Something plopped upon the table. It was Cardona's sheet of paper. A moment later, it was unfolded, and there the hidden eyes of The Shadow read the message meant for them.
A low, whispered laugh passed through the darkness of that room. Its tones were neither mocking nor mirthful. They seemed to carry a meaning that could not be defined.
Cardona's plea was whisked away into darkness. Had The Shadow ignored it?
His next action gave no clue to his purpose. A stack of typewritten sheets appeared upon the table. One by one, the hands went through them. They were confidential reports of The Shadow's agents — a small but efficient band of loyal henchmen.
The Shadow's hands stopped momentarily upon one sheet. The soft laugh was repeated. The papers disappeared. Now the hands had taken a new task.
The left hand held a small metal disk of a dull silver color. The right was poised with a small engraving tool between its fingers.
Carefully, the hand inscribed. The disk was cupped in the left hand so the letters were hidden as each was made.
Invisible eyes were guiding the task. Soon the work was completed. The light went out.
The soft laugh sounded and when its echoes died, the room was empty. The Shadow had departed.
Morning found Joe Cardona entering his office with a folded newspaper tucked beneath his arm. His statement had been printed.
Despite his insistence to the reporter that he be quoted exactly, Cardona had found that his wording had been changed — probably by some one at the copy desk. His attempt at a message to The Shadow bad been badly garbled, although traces of it still remained.
Cardona was dubious. He knew The Shadow's skill at solving cryptic messages. But this had been a crude, poorly made attempt. The keenest mind in all the world could hardly see any meaning in such a pitiful endeavor.
A Detective, lingering within the door, pointed to a package on Cardona's desk. It had been there when the man had come in.
Wondering, Cardona looked at the small cardboard box. It bore no name or address.
Nevertheless, it would not be on his desk if it were not intended for him.
Cardona broke the string and opened the box. He fished through a layer of tissue paper, while his companion watched him.
A raucous laugh came from the other detective as Cardona's hand emerged. For Joe Cardona, hard-boiled sleuth, was standing stupefied, with a bunch of violets in his grasp!
The sole witness of this hoax shouted from the door, and other faces peered in to view the ridiculous sight. Angrily, Cardona strode toward the door. The laughers scattered, as they saw the savage fury on his face.
Cardona slammed the door. His face reddened as he glowered at the flowers. He drew back his arm to hurl the bouquet against the wall. His clenching fist crunched the tender stems. Cardona stopped his toss with arm still raised. Something was driving itself against the base of his thumb — a hard, edged object.
Bringing the violets below the range of his eyes, Cardona pulled the bouquet apart and let the flowers flutter to the floor. All that remained between his finger and thumb was a blank disk of silvery metal. Cardona stared; then turned the disk over. On the reverse side, he noted an inscription. He read this cryptic announcement:
SATURDAY
PHILADELPHIA
ANITA MARIE
Bewildered, Joe Cardona wondered. Then, almost mechanically, the answer dawned. A marked disk, tendered in a bunch of violets.
The Shadow's answer to Cardona's call for aid!
Chapter IV — Little Flowers Speaks Again
Saturday found Detective Joe Cardona in Philadelphia. The taciturn sleuth had said nothing about his trip from New York. Since the morning that he had received the bouquet of violets, Cardona had preserved an air of aloofness.
The name, "Anita Marie," had puzzled Cardona. When he reached Philadelphia, the detective knew nothing of its significance. He realized that he might be on a wild-goose chase; that the violets might have been the prank of a practical joker.
Nevertheless, a ninety-mile trip from Manhattan was nothing if the journey might lead to a clue concerning the now famous ghost murder in the Hotel Dalban.
In Philadelphia, Cardona knew that his position as a New York detective would enable him to secure the cooperation of the local authorities. But he did not wish to take this step unless absolutely necessary. Hence, he scanned the Philadelphia newspapers as he sat in his hotel room, seeking any item that might include the name of Anita Marie.
Obviously, Anita Marie might be a woman's name. But the name was incomplete.
Therefore, it could be the name of a shop, a tea, room— or even a ship in the port of Philadelphia. But the advertisements and news notes that Cardona read gave no clue in this direction.
The detective's mind went back to the first impression — that Anita Marie must be a woman. He suddenly decided that the name might be complete, after all.
He picked up the telephone book in the hotel room, and ran through its pages to the letter M. There he found the name "Marie" — followed by the first name, "Anita." Cardona was forced to smile at his stupidity. Anita Marie was the complete name after all. He noted the address, and the telephone number. It was evidently a residence in West Philadelphia. Cardona left the hotel, and rode westward in the subway. He reached his destination, and strolled down the street opposite the spot where the house was located.
There, on a small sign, he read:
Anita Marie
Psychic Circle
Anita Marie was a spirit medium! Not only that, but she was using the same title that Professor Raoul Jacques had employed with his group of believers in New York.
Reaching the corner, Cardona drew a tabloid newspaper from his pocket. He had looked through the personal columns before, but he had not noticed anything of special interest, although he remembered that the word psychic had appeared there.
He discovered it again — in two or three announcements. One stated as follows: Psychic meeting to-night. Friendly visitors welcome. Eight o'clock.
Beneath the notice appeared the address of Anita Marie.
It was already late in the afternoon. Cardona decided to wait until eight o'clock. He found a restaurant in the vicinity and dined there. He was sure, now, that his mysterious tip-off had come from The Shadow. During his investigation of the Harvey murder, Cardona had realized that events in one seance room might have a possible connection with those in others. But the job of watching every medium in Manhattan and environs had seemed a ridiculous plan.
Cardona, in all his work, played for breaks that would lead him somewhere. He had found one now, and it was worth following.
Shortly before eight o'clock, he arrived at the home of Anita Marie. Cardona was astounded when he saw the rows of automobiles gathered on both sides of the street.
Evidently this medium did a rushing business at her Saturday-night seances. Cardona was impressed, in spite of himself.
He went up the steps of the house and rang the bell. The door was opened by a sharp-featured maid. Cardona, hat in hand, inquired if the seance had begun. The maid's reply was in the negative. She stepped aside, and the detective entered. The maid took his hat and ushered him into a large room. Some forty persons were seated in chairs around the walls.
Cardona took a vacant seat, and quietly eyed the other visitors. Most of them appeared to be persons of some intelligence. While he was studying his companions, Cardona noticed them glancing toward the end of the room. Staring in that direction, the detective viewed a woman who had just entered. She was the medium — Anita Marie. A tall woman, past middle age, and inclined to stoutness, she had an appearance of impressive dignity. But there was a defiant attitude in her bearing, and her eyes threw a sweeping challenge as they glanced about the room.