“Yes,” replied Cardona. “And in back of it all was a guy called Diamond Bert Farwell. A foxy egg, Diamond Bert. Passed himself off as a Chink. Used the alias Wang Foo.
“Well, here we are again. I’m behind the desk instead of Malone. You’re walking around instead of me. A murder. Jewels gone. A secretary. And here’s the Chinese end of it.”
Cardona plunked the grayish disk upon the desk. Markham studied the object curiously.
“Chinkee Chink,” growled Cardona. “Find him. A Chinaman’s chance. It’s the same guy back again, Markham.”
“Diamond Bert?”
“Yeah. He’s out of the big house. Left there yesterday and we let him slip. Shows what a guy can get away with by pulling the good behavior gag.”
A shadow fell across the table where Cardona was eying the Chinese disk. The acting inspector looked up to see a tall, stoop-shouldered fellow who had entered with mop and bucket. Joe studied the dull face of Fritz, the janitor.
“Cleaning up early?” questioned Cardona.
“Yah,” responded Fritz.
“He was here, too,” recalled Cardona. He indicated Fritz as he spoke to Markham. “Mopping the room while Malone and I beefed away. The one guy that’s sure of a job here is Fritz.”
“Yah,” grunted the janitor, in methodical fashion.
CARDONA forgot Fritz. He thumbed a report sheet. Markham watched Joe scowl. Finally, the acting inspector planked the paper on the table beside the Chinese disk.
“Joland’s old man didn’t send that telegram,” asserted Joe. “Joland didn’t go to Newfield after he left Tatson’s house. He beat it, Joland did. It’s a cinch he’s got the gems. That’s the line-up I’m going to work on.
“I’m going to find out everything about that guy Joland’s past. Whether or not Diamond Bert is the big shot, it’s a cinch that Joland was working with him. Tatson is sure that Joland couldn’t have opened the wall safe; but I’m convinced that he did.
“Somebody sent him a phony telegram from Newfield. Why? To make it look like Joland was on the level. Joland bumped Gorwin, and stuck a note in the butler’s pocket, to make it look like all was on the square.
“Maybe he figured on going to Newfield. He got cold feet, that’s all. Anyway, he got a cool quarter million in sparklers. Joland was around when old Marlin Norse came to see Norris Tatson. Norse was a jeweler, talking business with Joland’s boss. All the while Joland was snooping, figuring out how he could grab the gems.
“And there’s the proof of it. That disk. Like every smart crook, Joland made a slip. Forgot the disk when he took it on the lam. Left it in the pocket of his other suit. Where I found it. The rest of this report means nothing. Tatson, with his talk about Gorwin turning on the light night after night — Gorwin friends with Joland — nobody knowing the combination of that safe — all that got us nowhere.
“My investigation is what counted. I called up the Newfield police chief. They checked up on things there. That’s how I found out the telegram was a dud; how I learned that Joland didn’t come in on that train from New York.
“I’m going to dig into Joland’s past like a farmer with a harrow. I’m going to find out everything he did from the time he came with Tatson. Too bad that Gorwin is dead. Well, the poor guy probably found out too much about Joland. That’s why the secretary croaked him.”
With this conclusion, Cardona thrust the report sheet into a drawer and locked it there. He growled something about an appointment with Commissioner Barth. Then he stalked from the room with Markham following.
FRITZ ceased his mopping. The stoop-shouldered janitor sidled over to the desk. He produced a pick and opened the drawer. He studied the report sheet that Cardona had laid aside. His eyes were keen — no longer the eyes of Fritz. They noted every item in the report. Then a hand slid the drawer shut and locked it.
The janitor shuffled from the room. He made his way to an obscure locker. There he parked his mop and bucket. From the locker, he produced jet-black garments. A cloak slipped over his shoulders; a slouch hat settled on his head.
A black form glided away along a corridor. The role of Fritz had ended. The pretended janitor had become The Shadow. He was leaving before the real Fritz arrived. Joe Cardona was correct when he had remarked that Fritz had been around headquarters ever since the days of Inspector Malone. The Shadow had been assuming the part of Fritz even in those dim days of the past. Yet no one had ever suspected the imposture.
EVENING had settled. A shapeless mass of blackness, The Shadow was wending his way through the narrow streets near Chinatown. Past the blackened front of the deserted shop that belonged to Tam Sook, the Chinese merchant. Into an alleyway that was the last turn before the glowing center of Chinatown itself. The Shadow entered the door of a tawdry little Oriental store.
The place was empty. Evidently its owner had stepped out. The Shadow reached the wall and pressed a panel. The barrier opened. The Shadow entered a corridor and closed the opening behind him. The panel fell in place just as the Chinese shop owner came in from the street.
THE SHADOW had found steps that led downward. He followed a twisting passage that led beneath the street. He ascended steps; then edged to the wall as he neared a barring door. The portal slid open as The Shadow pressed a spot on the wall.
The Shadow came into a lighted anteroom. He pressed a knob on a huge brass door. This barrier also opened. Up a flight of steps; there The Shadow chose one of two narrow passages. Weaving his way through a labyrinth of turning corridors, he came to a final door. There, The Shadow picked up a padded stick that lay at hand. He struck the door. The signal sent a clang resounding through the passages. The door slid upward.
The Shadow entered a room where a solemn Chinese was standing, This man was clad in a robe of dull red, ornamented by dragons of dull gold. He faced his visitor and gazed with firm cold eyes. The brass door had descended; against its background, The Shadow formed a sinister figure. Yet the Chinaman showed no dread.
This Chinaman was Yat Soon, the arbiter. His name was law among the tongs, those strange secret societies that exist among the Chinese. Yat Soon, however, was a neutral. It was he to whom rival leaders came to arbitrate their differences.
The justice of Yat Soon was a legend in New York’s Chinatown. There was a saying: ‘When Yat Soon speaks, all must do his bidding.’ Such was the power that this one Celestial wielded. And Yat Soon, being a just man, was friendly toward The Shadow.
Though ordinary visitors to Yat Soon’s invariably encountered blocking challengers, The Shadow had displayed the ability to enter as he chose. Yat Soon apparently regarded this as The Shadow’s prerogative; for the darkeyed arbiter evidenced no surprise as he faced his spectral visitor. Yat Soon spoke, in quiet tone. His words indicated that The Shadow had come here two nights before.
“We have been seeking Tam Sook,” stated the Chinaman. “Only I know that the real Tam Sook is dead; all others think that it is the real Tam Sook we seek.”
The Shadow’s tones responded. The whispered voice put a question in the Chinese tongue. Yat Soon replied in English. In these conversations, The Shadow and Yat Soon each used the other’s language.
“We have found a place where the false Tam Sook has been,” declared Yat Soon. “Once, long ago, the real Tam Sook had a servant. One named Loon Goy. This servant was given money by Tam Sook. He went away from Chinatown.
“Loon Goy had a laundry on a street near Sixth Avenue. With him is a man called Hoy Wen. The business, though it is seemingly theirs, truly belonged to Tam Sook. It was there that one of my watchers saw Tam Sook this afternoon.
“The word was brought promptly to me. But after that came new word, the belief that Tam Sook was no longer there. Either Loon Goy or Hoy Wen had seen my searchers. Yet Tam Sook had not been seen passing from that little store.”