“Slugs Raffney, eh?” mused Cardona. “Well, if this was his outfit, it’s a sure bet he’ll stay under cover from now on. You boys” — he was speaking in a complimentary tone to the policemen — “made a perfect wipe-out here. It’s going to be tough for anyone to find Slugs Raffney.”
More questions followed. Cardona looked over the scene of carnage. When he saw the machine gun and its dead operators, a puzzled look appeared upon Cardona’s face. He doubted that the police had done this work. Instinctively, Cardona glanced toward the projecting marquee.
Joe Cardona had an inkling. Shots from that spot could well have slaughtered these dead machine gunners. Shots from the street would have failed. A lurking idea entered Cardona’s mind.
Joe was thinking of The Shadow. Although his reports never mentioned the name of The Shadow, Joe Cardona knew that such a being existed. He had seen former evidences of the mighty fighter’s prowess. He took this as another event in which The Shadow had brought much-needed rescue to those who fought for the law.
Joe Cardona walked back to the curb. He spoke to Jim Clausey. He said nothing regarding his suspicion of The Shadow’s presence. He referred only to those whom he believed had had a part in crime itself.
“You get on the trail of Slugs Raffney,” he suggested. “Pick it up — if you can. My job is to locate the other guy — the one with the gray fedora. Believe me, he could tell us plenty about this!”
The detectives went their way. Roy Selbrig’s body was removed, to be taken to the morgue, along with the dead gangsters. Policemen moved along. The placid street regained its former quiet.
SOMETHING stirred atop the marquee which extended over the lighted sidewalk.
A soft laugh whispered from unseen lips. The Shadow rose crouching, to leave his hiding place. There was sinister irony in his mirth. The Shadow had heard all that was said. Through his keen brain passed the last words which Joe Cardona had uttered — the reference to the man in the gray fedora.
Cardona was right. That man could tell plenty about the death of Roy Selbrig. As yet, however, Cardona’s task was impossible. There were not sufficient clews to trail the man with the fedora.
The Shadow’s laugh was repeated. It was a laugh of understanding. It meant that The Shadow knew the identity of the passenger who had left the cab to enter the Commander Apartments. The Shadow, had he chosen, could have cried out the name that Joe Cardona wanted; but The Shadow had desisted.
The time would come when Joe Cardona would learn. The detective’s knowledge would be gained through The Shadow. But for the present, The Shadow chose to wait. He was fighting a lone battle for the present; a conflict with a master plotter who was seeking gain through murder.
New crime would be attempted. The Shadow would have his opportunity to thwart them. When the murderer was cornered, there would be no doubt about his guilt!
BURBANK, at the table in the apartment above 4H, answered the call of a sinister voice. The Shadow’s tones ordered him to remain constantly at his post. Burbank responded his understanding. The Shadow had spoken.
When crime again was due, The Shadow would have more time to arrange his plans of action. Tonight, he had not been present when Roy Selbrig had died. Would he be present when murder again stalked?
Only The Shadow knew!
Whatever his plans, The Shadow had the key. His work was to watch for Harland Mullrick’s next move. It would be the forerunner of death. When Mullrick moved, The Shadow would respond!
The marquee in front of the Commander Apartments no longer held its human burden. That spot had served The Shadow’s purpose. In action and in silent listening, The Shadow had there remained unseen!
CHAPTER IX
THE SECOND LETTER
HARLAND MULLRICK, attired in dressing gown, was seated at the open window of his living room. It was the next afternoon; the weather was mild outside. Pascual, an apprehensive look in his dark eyes, was watching his master. Mullrick caught the servant’s gaze.
“What is the matter, Pascual?” he questioned in Spanish. “You seem to be afraid of something.”
“The day grows late, senor,” replied the servant in a sober tone. “It is not wise to sit beside the open window. Especially, senor, after dark.”
“Porque?” questioned Mullrick, with a laugh.
“I have seen,” replied Pascual. “I have looked from that window, senor, at night. I have seen.”
“What have you seen?”
“Vampiros!” whispered Pascual. “A great bat, with large wings—”
The servant paused to illustrate by spreading his arms apart. His serious expression made Mullrick wonder. At last, Mullrick laughed.
“Nonsense,” he said. “If you should tell me, Pascual that you had seen human enemies, that would be different.”
“On the wall, senor,” insisted Pascual. “Outside of the window.”
“A vampire!” laughed Mullrick. “Well, it would take something like a huge bat to hang on to those bricks. Forget it, Pascual. You make me nervous. Open the door.”
As Pascual obeyed, responding to a knock that Mullrick had heard, Mullrick himself closed the window. He turned about to face Jerry Herston.
“Hello, Jerry,” said Mullrick quietly. “Sit down. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
HERSTON nodded solemnly. He took a chair and waited for Mullrick to resume the conversation. Mullrick picked up a newspaper from the table and handed it to his visitor.
“Jerry,” he said, “as my confidant — investigator — or what have you, tell me your opinion of this Selbrig killing.”
Jerry Herston looked at the newspaper. He had already read the account which was evidenced by glaring front-page headlines. He perused it again, however; then looked squarely at his employer.
“I’d buy a new hat, if I were you,” he stated frankly.
Mullrick laughed.
“Don’t be foolish, Jerry,” he said. “Take a look when you go downtown. You’ll see more gray hats than any other color. That clew means nothing. Look at your own hat. It’s gray, too.”
“A gray fedora is unusual”
“Any soft hat is a fedora, Jerry. The doorman at the Commander Apartments is high-mannered. That’s all. He called the hat a fedora, and the news hounds picked it up because it sounded unusual. That’s all. No, Jerry, I like my own hat.
“Suppose” — Mullrick’s tone was speculative “that I asked you, Jerry, to find the man who wore the gray fedora at the Commander Apartments. Assuming that you were working blind — as this Detective Cardona is — where would you begin?”
“That’s a tough question, Mullrick. I’ve got something more important to talk about. Those chorines we met at quarter past ten were all mixed up about the time. They’ll say we met them at ten minutes of nine just as quickly as I will—”
“Forget your own opinions, Jerry,” interposed Mullrick. “Take it for granted that I was late in meeting you last night purely because I thought I was being watched when I left this apartment house. When a man’s watched, he dodges, which takes time.”
“That’s O.K.,” responded Herston. “I get your point. I’m to be a detective tonight — forget the alibi business. Well, if I happened to be in Cardona’s boots, I’d take a shot at finding Slugs Raffney. He’s the guy that was running that gang, sure enough.”
“What do you know about Raffney?”
“He’s a wise bimbo. Husky as a bull. Used to be a bouncer in a speak. He can use a gat, too. He’s a good man — for those who need his services.”