What had he done with it?
It seemed incredible that an unknown intruder could have entered here and made away with those notations. What purpose could have been gained by such a procedure?
Every fact that he had written was emblazoned in Cardona's brain. There was nothing in the notes that he could not write again from memory.
Confused, Cardona decided that he must have placed the paper somewhere other than in his pocket. He made a search about the room, and finally reached a point where he was wondering if he had made the notes at all.
Then he thought of the only spot where he had not looked. Beneath his pillow! Perhaps, absent-mindedly, he had thrust them there.
Raising the pillow, Cardona stood stupefied. There were his notes; but they were not alone. The sheet of paper was tucked beneath a string that bound a small, flat box!
Excitedly, Cardona seized his own paper and made sure that it was the one he had prepared last night. He yanked the string from the box and burst open the cardboard package. Within, he discovered a small bunch of violets!
Only one man could have placed that package there. The Shadow!
Now, Cardona realized that the man of the dark had secretly entered this room. The Shadow had placed the box beneath the sleeping detective's pillow.
To make sure that Cardona would discover it, he had taken the detective's notes from the coat pocket, and had put them with the package!
Pulling away the stems of the violets, Cardona found the object that he sought. A small flat metal disk, like the one that had brought him on his errand to Philadelphia. Like the first, this coinlike bit of metal bore a message:
Death
Through
Window
"Death through window!"
The thought took Cardona back to the scene at the Hotel Dalban, in New York. Could that be the death to which The Shadow had referred? It was the only death that interested the detective. Cardona recalled the windows of the seance room in the Dalban. Closed shutters, locked on the inside. The hotel men had said that they were always shut and locked, except when the room was being aired. Why had The Shadow sent this message to Philadelphia? A few days ago, in New York, it would have been of value. There was nothing in last night's seance — and Cardona was examining his notes carefully— that could have given a clue to the mode of entrance used by the killer in New York. Angrily, Cardona threw the violets in the wastebasket.
He saw it now! The Shadow was tricking him! He had been brought here on a futile chase, so he would be absent from New York. Perhaps some undiscovered evidence remained in that room at the Dalban. If so, it would be removed by now.
Cardona's faith in The Shadow waned. Furious, the sleuth believed that The Shadow, himself, must be a wanton slayer — the killer of Herbert Harvey.
There was no time to lose. His duty lay in New York. Hurriedly packing his few belongings, Cardona rushed downstairs, paid his hotel bill, and dashed for the railroad station.
He had just time enough to buy a ticket and a local Sunday newspaper. He obtained a seat in the club car of the New York express, and sullenly ordered a breakfast.
While he waited at the little table, Cardona spread the newspaper before him. The arrival of his meal interrupted his reading, and Cardona laid the journal aside while he ate. The train had passed the limits of Philadelphia when the detective again began to peruse the news items.
A heading caught his eye:
Mistake Brings death To Banker
The story followed. Geoffrey Garwood, retired man of wealth, had taken pills from the wrong bottle. He had been found dead in a room at his home.
According to the newspaper account, Garwood kept medicinal pills on a rack in the bathroom. In a medicine chest, close by, was another bottle that contained pills of similar appearance, which were poison.
In some unknown way, Garwood had deliberately taken the bottle from the medicine chest, instead of the one that was on the rack. He had gone to his own room, had swallowed a few of the poison pills, and had died.
"Geoffrey Garwood!"
The name came to Cardona's mind, as he stared unseeingly toward the sweeping landscape. He remembered the name of the woman in Anita Marie's seance room. Maude Garwood!
The Shadow's message took on another import — different from Cardona's interpretation. This must be the death to which The Shadow referred.
A glance at the newspaper article showed Cardona that Garwood had died at nine o'clock, while only he and the servants were in the house.
That was the hour when Cardona had been at Anita Marie's seance. There, The Shadow had laughed his departing challenge. Had he sensed the tragedy that had occurred at Garwood's?
The train was slowing its speed as it crossed the high bridge over the Delaware at Trenton. It was due to stop at the New Jersey capital.
Cardona picked up his hat and his suitcase, and signaled to the porter that he intended to get off at that stop, forty-five minutes from Philadelphia.
The detective waited half an hour for an express from New York. He arrived back in Philadelphia exactly two hours after he had left.
He went immediately to the local detective headquarters, announced his identity, and stated that he would like to visit the scene of Geoffrey Garwood's death.
Cardona's request was received with some surprise. He was informed that the investigation of Garwood's death had proved that it must have been a matter of accident; that complete data had been furnished regarding Geoffrey Garwood's recent actions, and there was absolutely no reason why the wealthy man could have contemplated suicide.
Suicide! Cardona was searching for murder!
But the New York detective wisely checked the words that were upon his lips. He realized that with an established verdict of death through misadventure, he must present some tangible evidence in order to cast doubt upon the findings of the local authorities. Yet he knew nothing about the Garwood case. A bunch of violets, slipped beneath his pillow. A marked disk, received here in Philadelphia, when he was supposed to have been in New York. A reference to a death — which might be any death at all!
These were the bases of Cardona's interest in the death of Geoffrey Garwood. Had it not been for them, he would have passed up the matter entirely.
Cardona had no desire to make himself appear ridiculous. He decided instantly not to mention the fact that he had attended a spirit seance in Philadelphia the night before.
Instead, he wisely turned his talk to poisons. The death of Geoffrey Garwood, he stated, might furnish him with valuable data. He was anxious to learn how quickly death had occurred; if the dying man had sensed that his end was near.
This tactful discourse placed Cardona in the light of a New York sleuth making a special trip to Philadelphia to study the effective methods of the local investigators. Joe Cardona's diplomatic questioning brought him immediate cooperation.
A Philadelphia detective was delegated to take him to Garwood's home in a headquarters car. There, Cardona could see for himself just how simple it had been for a man to unwittingly poison himself. Geoffrey Garwood's home was in a suburban district, within the city limits. It had a wide expanse of lawn on one side; but on the other, it was built close to a hedge. Cardona noticed that the adjoining property was untenanted.
Two servants were alone in the Garwood house. They admitted the detectives, and Cardona was led first to the upstairs room, where the banker's body had been discovered. Looking through the window, Cardona observed the lawn.
"He got the bottle from the shelf in the bathroom," declared the Philadelphia detective. "Over on the other side of the house. He must have been absentminded. Come along, I'll show you the mistake he made." The bathroom had a single window. It opened toward the hedge. Below it were projecting eaves that extended from a roof over a side porch. Cardona observed this fact immediately.