Roy Selbrig. Dead. Crossed off the list.
Burton Blissip. Dead. Crossed off the list.
Sidney Cooperdale. Dead. Crossed off the list.
Beneath their names was the name of a fourth man. Cardona recognized that name. Donald Gershawl!
Cardona had actually been to Gershawl’s penthouse, atop the mammoth Solwick tower. He had gone there with Police Commissioner Weston, who was a friend of Gershawl’s. A financier who possessed great wealth, Gershawl had established himself in a sanctuary so lofty that it seemed impregnable against any crime. Weston had taken Cardona there to let the detective see the place.
So Donald Gershawl still remained upon the list! A firm smile rested upon Cardona’s lips. Harland Mullrick, clever though he might be, would have trouble dealing with Donald Gershawl, unless he took the millionaire unawares.
Therein lay the danger. Cardona thrust the list into his pocket. He knew that Donald Gershawl must be warned; that through him, steps must be taken to apprehend Harland Mullrick. Cardona looked toward the telephone; then changed his mind. He decided to visit Donald Gershawl in person.
“Markham,” he said to the detective sergeant, “I’ve got a job ahead. You are in charge here. Tell Inspector Klein that I’ll call him at headquarters.”
With this final statement, the star detective strode from Harland Mullrick’s apartment, without another glance at the three dead bodies that lay upon the floor.
On the wall of the apartment house, a huge, batlike form was resting beside the window of the apartment above Mullrick’s. The figure moved; a squdgy sound came as rubber suction cups were detached from the surface which they gripped. From the outer darkness, The Shadow entered the apartment where Burbank was stationed.
A gloved hand picked up Burbank’s brief shorthand notes. The eyes of The Shadow read the remarks which Joe Cardona had made before he left. The Shadow’s laugh was a creepy whisper that made even stolid Burbank shudder.
“Remove.”
The order was understood. Burbank knew that his vigil here had ended. He arose to detach his equipment. Harland Mullrick would not return to his apartment. With the police in charge, a prompt removal of all apparatus was Burbank’s present work. All would go but the microphone behind the radiator in Mullrick’s living room. That piece of apparatus would not be discovered.
As Burbank worked, he knew that The Shadow had departed. The lone fighter had other duties to perform. He, like Joe Cardona, knew of an impending encounter.
Harland Mullrick and Donald Gershawclass="underline" the two were due to meet. The fourth man on the list was to face a formidable adversary. Joe Cardona was on his way to anticipate that meeting.
The Shadow, too, was bound for the spot where death now loomed to complete the schemes of a man who dealt in murder!
CHAPTER XVII
IN THE TOWER
WHEN Detective Joe Cardona arrived at the huge Solwick Tower, in lower Manhattan, he stopped for a moment to stare upward toward the summit of the mighty monolith. Far up, at mountainous height above the street, a tiny pin point of a light denoted the location of Donald Gershawl’s penthouse.
Cardona did not enter the main door of the tremendous skyscraper. Instead, he went to a side entrance where a closed door barred his way. Cardona rang a bell. A grille work opened, and a face appeared. It was that of a watchman.
“Detective Cardona,” announced the sleuth. “From headquarters. To see Mr. Gershawl. Important.”
The wicket closed. A short while later, the door swung open. Cardona entered a square-shaped room. The door closed. On the wall near the door, the detective saw an interior telephone and a lever which was evidently used to open the metal door. Directly beyond was the entrance to an elevator. There was a closed archway at the left
This room had originally been designed as a special hallway where visitors would enter the elevator that went to the top of the Solwick Tower. Before the completion of the building, however, Donald Gershawl, who had financed the operation, decided to use the tower as a penthouse, not as a place for sight-seers.
Hence, the archway had been closed, and the small side entrance was kept shut. This square room had been transformed into an anteroom six hundred feet below the apartment which it served!
This was one of the unique arrangements which Commissioner Ralph Weston had pointed out when he had brought Detective Joe Cardona here to visit Donald Gershawl.
The swish of a descending elevator came from between the doors. The car had struck the air cushion. The doors opened, and the watchman ushered Cardona into the elevator. A uniformed operator — a husky fellow — closed the doors and started the car upward.
At the end of the ride, Cardona stepped off the elevator into a waiting room where an attendant was seated. This man inquired Cardona’s name; hearing it, he opened a massive door and ushered the detective into the apartment itself.
DONALD GERSHAWL termed this place a penthouse. Actually, it was an observation floor which had been made into an apartment. A little beyond the center hall was the huge cylinder that indicated a spiral stairway leading to the open observation tower above. All the windows of the penthouse opened on a balcony which stretched completely about this story of the building.
The attendant rapped on a door beside the big cylinder. In response to an order from within, he opened the portal.
Joe Cardona walked into a sumptuous living room. He found Donald Gershawl awaiting him.
The financier was a tall, well-built man of fifty-odd years. His square jaw was a token of the determination which had gained him his high position of wealth. His face was friendly and frank; his gray hair gave him a look of dignity which went well with his erect bearing.
“Good evening,” greeted Gershawl. “I am glad to see you again, Detective Cardona. What brings you here? Have you come from Commissioner Weston?”
“No,” returned Cardona, in a serious tone. “I haven’t seen the commissioner yet, Mr. Gershawl. I wanted to talk with you first. I have come here to warn you—”
Gershawl stopped abruptly as he was receiving a box of cigars which a servant had brought him.
“To warn me?” he questioned, with a puzzled look. “Against what? Against whom? Is there a conspiracy?”
“I’ll explain it all,” began Cardona. “There’s been murder—”
“Murder?” Gershawl’s tone became composed, though his face was grave. “Be seated, Mr. Cardona. Have one of these Coronas” — he extended the box of cigars as Cardona sat down — “and tell me of this matter. Murder, you say?”
“Yes.” Cardona brought the list from his pocket. “Look at this, Mr. Gershawl. Maybe it will explain itself.”
Donald Gershawl stared at his own name. Then he read the ones which were crossed out. His eyebrows furrowed. He nodded as he passed the sheet back to Cardona.
“You recognize the names?” asked the detective
“Certainly,” responded Gershawl. “I have been reading the newspapers quite closely. These three were murdered. The inference therefore, is—”
“That you are marked for the fourth victim.”
“Of the man with the gray fedora,” commented Gershawl, with a doubtful smile. “A rather vague description for so formidable an enemy. Tell me, Mr. Cardona, where did you find this list?”
“In the apartment of a man named Harland Mullrick,” announced Cardona. “It was clutched by the hand of a dead detective. He gasped the name of Slugs Raffney, a murderer for whom we are looking. Slugs Raffney, though, is but a tool in the hands of the chief killer. Harland Mullrick is the man we are after.”
“Is he the man from Mexico?”