whatsoever that he was conducting The Shadow to the scene where crime had befallen!
CHAPTER VIII
THE PROVING CLEW
COMMISSIONER WESTON had formed a new headquarters. The dominating police official was seated behind the table in the study from which Elias Carthers had been abducted. With him were two others: Detective Joe Cardona and Lamont Cranston.
Guests had been cleared from this part of the house. The two men who had been in Weston’s car were in charge. Word had been sent out to cover all roads leading from the vicinity of the Carthers mansion.
Details of police had arrived; they had been sent to trail The Black Falcon and his band of miscreants. Here, on the scene where crime had fallen, Commissioner Weston was planning his next campaign against the supercrook.
Lamont Cranston, his privilege as a friend of the commissioner increased because of his timely aid in saving Weston’s life, was seated quietly at one side of the table. Joe Cardona, his brow grimly furrowed, was pacing back and forth across the room.
“I’d like to have talked with Elias Carthers, commissioner,” announced the detective bluntly. “Maybe if I’d come in here with you, I’d have spotted something brewing.”
“That is speculative, Cardona,” returned Weston. “I had a long conversation with Carthers.”
“We found part of a note at Apprison’s place,” asserted Cardona. “You’ve got the photostats there with you. Maybe, if you had quizzed Carthers, you might have learned something from him.”
“I had no idea that Carthers was threatened,” responded the commissioner. “Nevertheless, I am sure that he received no communication from The Black Falcon. When I began my interview with Carthers, I told him the details of the Apprison case. Had Carthers received any kind of a note, he would have mentioned it.”
“Did you tell him that we were looking for a crook named Velvet Laffrey?”
“No,” admitted Weston. “I showed him the letter from The Black Falcon. I told him that the man was a supercrook. If Carthers had ever heard of Velvet Laffrey, he would probably have mentioned it.”
“Not necessarily,” insisted Cardona. “Laffrey was always a smooth egg. This is a new game for him. I guess he hoaxed Apprison with a note, but when it caused trouble, he decided not to try that system again.”
THE police commissioner was nodding as he went over the stack of photostats. Noticing a curious look on Cranston’s firm face, Weston pushed the photographs over to his friend. He then drew The Black Falcon’s letter from his pocket and passed it to Cranston.
“See what you make of these,” suggested Weston.
“You know what I make of them,” remarked Cardona to the commissioner. “I’ve got the right trail. Velvet Laffrey is the crook. He’s working with a mob behind him. Velvet was the fellow in this room. His crew grabbed Carthers. Velvet had to kill Wistar.”
“Let us speak of the criminal as The Black Falcon,” decided Weston. “That is the name which he has used. We have seen him. We can only assume that The Black Falcon is Velvet Laffrey. For the present, Cardona, I intend to reconstruct the scene. Let me give my version as I have grasped it. Tell me if you check anything that is incorrect.”
“All right, commissioner.”
“I visited this study,” resumed Weston, “and talked with Elias Carthers at approximately quarter past ten. I went out to join you on the veranda. Almost immediately after that, The Black Falcon entered.”
“By the window?”
“I suppose so. We have examined the footprints on the lawn. They are barely distinguishable because of the dry grass. However, it is probable that The Black Falcon entered by the window.”
“Hardly, commissioner.”
The interposition came from Lamont Cranston. Weston turned to raise his eyebrows as he faced his friend.
“What makes you reject the window, Cranston?” asked Weston.
“You say that there were two men here,” observed the millionaire, in a calm, even tone. “An entry through the window would have attracted too much attention. Especially” — Cranston’s keen eyes were fixed toward the open sash — “since the window sash was probably locked.”