Clyde had talked with Lattan, Dolver and the employees at the apartment house. He had been told about the missing locket; he had seen the revolver that had been used in murder. His report corroborated the fact that police were on guard at the apartment house. It also added one point that brought a whispered laugh from The Shadow, namely that Courtney Dolver was going to his Long Island residence on the morrow.
The report completed, The Shadow spoke instructions. They were detailed intonations that brought pauses in which Burbank gave quiet acknowledgment. Steadily, The Shadow was dictating the outline for a newspaper story.
He was emphasizing facts that Clyde Burke would have subordinated. He was shaping a sensational story to replace the one that the reporter had already prepared for the columns of the New York Classic.
His statements finished, The Shadow thrust the earphones to the wall. The bluish light clicked out; a swish in darkness, the echoed whisper of a sinister laugh — those were the signs of The Shadow’s departure.
LATER, Stanley awoke from a drowse at the wheel of Lamont Cranston’s limousine. A voice had brought him from his light slumber — the quiet voice of Cranston, through the speaking tube beside the chauffeur’s ear.
Nodding, Stanley started the big car and headed toward the Holland Tube. The Shadow’s work had been accomplished for the night. Again in the guise of Lamont Cranston, he was riding to the New Jersey mansion wherein he dwelt when he played the part of the leisurely millionaire.
CHAPTER X. THE FOCAL POINT
“WHAT do you think of it, Cardona?”
“We told Burke too much, commissioner. He’s gone berserk.”
“I don’t think so, Cardona. This story has merit. I have already acted upon its suggestions.”
Joe Cardona gaped as the police commissioner thumped a copy of the New York Classic. Cardona could see the firm expression that had set on Weston’s face.
“We are dealing with a murderer,” stated the commissioner. “You know and I know that Dave Callard is capable of any crime. What the Classic says is true. Death may threaten others who knew Milton Callard. We must locate them, Cardona.”
“All right,” agreed Joe, “but what’s the Classic butting in on it for? Look at this, commissioner. On the front page. An open letter to all persons who may have known Milton Callard and can give unusual facts about him. Asking such people to inform the Classic confidentially. That gripes me, commissioner.”
“It is a step beyond bounds,” admitted Weston. “Nevertheless, it is in the right direction. Remember, Cardona, I hold full authority. I can demand full information from the Classic; no matter what is learned there, the news will come to me.”
“They should have asked you to make the statement, commissioner. They’re trying to show us up.”
“Perhaps.”
“I don’t get that point, commissioner?”
“I shall explain it, Cardona.” Weston leaned both elbows on his desk; his strong lips formed a smile beneath the pointed mustache. “Suppose no other friends of Milton Callard are threatened. That would mean wasted ammunition. Had we made this announcement, it would have been regarded as a cry for help. It could be justified only if some friends of Milton Callard should appear.”
“I get it now,” nodded Cardona. His expression showed appreciation of the commissioner’s canniness. “That’s a mighty good point. The Classic can afford to be a goat, if it sells extra editions while it’s doing it.”
“But I can’t afford to be one, Cardona.”
THERE was a pause. Weston picked up the newspaper and turned on a desk lamp to counteract the dusk. He found a large-typed paragraph and pointed it out to Cardona.
“While the Classic has chosen a campaign of its own,” smiled Weston, “it has added a suggestion that is also of great importance. One that we can logically follow. We shall take advantage of it, Cardona.
“Here, Burke speaks of the murderer. Burke speculates. He wonders what would have been Dolver’s fate had the murderer known that Dolver would overhear Shurrick’s dying words about the locket.”
“Young Callard would have bumped Dolver sure,” declared Cardona. “That was a lucky break for Dolver, all right.”
“Burke also emphasizes the description that Dolver gave,” added Weston. “Of course, we could have applied it to another man of Dave Callard’s build; but there is certainly a chance that Dolver could identify his assailant if the man should be captured.”
“That’s right,” acknowledged Cardona, studying the paragraph. “Say — it’s a hint that Dolver may be in danger. Read it close, commissioner. There’s a chance that young Callard will take it into his noodle to gun for Dolver!”
“Precisely, Cardona. That is why I called Courtney Dolver only half an hour ago.”
“At his home on Long Island?”
“Yes. To tell him that I had decided to place his residence under police protection.”
“Was Dolver alarmed?”
“Quite. He told me, though, that he was well guarded. He has three or four servants on the premises; all are competent men who can be trusted.”
“We are going out there?”
“Yes. As soon as Burke has arrived here.”
CARDONA’S jaw lowered at the commissioner’s statement. Weston laughed at the detective’s open-mouthed attitude.
“You will be interested, Cardona,” remarked the commissioner, “after you have seen me handle Burke. He will come here expecting to find me thoroughly annoyed. I shall take him by surprise.”
Scarcely had the commissioner finished speaking before a secretary entered to announce Mr. Burke of the Classic. A few minutes later, Clyde was ushered into the room. The Shadow’s agent approached a bit gingerly. He showed real astonishment when he received Weston’s warm handclasp.
“Grand work, Burke!” exclaimed Weston. “We thank you and the Classic for the efforts that you have undertaken. Finding friends of Milton Callard may be the solution to these baffling murders.”
“We’re ready to cooperate, of course,” acknowledged Clyde. “The M.E. told me to assure you of that, commissioner. Should our published request bring results, we shall notify you at once.”
“Quite right, Burke,” commended Weston. “I see that you have not forgotten the mistake that you made during the term of my predecessor, Wainwright Barth.”
“I’m laying off criticism,” grinned Clyde.
“Good,” decided Weston. “But from now on, Burke, we expect you to work with us. Let me know about these journalistic scoops before you release them. It will be to your advantage. In return, I shall show you direct consideration in reference to our own plans.”
“That sounds straight enough, commissioner. You mean—”
“I mean, Burke, that we are already taking new preventative measures against threatening crime. You are welcome to accompany Cardona and myself on our present mission. With the understanding that you will violate no confidence.”
“I agree to that, commissioner.”
“Very well. Burke” — Weston paused wisely — “we believe that Courtney Dolver may be in danger. We are going out to see him at his Long Island home. We feel positive that Dave Callard has regretted the fact that he did not murder Dolver last night.”
Weston spoke with a tone of definite belief. Clyde Burke gave no sign to show that he knew that Weston was merely building up the reporter’s own suggestion.
In fact, Clyde showed some surprise. Joe Cardona repressed a grin. He liked the way in which the commissioner was handling the reporter.