“He must have had time to catch the train. Nine-twenty, wasn’t it, Charles? The time you took Joland to the depot, several weeks ago?”
“Yes, sir.”
A ring of the door bell followed the chauffeur’s remark. Charles hurried into the hallway, stepped gingerly past the dead body of Gorwin and answered the door. A stocky man entered. Charles nodded as the arrival flashed a badge.
“Detective Cardona, from headquarters,” was Joe’s gruff announcement. “Where is Mr. Tatson?”
“In his study, sir.”
“Show me there—”
Cardona paused as he saw the body on the floor. He entered and stooped to examine it. Two other headquarters men came in the door. Then Tatson appeared, hobbling from the entrance of the study.
A SHORT quiz followed. The millionaire and his chauffeur told all that they knew. In conclusion, Tatson handed Cardona the telegram.
“Karl Joland is my secretary,” he explained. “I left him here this evening with Gorwin. The telegram is marked eight thirty. I suppose that Joland left before nine o’clock. Gorwin must have been murdered between then and half past.”
“Why before half past?” inquired Joe.
“Because of the light over the front door,” stated Tatson. “Gorwin invariably turned it on shortly before whatever time I was scheduled to arrive. I called him to-night to say that I would be in at nine thirty. He would have turned on the light some time between quarter past and half past.”
“What time did you call Gorwin?”
“Quite early. About seven o’clock.”
Cardona made notes. He was acting as inspector in charge of this case. While Joe was busily engaged, one of his men made a comment.
“Something sticking out of the flunkey’s pocket,” said the headquarters man. “Looks like an envelope, inspector.”
Joe turned toward Gorwin’s body. He spied the corner of an envelope. He removed the object, to find it unsealed. He drew out a folded paper. It proved to be a note in pencil.
“Joland’s writing,” commented Tatson. “I recognize it. But I can’t read the words without my spectacles.”
“It’s to you,” stated Cardona. “Signed Joland. Says that he is leaving for Newfield. Taking the nine twenty train. Says that his father is ill; that you will get this note from Gorwin.”
“That corroborates the telegram,” decided Tatson.
“Let’s look about a bit,” suggested Cardona. “Nothing missing, Mr. Tatson? You’re sure of it?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“The safe in your study?”
“Is untouched.”
“Are you positive?”
“Absolutely. Of course, I can open it to make certain. But I have proof without that.”
Cardona looked puzzled. Tatson motioned him into the study. There, the millionaire showed the detective the wall safe. The front of the safe was fitted with an oddly bulging knob.
“A Blefflinger safe,” explained Tatson, “but the special knob is an added device. One faulty turn will throw it completely out of gear. Then the knob will spin. As you see” — Tatson paused to place his fingers to the knob — “it is tight at present.”
“But suppose some one knew the combination? Some one like Joland?”
“I alone know the combination. Furthermore, I changed it only recently.”
“Hm-m-m. Well, if robbery wasn’t the motive, we’ll have to look for something else. Of course, maybe some crooks came here and beat it after they killed Gorwin. But in the meantime, I ought to know some more about this fellow Joland. Was there any bad blood between him and Gorwin?”
“None at all. They seemed very friendly. In fact, Joland was always willing to perform the services required of Gorwin on nights when the butler was not here.”
“Was that frequent?”
“Once a week. Sometimes more often.”
“I think I’ll take a look up in Joland’s room.”
“Very well.”
WHILE Cardona’s men were prowling about the ground floor, looking vainly for clues, the ace went up to the secretary’s room. There he discovered evidences of hasty packing. This fitted with the fact that Joland had but a limited time to make his train.
Cardona stared at the discarded suit that had been flung over a chair. He began to examine the garments.
He thrust his hand into a coat pocket. His fingers slipped into a little inner pocket. They encountered something that Joe thought was a coin.
Bringing the object to light, Cardona uttered a surprised grunt. In one instant, the whole complexion of the case had been altered. It was not a coin that Cardona had brought from the pocket of Joland’s suit.
The object that lay in the detective’s palm was a dull gray disk that bore a Chinese character.
Identical with the disk that Duff Corley had carried. A mate to the token that Spider Mertz, dying, had tried to throw away. Here was something that Karl Joland had evidently forgotten. Proof that Norris Tatson’s secretary was a member of a secret, murderous band!
Pocketing the disk, Joe made for the stairs. He hurried to Tatson’s study. The millionaire looked up in surprise at the detective’s excited entry. Joe wasted no time. He pumped questions at Tatson.
“How much did this fellow Joland know about your affairs?” demanded Cardona.
“Why — why” — Tatson was stammering — “he knew a great deal—”
“What have you got in that safe?”
“Gems.”
“Worth much?”
“A quarter of a million.”
Cardona stepped back stupefied. Tatson smiled weakly. Then he spoke.
“Not much to me,” he said. “I had really forgotten their value until you asked about it. You see, they are stones that I intend to sell when I am offered a proper price.”
“Who has seen them?”
“Several dealers. One man — Marlin Norse — has been positive that he could find a customer. I have been keeping the gems here until I heard from him again.”
“Did Joland know that the jewels were here?”
“Yes. He was present at every conference that I held. With Norse, and when I had conferences with several other dealers. Yes, he was always present.”
Cardona was standing with hands deep in his coat pockets. In his right fist he was clutching the Chinese disk. The feel of that token roused him further.
“Open the safe, Mr. Tatson,” ordered Joe, in a firm tone. “I’ve got to see with my own eyes that those jewels are safe.”
The millionaire smiled indulgently, He hobbled to the wall and blocked Cardona’s view while he worked the combination. Stepping slightly aside, Tatson drew back the door. Cardona was moving forward.
Together, millionaire and detective stared into the interior of the safe.
Metal-lined walls alone met their view. Tatson’s safe was empty. Jewels worth a quarter million had been stolen from a strongbox that was deemed impregnable. A dead butler, a vanished secretary and a rifled safe. All hinged on the Chinese disk that Joe Cardona still clutched in his tightened fist!
CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW MOVES
IT was late the next afternoon. Joe Cardona was seated in a little office. The acting inspector was glum as he talked with Detective Sergeant Markham. Joe’s voice was reminiscent.
“Remember Inspector John Malone?” he inquired.
Markham nodded.
“It was right here at this desk,” recalled Cardona. “Right here that Malone was sitting. I was standing just like you are. And we were talking about a mess as bad as this one up at Tatson’s.
“The Laidlow murder. Jewels mixed in that, too. And a secretary. I forget his name — Burgess, I think it was. Committed suicide down in Florida, after we implicated him.”
“Several years ago, wasn’t it?” asked Markham.