“He had come to prevent Blefken’s murder. He had failed. Only Blefken knew about it; at least, that’s what Middleton thought.”
“I see,” said Clyde. “Say, that all fits together, Joe! You think Middleton was on the level, then?”
“I’m not guaranteeing that,” replied Cardona cautiously. “I’ve seen too many crazy killers to believe everything a man like Middleton might say. Perhaps he was an accomplice. One thing is certain. He wasn’t the actual killer!”
CARDONA had begun his statement in a guarded tone. His last words were spoken with positiveness. The detective leaned close to the chair where Clyde was sitting.
“Burke,” he said confidingly, “I could have told those fellows plenty. I’m telling you, because I’m going to let you stick along with me. Not a line for your paper until I say the word. Then you can blow the works.
“Within an hour, I’ll have the man who murdered Charles Blefken!”
Clyde Burke had not expected this startling announcement. The reporter had played a hunch. He had hoped to learn some hidden angle of the lawyer’s death. Instead, he had uncovered a gold mine of hot news.
Clyde knew Cardona well. Not for an instant did he doubt the detective’s statement. Joe Cardona never counted his game until it was as good as in the bag.
“Take a look at this,” said Cardona quietly.
He opened the envelope. From it he drew a folded strip of cloth. He unrolled it. The cloth had been torn from the inside of a man’s coat. At the top was a section of a label, bearing the inscription:
HELMSF
Tai
New
“Make anything of that?” quizzed the detective.
“Looks like a clothing tag,” said Clyde.
“Not much of a guess, is there?” laughed the detective. “You’ve probably never heard of the concern. Small but exclusive: ‘Helmsford Brothers. Tailors. New York.’ That’s the complete name.
“Here’s something just as important. Notice that bit of gray cloth that came off with the lining?”
Clyde nodded.
“All right,” continued Joe Cardona. “This was clutched in Charles Blefken’s hand. I found it just after the doctor declared him dead. I took it.
“The minute I had a good look at it, I knew that Middleton wasn’t the man I wanted. He was wearing a dark-blue suit. That bit of gray cloth indicated another person.
“I didn’t wait until daylight. At three o’clock this morning, I had James Helmsford, head of the tailoring concern, in his shop.
“Luck was with me, Burke. This Helmsford outfit are a high-priced crowd. They know their cloth when they see it. Helmsford showed me a remainder of the same material.
“He checked up. Found they were keeping it for a man named Clinton Glendenning. He owns two suits of this same stuff. His own private material, you might say.
“I put Williamson covering Glendenning’s house from then on. At ten o’clock this morning, a young man came out, carrying a gray suit. He took it to a little tailor’s shop a block away. Williamson and his men grabbed him.
“They took him and the suit to the nearest police station, and got in touch with me.
“I’ve just come from there, Burke. There’s a piece ripped out of that suit matches this to a dot!”
Burke could see elation gleaming in Cardona’s eyes. He knew that there was more to come.
“They’re still watching the house,” said Cardona. “I’ve quizzed the young fellow that they pinched. He wouldn’t talk until he saw me. Then he began to let a lot off his mind.
“He’s Glendenning’s secretary. His name is Elder Larkin. Been working for the old man for several years. He’s been worried because of things that were going on around the place. Glendenning sent him out last night, he says. When he came back, the old man wasn’t there.
“Came in afterward. Larkin noticed he acted funny. This morning the old man gave him the suit, and told him to have it repaired right away. Said it had been torn in the door of a taxicab.
“Larkin was to go downtown. Not expected back until one o’clock. So I told the boys to hold the pinch until I joined them. I came down here hotfoot, leaving Williamson watching the house.
“We’ve got the key to the front door. Larkin gave it to us. That secretary’s going to be valuable.
“Inspector Klein is to meet me here. He’s going up to the place with me. We’re timing the entrance close to one o’clock, so, if there’s any noise, the old man will think it’s Larkin coming in.
“We’ve got the place covered like a blanket. And when I come in here, all keen, and set to go, what do I run into? A bunch of newspaper punks wanting to know what’s the matter with me! They’ll find out. You’re the only real guy in the crew, Burke.”
A MAN entered the doorway. It was Inspector Timothy Klein. Joe Cardona was picking up the photographic sheet as the inspector entered. He rushed over and showed it to Klein.
“If Glendenning’s mitts match these, we’ve got him sure!” exclaimed Cardona. “Let’s get started, chief. I’ll tell you more on the way up.”
Inspector Klein looked disapprovingly toward Clyde Burke. Cardona grinned to show that it was all right.
“Burke’s coming with us,” he said. “We’re going to let one reporter see how we work. This is one fellow who will treat us right. He deserves the break.”
Cardona was buzzing in Klein’s ear as the three men rode rapidly uptown in a police car. Burke caught very few words of their conversation. It seemed no time at all before the car pulled up at a corner, and the men alighted.
“Down the next street,” said Cardona. “Didn’t want to come too close with the car. Not a body in sight. Great! Williamson’s doing a nice covering job.
“Stay back. I’ll take care of this, chief.”
Clyde Burke remained with Inspector Klein. They saw Cardona sidle along the street and step into a doorway. He evidently held a short conference with a man hidden there.
Shortly afterward, the star detective reappeared and moved on to a house with stone steps. He went up and unlocked a door. He disappeared inside.
Two other plainclothes men appeared as if by magic. They entered the same door, as reinforcements for their leader. Tense moments followed. Then came the shrill sound of a whistle. Half a dozen men sprang into view.
“Come on,” said the inspector.
He and Burke jogged along the street and followed the men ahead. The trail led up a flight of stairs and around a corner. They passed men who were opening doors and prying everywhere.
They came into the front room. There, in a chair, sat an old, gray-haired man, his hands raised above his head. His lips were moving. He was uttering incoherent threats.
Cardona was covering Clinton Glendenning with an automatic. As the inspector arrived, the detective motioned to two of his men. They took Glendenning into custody.
For an instant, the old man looked as though he intended to begin a fight. He gripped one of his captors’ arms in a viselike clutch.
But the sight of Cardona’s automatic brought his hands up again. Handcuffed, he was led away.
“Down to headquarters with him, Williamson,” came Cardona’s order to a solemn-faced detective who was standing by the door. “We’ll be there shortly. Have Larkin there, too.”
A bundle of keys lay on Glendenning’s table. Cardona jingled them; then spied the door that led to the old man’s bedroom. He entered, followed by Klein and Burke.
There were curtains beyond. The detective spread them and uncovered a narrow staircase that led to the floor below. Footsteps sounded from below.
Cardona hailed. It was one of his men. The fellow joined them.
“What’s down there?” asked Cardona.
“Nothing,” was the reply. “This is just a short cut to the first floor.”