"What became of the odd person?" he asked.
"He must have left," returned Cardona. "Castelle isn't sure, but he thinks there were seven men and six women in the place. There were six men and six women — Harvey included — when the house detectives got there. That makes an odd man in the crowd."
"How could he have disappeared?"
"There's a mystery," declared Cardona. "It's pretty near as bad as the ghost theory. When he went, he must have slid out the door just after the lights came on.
"He had a straight hallway ahead of him. No doors on either side. He might have slipped along to the balcony above the lobby, then down the stairs at the side.
"Castelle grabbed a telephone, and called for help right after the lights came on. The house men were there mighty quick. But when you're dealing with an uncertain time element—"
"It would have been possible, however?" interjected Weston. "Possible for a man to have left by the hall?"
"Possible, yes," agreed the detective. "That was the only way. One door to the room. Windows with locked shutters. Out through the hall— but if a man made his get-away there, he must have been a wonder. Nevertheless, Castelle has given me the tip. I figure he must be right."
"About the people in the room," began Weston.
"Commissioner," said Cardona, "there is not one suspect in the lot. Peas in a pod, all except Castelle. He's a skeptic as you say, but you can't hook up any motive for him."
"He speaks of an extra man. That might be a blind—"
"Not at all," said Cardona emphatically. "Castelle is talking straight. If he wasn't trying to help, he would have taken the easy route sided with the rest of them. He's right — absolutely.
"There was another man in that room, and he made his get-away. When we find him, we'll have the murderer!"
Weston picked up the newspaper. He made a study of the names in the list. He started a series of pointed questions regarding the various individuals. Cardona answered each query in methodical fashion. Weston dropped the newspaper and extended his hand.
It was a triumph for Joe Cardona — a glorious finish to this conference which he had approached so uneasily. Weston's conviction was evident.
"There was another man," declared the commissioner, with a note of final emphasis. "A man who wanted to kill Herbert Harvey. But why did he choose such a strange method?"
"That's easy," said Cardona, a slight smile upon his swarthy countenance. "It was a cinch, in the dark. They were all sitting around that circle. When the dagger began to float above, the only one who could have known it was phony was the medium.
"He says he had his eyes shut — always does when he is in a trance. The witnesses agree. But supposing he did catch a flash of that dirk. What could he do?
"If he squawked and hollered for the lights, it might have got him. He was helpless, tied up in the chair."
"Right again!" exclaimed Weston, in a congratulating tone.
"Yes," said Cardona, "the professor sat tight, afraid to squawk. That's the story. The rest were scared stiff — and I include Castelle with the lot. But he had enough sense to use his head."
"Cardona," said Weston, standing beside the desk, "I aim giving you free rein in this matter. You have done wonders, so far. The case is in your hands."
"Thanks, commissioner," said Cardona, rising. "I'm glad you feel that way about it. I don't want to waste any time, yet I want to feel that I'm not rushed. This trail — if I pick it up — may lead anywhere."
"What do you propose to do? Hold any of these people?"
"Not a one. The professor lives at the Hotel Dalban. He's safe there. We'll give him leeway, but he won't have a chance to skip town. He'll be a good witness, later on. I'm going to let his story ride for the present.
"All the rest are safe enough. Castelle lives at the Merrimac Club. He's a big man, well known and well liked. I can talk with him any time. But right now, I'm going back and work on a clue that will lead me to this man who made the slip."
"Let me make one suggestion," said Weston seriously. "Some time ago, Cardona, you had a great failing. You were inclined to attribute certain unexplainable events to a nonexistent person whom you termed The Shadow. You have corrected that fault. Do not let it undermine your sound opinions in connection with this case."
Cardona's face lengthened for a minute; then the detective laughed in a forced manner.
"I've forgotten that, commissioner," he said. "Let's not talk about it."
"Agreed," smiled Weston, clapping the star detective on the back. "Go to it, my man! I am relying upon you. The case is in your hands. Find the missing murderer."
As Cardona left the commissioner's office, he wore a solemn look upon his face a look that Commissioner Weston would have eyed suspiciously.
For Weston's words had aroused the detective's intent memory. As he headed for the Hotel Dalban, Cardona was wondering deeply.
Some unknown being had figured in this crime. The tabloids were loud in their cry of a ghostly hand — a wild theory that looked good in print, but which Cardona had rejected absolutely. Yet the strange disappearance of the missing personage must either be supernatural or superhuman. Ghosts, Cardona had heard, were supernatural. The Shadow, Cardona knew, was superhuman. Spook or Shadow — which?
Cardona spoke his decision mentally.
"The Shadow!"
Chapter III–Cardona Receives a Present
Evening found Detective Joe Cardona worn and worried. From the time he had left Commissioner Weston's office, his mind had been working in forbidden channels. At the Hotel Dalban, he had searched for hidden clues. He had discovered none.
The Shadow!
That was the one thought that had impressed the detective more and more. With that mysterious name uppermost in his mind, Cardona had become singularly mute and unresponsive. He had gained the privilege that he had desired — complete freedom in the handling of the Harvey case. But he knew well that, should Commissioner Weston suspect the detective's mind was reverting to The Shadow, the solution of the crime would become the work of other men at headquarters. Often in his career, Cardona had seen traces of The Shadow. He knew well that the name alone could bring terror to the black hearts of hardened gangsters.
Crooks had died, gasping that strange name. Time and again, the plans of clever mobsters had been thwarted by The Shadow.
Who was The Shadow?
Cardona had no idea whatever. He knew simply that the strange man who identified himself by that name was the sworn enemy of crime.
A power of vengeance, he descended upon skulking criminals, and brought them to account for their misdeeds. Often had The Shadow's terrible automatics barked forth their message of doom to those who fought the law.
Yet, even the most crafty leaders of the underworld were totally at a loss concerning the identity of The Shadow. They knew him only as a man in black — a tall, weird figure that came from nowhere, and vanished into the thickness of the night.
Fiends of lawlessness had faced The Shadow. They had listened to his awe-inspiring voice. They had heard the sibilant whispers of his hidden lips. But those who might have answered questions regarding The Shadow did not live to yield such information.
Cardona, himself, had seen The Shadow. He knew that the man of the dark was no myth. But no one at headquarters could support the star detective's word. Cardona had seen lives saved by The Shadow. He, himself, had escaped destruction, due to the intervention of this mighty man. On other occasions, Cardona had solved mysteries that were seemingly unfathomable, through the secret aid of The Shadow. But Cardona, not The Shadow, had received the credit. Only The Shadow had known the truth — and The Shadow had never told!