The girl followed the Burmese toward the door. Suddenly she stopped. Just within the door, standing beside an Oriental tapestry, the girl’s eyes saw a human figure.
It was the form of a man in black — a tall shape garbed in a flowing cloak. The head was covered by a soft hat that turned down to hide the eyes.
Was it a strange statue or a living being?
“Come!” Chandra was speaking from the hall.
Margaret stepped between the curtains. She turned to see the brass door sliding down into the opening. Chandra conducted her back to Henri Zayata’s living room.
“You have seen the temple?” asked Zayata, with a thin smile.
“Yes,” Margaret replied. “It is wonderful.”
“It is called the Temple of Silence,” replied Zayata.
The Temple of Silence! The name was graphically descriptive. How well it suited! — Margaret thought.
“Those who enter it must remain silent,” smiled Zayata.
“Those who enter it!” The phrase burned itself in Margaret’s brain. She had entered it — so had Chandra. But there was another there; one who had remained after they had left!
Vividly, Margaret recalled that strange form clad in black. A silent figure in the Temple of Silence! Who could the man have been?
Henri Zayata was chatting now. His talk was of other matters. Margaret sat on the cushions beside the divan. She still thought of that strange being whom she had seen in the silent temple. But she said nothing to Henri Zayata.
CHAPTER XIV
THE MAN WITH THE CLEW
JOE CARDONA betrayed a smile of satisfaction as he talked with Inspector Klein at headquarters. The Glendenning case was turning out as he wanted it. Even though the old man had declared his innocence, there would be no difficulty in proving his guilt.
“We’ve got everything on him, chief,” declared the detective. “I’ll have a confession out of him before I’ve finished!”
“He’s a tough nut to crack, Joe,” the superior commented.
“I’ll admit that. But he loses his temper when we mention Buchanan or Don Hasbrouck, the private detective hired by Buchanan’s family. He admits he hated Buchanan, and he says he never liked Hasbrouck.”
“What about Blefken?”
“Glendenning pretends he never met him. I guess that’s because of the thumb prints. Glendenning knows we’ve got him there.”
Klein nodded his agreement with the theory.
“We’re going to locate Buchanan’s body,” declared Cardona emphatically. “Those diaries will point the way. No question about it.
“There was a box shipped out of the old man’s house. Larkin told me about it. Sent to an address in Philadelphia. The police down there are working on it. I expect a report tonight. Any time now.”
“You’re a wonder, Joe! You go after one murder and uncover three. I wish I had a dozen men like you.”
“I don’t,” returned Cardona. “I don’t claim to be a wonder, chief. Just use my noodle that’s all. I’m not one of those superminds, like—”
“Like The Shadow,” suggested Klein.
Cardona smiled. Then he became thoughtful.
“Say, chief,” he said. “It’s funny The Shadow hasn’t appeared in this. Maybe he kept out of it because it was all over so quick—”
“It would be better if he kept out of our business altogether. Maybe he’s all right, but—”
“Listen, chief. The Shadow’s on the level. Maybe he doesn’t work by police methods. I’ll grant that. But he’s helped me out of some bad jams, just the same.”
“Well, we can forget him this time.”
The men ceased their conversation as Williamson entered. The solemn-faced detective approached Inspector Klein.
“One of our stools got bumped off last night,” he said.
“Where? Who was it?”
“Louie Shunk. ‘Crazy Louie,’ they called him. He’s been watching a couple of tough rod men — Tony Caprona and Gringo Butz. He swore they weren’t wise to him; but they must have been the ones that got him. His body was found up in Harlem, an hour ago.”
“Hm-m-m,” mused the inspector. “Have you got another stool who can check up on them?”
“I think so.”
“Put him on the job, then; and don’t take any chances. Have a plainclothes man keep tabs on the stool. They’re bad boys, Caprona and Butz.”
“They are,” agreed Joe Cardona. “They’re the ones who were signing up with Bush Holman. We’ve been watching them ever since.”
“You ought to be in on this job, Joe,” observed Klein.
“I will be,” declared Cardona, “if it gets ripe. Right now, I’ve got plenty on my mind.”
THE phone bell rang. Cardona answered. The others watched him intently. They saw the detective’s face light up. His replies were short, quick exclamations.
“You’ll call again in fifteen minutes?” was his final comment.
Receiving an affirmative reply, Cardona hung up the phone and turned to Inspector Klein.
“They’ve found Buchanan’s body!” he declared. “And it’s in Philadelphia. They’re going to call me again, with the details. This is big, chief. Everything I want now, except—”
“Jerry Middleton.”
“You guessed it. That and Buchanan’s body. Middleton must know the low-down on the whole affair. How, I’ve no idea. Maybe Glendenning tried to get him. If he hadn’t got away, that night at Blefken’s—”
“You’ll find him, Joe!”
Inspector Klein spoke encouragingly. He knew that the Middleton matter was a sore point. Cardona had accomplished wonders in this case. His blunder had been forgotten, even by the newspapers, and the inspector didn’t want to recall the incident.
But the fact still remained that Jerry Middleton would be a useful witness against Clinton Glendenning.
“I’m doing everything I can,” declared Cardona. “We’re trying to find that taxi driver. He might help us out. It’s funny, in a way, that he hasn’t showed up. Scared, I guess. That’s the only way I can figure it.”
“Well,” interrupted Williamson, “I’m going on my way. I’ll follow your instructions, inspector. I’ll look up that stool and see what can be done. If he can trail Caprona and Butz, I’ll have John Higby follow him.”
The detective went from the room. Before Klein and Cardona could begin another discussion, the telephone rang. The ace answered it, and his face showed disappointment when he discovered that it was not another long-distance call.
“Burke?” he queried. “Yes. Williamson’s covering that case… What? Well… No… Oh, you’ve heard that, eh? Does any one else know it? I mean, any other reporters… Good! Lay off it, then.
“Yes, Crazy Louie was working for us. He was checking up on a couple of gangsters… Yes, that’s why I don’t want it to get in the papers. It would wise them up. Keep off it, and there’ll be a good story for you later on.
“Say, that reminds me, I may have something real tonight. Where are you? At the Classic… All right, stick there until you hear from me.”
Cardona clanged the receiver and turned to Klein.
“That fellow Burke’s a fast worker,” he said. “Checking on Crazy Louie’s death already. Had a tip the guy was a stool. You heard what I told him. He’ll hold it — especially after he gets the news from Philadelphia.”
The detective sat strumming his fingers against the edge of the table. He was waiting for the next long-distance call.
Inspector Timothy Klein was chewing the end of his cigar. There was a noise at the door. Cardona swung around to view a man in a taxi driver’s uniform.
“You’re Detective Cardona?” asked the newcomer.
“Sure,” said Cardona, studying the man closely.
“Well,” said the cabman, “I guess you’re the fellow I want to see. But listen, you ain’t goin’ to hold me here, are you? I can tell you where I live — anythin’ you want to know. I ain’t got much to tell you—”