Holding the card in his right hand, Cardona began to nod. He was seeing through the game at last. Lennis was lost in admiration. To the hotel dick, this had been a process of masterful deduction.
“Give me that phone,” said Cardona, suddenly coming from his reverie. “I’m going to get the commissioner up here. You can stay, Lennis. You’ll have your chance to listen in on something. I know where that bird Agland beat it to. Maybe we won’t get him; maybe we won’t find Diamond Bert. But we’ll get those rocks!”
NORSE’S jewelry store. That was the place that Joe Cardona had picked as a goal. Figuring Norse in on the racket, the detective had decided that the wholesaler’s safe would be the logical place for Monte Agland to store Gautier Ranaud’s diamonds.
But already, a super-sleuth had chosen the same objective. The Shadow had arrived at the building where Norse’s store was located. He was working on the door that he had entered on a previous night.
The door yielded once again.
The Shadow entered. He reached the passage that led to the jeweler’s office. He picked the lock and stepped inside. At that moment, The Shadow heard a muffled buzz from somewhere above. He waited.
Footsteps came from the stairway at the rear of the passage. The Shadow closed the door just as Marlin Norse pattered by in his slippers.
The Shadow locked the door from the inside. His flashlight glimmered. It picked an old showcase, caticornered near the front of the room. The Shadow extinguished his light and moved behind the high case. He crouched there. A key clicked in the door from the passage.
Two men entered. One turned on a light. The glare showed Marlin Norse, in dressing gown. The old jeweler was wearing tortoise-shell glasses that gave him an owlish expression. With him was Monte Agland. The two sat down. Norse was nervous.
“Here’s the rocks,” declared Monte, abruptly, as he passed the bag of uncut diamonds to the jeweler.
“They’re going in your safe, see? Until the big shot wants them.”
“But — but” — Norse paused in his protest — “I–I thought I had done my share. I’m — this is dangerous. What if the police—”
“The police?” jeered Monte. “Say, they’d never think of looking here. Listen, Norse, I’m going to take it on the lam. In a hurry. All you’ve got to do is hold the swag.”
“Until some one comes with a disk?” inquired the jeweler. “Like the one you showed me? Like the one in the desk? You mean that I should give these diamonds to whoever shows the token?”
“Sure,” returned Monte. “If any fellow comes with a disk, hand them over. But you won’t need to see the disk, the way I figure it.”
“Why not?”
“Because Diamond Bert will be here himself. He was up against it, but I think he made a getaway. I hopped a cab myself; after I left it, I doubled back by the hotel and then took the subway.”
“You mean there was much trouble at—”
“Forget it, Norse. I want to see you put these rocks in your safe. Or anywhere else that you know is good. Then all you’ve got to do is wait for Diamond Bert—”
Monte broke off. He grabbed Norse’s arm. He had heard faint prying sounds from somewhere outside.
He stole toward the door and listened. He came back hurriedly.
“The police,” he whispered. “Quick, Norse. Stow me somewhere. When they come in, you act blank.
See?”
The jeweler trembled.
“Hurry!” ordered Monte.
NORSE pointed to a closet at the back of the room. Monte entered it. At that instant, an outer door began to crack. It was the side entrance to the jewelry store. Alarms started ringing.
Norse scrambled to his feet and hurried into the hall. He made for the steps; then turned. He was doubling back when he encountered Joe Cardona.
“What — what’s the trouble?” blubbered Norse. “Who are you? Breaking in? Starting my alarms?”
Joe was flashing a badge. Norse moved into the office, faltered about to find the alarm control. Then he turned off the bells. He sank into a chair behind his desk.
“Who’s been here?” demanded Cardona.
“Nobody,” pleaded Norse. “Nobody was—”
“Take a look around the store,” ordered Joe, turning to two plain-clothes men who had followed him to the office door. “Say, Norse” — this to the jeweler — “where were you when we broke in?”
“Upstairs,” quavered the jeweler. “I heard the alarms. That is the truth.”
Cardona was on the point of believing the jeweler. Norse looked pitiful; too helpless to be a minion of Diamond Bert. Then Joe had a hunch.
“Upstairs, eh?” quizzed the acting inspector. “With a light burning in this office?”
Norse capitulated. He began to talk incoherently. The Shadow could hear Cardona asking new questions. He could see the detective leaning forward, glaring at the jeweler. But beyond, The Shadow saw something else.
The shining muzzle of a revolver was creeping from the crack of the closet door. Then the barrel. The gun was turning toward Joe Cardona. Low by the edge of the old show case, The Shadow aimed an automatic straight across the desk, between Cardona and Norse. The Shadow fired.
Cardona leaped to his feet as the shot burst and a bullet whined close in front of him. But before he could turn to locate the source of the shot, his attention was turned in another direction. The closet door had opened. Monte Agland was staggering forth.
The Shadow had clipped the barrel of the crook’s gun. The slug from the .45 had knocked the .38 from Monte’s hand. Numbed from fingers to wrist, Monte had instinctively tumbled from his hiding place.
Recovering, he threw himself upon Joe Cardona, endeavoring to seize the police revolver that Joe was drawing.
Cardona fired. Monte did a sprawl in the air. He flopped to the floor; the bag of diamonds clattered from his pocket. Joe grabbed the prize. The other detectives pounded in from the hall.
The Shadow had dropped behind the showcase. As he waited there, the sound of new shots burst from outside the building. Cardona waved the two detectives in that direction. Holding the bag of diamonds, he stood above Monte Agland’s gasping form. Norse was cringing.
None saw The Shadow as he moved across the room. Outside firing had dwindled. The Shadow paused in the passage. He saw Monte Agland raise his head and utter dying words.
“You fool!” snarled the smooth crook. “Maybe — maybe you got the rocks. But you — you didn’t get Diamond Bert. He — he was due here. Those shots — outside — were on his account. But you’ve missed — missed out on—”
Monte Agland gasped and died. The Shadow faded with blackness. He knew that the dying crook had spoken the truth. Joe Cardona, unwittingly, had aided Diamond Bert Farwell in another getaway. Had The Shadow remained here alone, he would have trapped the arch-crook with the others.
Yet The Shadow, traveling through outer darkness, delivered a soft, eerie laugh. He was not yet through with Diamond Bert; because he knew that the crook had not completed crime. Those uncut diamonds that Cardona had recovered would still remain a lure.
Diamond Bert Farwell would never rest until he had gained a chance to recover the gems that he had won and lost. Upon that fact, The Shadow was counting for the finish.
CHAPTER XXIII. MASTERS MEET
MORNING newspapers headlined Cardona’s triumph. The ace had recovered a million dollars’ worth of stolen gems. A man hunt was on for Diamond Bert Farwell.
Up in his suite at the Hotel Wildebrand, Gautier Ranaud was reading the story of last night’s fray. The day was dull; light was poor in the living room. The bearded man was seated by a floor lamp.