Doctor Keyes entered while the servant was speaking. The portly physician seemed dejected. He shook his head sadly, as though he could not understand the sudden end that had come to Cyril Wycliff.
“One can never be sure,” he declared. “Thrombosis, despite the counteracting efforts which we employ, is always apt to gain its end. Coming so soon upon Doctor Arberg’s visit, this death is all the more unfortunate.”
“The new injections,” suggested Paul Marchelle. “They could not possibly have caused the change?”
“No,” decided Doctor Keyes. “They were wisely calculated by Doctor Arberg’s own direction. They were designed to strengthen the patient, not to render him more susceptible to the attack which occurred.”
The doctor’s verdict was accepted. Keyes stepped into the hallway and picked up a telephone. He held the instrument for a short while; then replaced it and came back into the library.
“I was going to call Doctor Arberg,” he stated. “The hour, however, is too late. There is nothing now that he can do. I shall make out the death certificate, stating that Cyril Wycliff succumbed as the result of thrombosis.”
KEYES spoke a double truth when he stated that Doctor Johan Arberg could do nothing to aid dead Cyril Wycliff. Like the patient who now was past human assistance, Doctor Arberg, too, was dead.
Arberg’s demise would be known as murder; Wycliff’s as death from natural cause. Yet there was a close parallel between both cases. Cyril Wycliff, like Johan Arberg, had died by the insidious hand of Martin Hamprell!
Cyril Wycliff’s death had been designed, not only to eliminate him, but to prevent him from giving the information which he had tried to utter.
Martin Hamprell had succeeded in his first deed of crime upon this night — the prevention of Doctor Arberg’s visit to Wycliff’s home.
He had also managed — in the guise of Arberg — to plan sure and unsuspected death for Cyril Wycliff. In his final purpose, however, he had gained but half success. Cyril Wycliff, in dying, had managed to give an inkling concerning the identity and location of an important paper which he wanted his son to have.
A property deed lay somewhere in the library. It must be found. Howard Wycliff, aided by friends, would endeavor to locate it. In so doing, he and his companions would be subject to the same menace which had brought the death of Johan Arberg and Cyril Wycliff.
Unknown enemies threatened the future of Howard Wycliff and those who might seek to aid him. Even the existence of such enemies was outside of Howard Wycliff’s present range of knowledge. Danger lay ahead. Insidious schemes were in the making.
The police, if they could learn, might be of aid. But the police were not likely to uncover the deep plot that lay beneath the deaths designed and executed by Martin Hamprell.
Only one could bring future aid. That one was The Shadow. Already this mysterious personage of the night was coming to investigate the death of Doctor Johan Arberg. Would his study of the savant’s murder enable him to uncover the plot beyond?
The answer to that important question rested with The Shadow alone.
CHAPTER IX
THE SHADOW’S CLEW
DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was completing his report of Doctor Johan Arberg’s murder. The detective was still in Arberg’s room at the Hotel Imperator. With him were Clyde Burke, Inspector Timothy Klein, and a police surgeon.
“Robbery,” asserted Cardona. “There is the motive, inspector. As for the details of the case—”
Cardona paused, a sheet of penciled notations in his hand. The telephone was ringing. The detective answered it.
“Who?” he questioned. “Came to see Doctor Arberg?… Send him up… Yes, here to the room.”
The detective turned to the other men. A puzzled look showed on his face.
“Did you ever hear of Lamont Cranston?” he questioned.
“Is he the millionaire globe-trotter?” asked the reporter.
“Yeah,” returned Cardona. “Well, he’s coming up here. He stopped in to call on Doctor Arberg. Cranston is a friend of Police Commissioner Weston, by the way.”
A few minutes later, a tall man entered the room. He stopped just within the doorway. A solemn look appeared upon his firm face as he observed the body of Doctor Johan Arberg by the table in the corner. Cardona fancied that he could see a flicker of emotion in Cranston’s brilliant eyes.
The millionaire turned to the detective.
“When did this happen?” he questioned.
“About ten thirty tonight,” answered Cardona. “How did you happen to come here, Mr. Cranston?”
“Doctor Arberg was an old acquaintance of mine,” explained the millionaire, in a quiet tone. “I used to visit him in Copenhagen. He had an interest outside of medicine — the collecting of precious stones. That is a hobby of my own. Hence Doctor Arberg and I had much in common.
“Tonight, I chanced to learn that Doctor Arberg was in New York. I read a newspaper item that stated he was stopping at the Hotel Imperator. Although it was rather late, I decided to drop by, hoping that he might still be awake. At the desk, I learned that Doctor Arberg had been murdered.”
There was conviction in every word that Lamont Cranston uttered. Joe Cardona looked squarely at the millionaire. He met Cranston’s eyes — piercing optics that shone from either side of a hawklike nose. Joe Cardona felt a definite respect for Lamont Cranston.
“Murder,” declared the detective, “is obvious in this case. The motive was robbery. Since you were a friend of Doctor Arberg, Mr. Cranston, you are welcome to remain while I review my report.”
“Thank you,” said Cranston.
As the tall millionaire seated himself, Cardona referred to his notes, then began his statements for the benefit of Inspector Klein.
“There were two telephone calls for Arberg,” said the detective. “One was shortly before nine o’clock; the other shortly afterward. Prior to that time — between eight and nine — two hotel attendants were here rearranging the furniture to suit Doctor Arberg’s ideas. The old doctor wasn’t out of the place at the time of the killings up at Lorskin’s.”
“Yet Lorskin,” interrupted Klein, “said that Arberg had a lot of money.”
“Certainly,” resumed Cardona. “Sparkles Lorskin was after it. But it’s a sure bet that Arberg didn’t go there. He was here. We don’t know what caused the mess at Lorskin’s — unless there was some double-crossing in the game. We may be able to trace something from that end, but right now, we’ve got facts here.
“It was nine twenty when Doctor Arberg went out. He was alone. He came back at ten ten — still alone. There was a report of a telephone call when he arrived. That indicates that someone was waiting to see him when he came in — or trying to find if he was still out.
“Whether the murderer was waiting for Arberg is a question. It’s more likely that he sneaked in through the door, which we found unlocked. The point is that Arberg made for the table in the corner. There’s finger prints on the telephone. It would be great if they were the murderer’s, but I think they’ll prove to be Arberg’s.”
On his feet, Cardona moved toward the corner. He began a portrayal of the crime. He stood above Arberg’s body, facing those who watched. Then he strode out to the center of the room and whirled toward the corner.
“Arberg fired at the murderer. The man fired back.” Cardona moved toward the corner, to make another complete turn. “The bullets from Arberg’s gun are in the wall. The murderer’s shots killed the old man. He must have fallen upon the table and slumped down. Shiny streaks in the dust show that.”
“The ink bottle and the clock fell on the floor. The murderer grabbed all he could get. The old doctor’s bank roll, his jewelry, even his finger ring. He made his get-away. All we know is that he’s a crook who came in here to steal. Maybe he got the idea from Sparkles Lorskin and made a stab at this job after Sparkles was shot.