“There you have it. Duff’s dead. So is Spider. We’ve got nobody who knows anything. But we know there’s an organization — a real one — of guys who carry those disks with them. We’ve seen what they do to a squealer.”
“An organization,” mused Barth. “Perhaps you are right, Cardona. Its purpose—”
“Murder,” put in Joe. “That was the purpose to-night.”
“Yes.” The agreement came unexpectedly from Lamont Cranston. “The disk indicates agreement with Cardona’s idea, commissioner.”
“The disk?” questioned Barth, half puzzled.
“Yes,” replied Cranston, as he passed the object to the commissioner. “I can tell you the meaning of the character engraved on it.”
“A Chinese word?”
“Not exactly. The character is an idiograph, which may be applied in various fashions. It is termed a numerative. It is pronounced pa—”
“But its meaning?”
“Literally, ‘something which is grasped by a handle’. That, for instance, could mean a revolver. Or a knife. Or—”
“Spider used his gat to-night,” burst forth Cardona. “The fellow that killed Duff had a stiletto. Mr. Cranston has hit it, commissioner.”
Barth arose and stood in pompous attitude. It was his custom, when he swung from one supposition to another, to throw full support to the new idea. He had rejected Cardona’s theory, at first; now that the existence of a hidden band seemed logical, Barth wanted to set the pace for the detective.
“Let me commend your work,” declared the commissioner, turning to Cardona. “At first I considered your theory poorly-founded. Events, however, have proven its soundness. These criminals who have gone from sight may all be potential members of the band which we have uncovered.
“Spare no effort, Cardona. Investigate everywhere. Inquire into the activities of the Chinese tongs. If necessary, utilize the dragnet. Search every suspect to learn if he carries one of these.”
With his final sentence, Barth displayed the Chinese disk. He passed it back to Cardona, along with the piece of paper that bore the penciled impression.
“It’s going to be a tough job, commissioner,” declared the detective, in a dubious tone.
“Why so?” demanded Barth.
“Because,” affirmed Joe, “there’s something deep beneath all this. It wasn’t crime to-night, commissioner; that is, it wasn’t crime against the public. Those fellows were dealing with a double-crosser.
“What’s more, they got Duff before he learned anything. Put him on the spot right at the start. It was just a splash on top of the water. Now its smooth again. What’s more, that crowd will be foxier than ever.”
“But they will have to show their hand again,” objected Barth. “The rascals are planning something. That is plain.”
“Sure they are,” agreed Cardona, grimly. “That’s what makes it tough, commissioner. We’ve seen what they can do to one of their own kind. When they cut loose with crime, they’ll be hard to stop.”
“Therefore,” asserted Barth, “we shall take measures to prevent them.”
TEN minutes later Lamont Cranston strolled from the Cobalt Club. Cardona had left. Cranston had paused for a brief chat with the commissioner; then he had taken his departure. A limousine pulled up as Cranston reached the sidewalk. The millionaire entered.
Through the speaking tube, he gave a quiet order to the chauffeur. The car rolled away and twisted its course through a labyrinth of secluded streets. Finally, it stopped by a darkened curb. The chauffeur settled back behind the wheel.
A rear door opened. From the interior merged a cloaked figure that moved away into the thickness of the night. From a bag in the back of the limousine, Lamont Cranston had produced certain garments. He had donned them while the car was rolling.
Cloak and hat had rendered him invisible after his departure from the car. His course into the night was untraceable. The role of Lamont Cranston was ended for the time. Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow.
CHAPTER V. PEOPLE OF THE PAST
TOMBLIKE darkness enshrouded a silent room. The place was filled with uncanny silence. Such was the atmosphere within the sanctum of The Shadow. A strange, unknown abode, situated somewhere in Manhattan. The sanctum seemed to await the arrival of the only being who might enter through its hidden portals.
A swish sounded in the darkness. That sound would not have been audible elsewhere. The Shadow had reached his strange abode. A click sounded from a corner. A bluish light glimmered upon the top of a polished table.
Usually, The Shadow remained at this corner. To-night, his plan was different. His cloak swished away from the limited sphere of light. A click sounded in another corner. A second light glimmered. It was focused upon the front of a tall steel filing cabinet.
Long white hands opened a drawer. From one finger glimmered a resplendent gem. That stone was The Shadow’s girasol, a rare fire-opal that he wore as a sole emblem of identity. The jewel sparkled as the left hand stopped upon a folder that bore the name “Farwell.”
The Shadow withdrew this folder and carried it through darkness to the table. From its interior, he drew out typewritten sheets and laid them on the table. The folder had sides like a portfolio, so that no objects could drop from it. Digging deep, The Shadow brought forth a small envelope. He tore it open. A small object fell out and plunked upon the table.
It was a Chinese disk. Its size, its appearance, its very metal were identical with the disk that Joe Cardona had shown to Commissioner Barth. The Shadow laughed softly as he noted the typed name upon the little envelope that had contained the disk. The name was “Wang Foo.”
The Shadow spread out a report sheet that bore the heading “Diamond Bert.” Again the soft laugh.
Despite the variety of names involved, The Shadow was considering a single person: “Diamond Bert” Farwell, alias Wang Foo.
Years had passed since The Shadow had dealt with Diamond Bert. In his battles with that law breaker, The Shadow had faced one of the craftiest of crooks. Diamond Bert had gone in for robbery in a big way. His prizes had been rare gems.
Aided by underlings, Diamond Bert had perpetrated crime after crime. All the while, he had remained under cover. To reach him, The Shadow had been forced to fight with minions who knew no limit.
Murder had meant nothing to the tools of Diamond Bert.
At the finish, The Shadow had entered the lair of the master crook. Guised as one of Diamond Bert’s henchmen, he had met the evildoer face to face. Like The Shadow, Diamond Bert had been disguised.
When The Shadow uncovered him, the crook was passing as a Chinaman, under the name of Wang Foo. [1]
Death would have been a fair fate for Diamond Bert. Yet The Shadow had not delivered it.
Circumstances had tricked The Shadow. Joe Cardona and a squad of detectives had entered for the climax. The Shadow, to protect his own identity, had been forced to depart, leaving Diamond Bert in the hands of the law.
That had ended the character of Wang Foo. By rights, Diamond Bert Farwell should have gone to the chair. He had dealt heavily in murder; and justice should have demanded its toll. But the law had failed to pin a single death upon the slippery crook. Caught with stolen gems in his possession, Diamond Bert had taken a ten-year rap.
THESE facts appeared upon the papers which The Shadow was studying. Reports included the events of Diamond Bert’s subsequent career. Up in the big house, the crook had become a model prisoner.
Adapting himself to circumstances, he had gone on good behavior. His term had been shortened.
According to the data on The Shadow’s table, Diamond Bert was almost due for release from the penitentiary.