“What we do know is that the murder took place at some time after ten, the time when Arberg came in; and if one clew is right, I can set the exact time. Ten twenty-five.”
WITH this statement, Cardona picked the clock from the floor and pointed to the dial. The diamonds that encircled the case glittered in the light. Cardona did not pause to admire them. He was marking the time with his finger. The clock read twenty-five minutes after ten.
“The fall stopped the works,” explained Cardona. “Unless the murderer was thinking of more than I give him credit for, that clock tells us just when the murder took place.”
“What do you mean?” questioned Klein. “You’ve got the evidence there, Joe. Ten twenty-five — that’s the time it happened.”
“Maybe,” said the detective cagily. “There’s another angle to it, though. Suppose this murder was committed at a few minutes before midnight. The murderer could have picked up the clock and turned the hands back to ten twenty-five.”
“Why?”
“To fool us into thinking he got out of here before he did. That’s why. I’m making allowance for that, inspector. At the same time, there’s a good chance that the murderer left the clock alone. The doctor here” — Cardona indicated the police surgeon — “says that Arberg must have been lying dead close to two hours. But we’re not going to take the clock time as final evidence — not by a long shot.
“Suppose we nab some crook — want to know where he was at ten twenty-five on the night when Arberg was killed. Maybe he’d produce a perfect alibi. Nobody gets away with that kind of stuff when I’m around. On the report, it will be death some time between ten twenty-five and twelve fifteen.”
“Good,” commented Inspector Klein. “Very clever, Cardona, figuring that the clock could have been turned back.”
“I don’t miss many tricks,” said the detective modestly. “What’s more” — Cardona’s face clouded — “this is going to be a tough case any way you look at it. We’ve got to start with Sparkles Lorskin and Mitts Cordy. If some other tough guys started the brawl at Lorskin’s, and got away, it’s possible that they took up the job that Sparkles and Mitts were going to do.
“With the clean-up that was pulled in the apartment, it would have been safe for some smart gunman to come up here on his own. There was only one guy left alive in the apartment — that was Sparkles Lorskin. He got his when the police arrived.”
“What about the jewels at Lorskin’s?” questioned the inspector. “He still had them when the officers reached the apartment.”
“Yes,” admitted Cardona, “but he could have driven them off. They had to scram fast enough after the shooting started. Besides that, there’s no telling how much other stuff Lorskin might have had in his apartment. We picked up plenty of his swag — but there might have been more of it.”
The detective paced back across the room and spoke again in a definite tone. He was narrowing the matter down to the situation as it existed here, in Doctor Arberg’s room.
“We’ll work from this spot, inspector,” declared the sleuth. “We’ll find out who it was that left this room some time after ten twenty-five. That’s the job we’ve got. Where Arberg was before that is important only if it brings in crooks. If he went out for any ordinary purpose between nine twenty and ten ten, it doesn’t mean a thing.”
Inspector Klein nodded his agreement. The inspector had great reliance in Cardona’s deductive ability. Clyde Burke, taking notes, was pleased with the story that he was getting.
WHILE Cardona and Klein were discussing details of the report, Lamont Cranston arose quietly and strolled across the room toward the body of Johan Arberg. The millionaire stood silent, as he looked at the upturned dial of the stopped clock.
Cranston’s eyes seemed to reflect the sparkle of the diamonds that fringed the case of the timepiece. A thin, faint smile appeared upon the millionaire’s lips. No one saw that smile. It disappeared as Cranston turned toward the door of the room.
“Doctor Arberg was a most estimable man,” said Cranston to Cardona. “His death is greatly to be regretted. I trust that you will have success in discovering the murderer.”
After a short talk with the detective, Cranston left the hotel. Joe Cardona, despite the important matters which perplexed him here, still found himself recalling Cranston’s calm composure, the immobile expression upon the millionaire’s masklike face. Clyde Burke, too, was impressed by Cranston’s arrival and departure.
Yet neither the detective nor the reporter noted an odd phenomenon which was visible when Cranston walked along the corridor. Behind the departing millionaire trailed a long, weird streak of blackness, that glided over the floor. It was the strange splotch with its topping silhouette — the shade of darkness that identified The Shadow.
THE aftermath of Cranston’s visit to the Hotel Imperator occurred some time later. A click sounded in a pitch-black room. A flickering blue light cast its spectral rays upon the polished surface of a table. White hands crept from darkness, to move within the range of light. Upon one hand sparkled the flashing, ever-changing gem which was the symbol of The Shadow.
Pen and paper were on the table. The Shadow’s hands began to use them. Long fingers sketched the outline of the clock which had been lying on the floor in Doctor Arberg’s room. The final touch was the placing of pointing hands, which indicated twenty-five minutes after ten.
Eyes from the dark studied that time. On another sheet of paper, The Shadow inscribed terse words which were open statements of his hidden thoughts. The Shadow was analyzing Detective Joe Cardona’s theory.
Motive — robbery; time indicated — 10:25;
evidence — clock; possibility — hands set back—
These were the phrases which The Shadow inscribed in his analysis. Then, in tabulated form, The Shadow marked a schedule that gave the approximate times of the events which had concerned Doctor Arberg’s affairs during the evening.
8:50 — Telephone call.
9:00 — Telephone call.
9:20 — Departure.
10:05 — Unanswered call.
10:10 — Return.
10:25 — Time on clock.
12:20 — Discovery of murder.
The Shadow checked the top of the column. The 8:50 call, he knew, was his own. Then minutes later, at nine o’clock, Doctor Arberg had answered another telephone call; probably one which summoned him from the hotel. The Shadow’s finger marked the interval between nine o’clock and twenty minutes after that hour.
Why the telephone call at five minutes after ten, only a few minutes before Doctor Arberg’s return? Why had that call not been repeated? The person on the wire had probably been informed that Doctor Arberg would soon be back.
The Shadow laughed. He sensed that the 10:05 call could have been made to learn whether or not anything had been discovered amiss.
Motive robbery; time 10:25; possibly later; evidence, the clock—
After writing these words again, The Shadow deliberately drew a line through the phrases until he reached the final three words. “Evidence, the clock” — that was the only statement which The Shadow accepted. Beneath it, The Shadow wrote:
Motive not robbery.
The whispered laugh that crept through the blackened room explained more effectively than words the reason why The Shadow had formed this conclusion. If, as Joe Cardona supposed, the motive had been robbery, why had the murderer failed to take the jeweled clock along with the other articles that he had stolen?