Here was the link with facts that The Shadow already knew. Dave Callard had started for Talleyrand Place but had changed destination when he had spied Moe Shrevnitz’s cab upon his trail. Dave had held a brief interview with Leng Doy; The Shadow’s intrusion had terminated that conference.
But Dave had gained an advantage over The Shadow. The fight in the passage at the Wuhu Cafe; the delay that The Shadow had experienced in making his escape through the secret panel — these had allowed Callard a quarter hour leeway. Time enough to have come here, murdered two men, gathered trophies and departed.
Haste alone could account for Callard passing by this letter in his rapid search of Ralgood’s desk. In his gloved hand, The Shadow held the all-important clues that would govern the law’s search for a missing murderer.
The question that concerned The Shadow at this moment was one of choice. Should he continue the search alone? Or should he, in a sense, invite the law to participate in the same quest?
The Shadow’s decision was an action. Carefully, he replaced the letter from China with the others in the desk. Extinguishing his flashlight, he moved through darkened rooms and departed by the back door, leaving it unlocked behind him.
A FINAL laugh crept softly through the darkness of the alleyway as The Shadow glided away from the neighborhood of Talleyrand Court. Though a murderer had eluded his grasp, The Shadow was confident that he could trace the criminal’s course. The Shadow’s ways and means were many.
Even though he had been unable to learn the nature of the spoils that had been taken from Ralgood’s; though he had no actual proof that any object had been removed, The Shadow had learned enough to know that he was dealing with a man who would stop at no crime. The Shadow’s task was to trail a supercrook whose schemes held depth.
CHAPTER V. IN THE MORNING
AT nine o’clock the next morning, a brisk, square-built man walked into the office of the Indo-China Shipping Bureau. Black-haired and dark-eyed man, his features showed a determined, outthrust jaw that marked him as a keen man of business.
“Gentleman to see you, Mr. Mallikan,” observed the girl at the switchboard, turning about in her chair. “Came in about ten minutes ago.”
“Where is he?” demanded the black-haired man, glancing quizzically at the empty waiting benches.
“I sent him into your office,” replied the girl. “He said that he was a friend of yours from China.”
“What was his name?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Mallikan snapped a sharp retort. Then, curbing his angriness, Mallikan turned on his heel and strode across to his private office.
The Indo-China Shipping Bureau was located high in a downtown skyscraper. When Mallikan entered his office, he saw a young man standing by the window, gazing off beyond the Battery, where an incoming liner looked like a tiny toy between microscopic tugboats. Mallikan closed the door with a thump; the man at the window turned about with a nervous start, then grinned.
“Dave Callard!” exclaimed Mallikan. “Well, well. So you’re back from China earlier than you expected.”
“I am,” returned Callard, advancing to shake hands. “What’s more, I’m glad to be here. Those months in the cooler weren’t any too pleasant.”
“The consulate fixed it for you?”
“Not so much. My Chinese friends in Canton were the ones who really pulled the trick.”
“Sit down. Give me the details.”
MALLIKAN took a chair behind a large mahogany desk; he proffered a box of expensive cigars.
Callard accepted one of the smokes and seated himself opposite the black-haired shipping man.
“It was a real mess,” explained Callard. “Started in Canton when I made a deal with some Chinese merchants to convoy some of their boats up the Chu-kiang.”
“You mean the Canton River?”
“Yes — or the Pearl River, as some call it. Well, the American consul found out what I was doing and advised me to lay off. I went ahead. Smeared a bunch of pirate sampans and thought I’d done a swell job until I landed back in Canton.”
“Yes. I knew your trouble started there.”
“The pirates had friends among some of the local officials. They grabbed me and shoved me in the yamen. Mean places, those Chinese jails.”
“What did the consul do about it?”
“He wanted to try me in the international court. If they’d found me guilty, I’d have been shipped to Manila. I wanted to stay in Canton, on account of my Chinese friends. Well, there were all sorts of complications; but it finally worked out the way I wanted it. Technically, I was sentenced to serve a year in the Chinese prison; but I was transferred to the custody of the international settlement.”
Callard paused to puff at his cigar. His lips hardened into a shrewd smile as he recalled his experiences.
“I was counting on some of those smart officials getting the bounce,” he resumed. “They were pals of the pirates, taking a cut on every robbery, even though they pretended to be on the level. It worked out like I expected. At the end of six months my friends were back in power. They sent a polite delegation to the American consulate and I was released.”
Mallikan began to drum his desk. He was gazing from the window, pondering upon the facts that Callard had just related. At last he nodded brusquely.
“I thought it was something like that, Dave,” he declared. “You were pretty well filled with desire for adventure when I arranged your first shipping berth a few years ago. But I never expected you to get into a scrape as bad as this one.”
“It did look bad when I wrote you about it,” replied Callard with a short laugh. “You’d have thought I was a pirate on my own, the way they grabbed me, there in Canton.”
“I informed your uncle of the details,” declared Mallikan. “I followed your advice. I told him to do nothing for you. I explained that if your captors knew that you had a wealthy relative, they might spirit you away to some place in the interior and hold you for ransom.”
“Which they would have, at the time. Well, it was all right temporarily after I was moved into the international settlement. But just the same, it was wise for Uncle Milton to forget me.”
Mallikan chuckled at the remark.
“HE did forget you,” observed the shipping man, dryly. “He told me he was going to cut you off in his will. I wrote the American consul about it. You probably received the message.”
“I did,” returned Callard, “and my uncle wrote the consul also. He said the same. I was disinherited because of my so-called crime. Because I sided with those who were in the right.”
“I suppose you did, Dave. But you were indiscreet; and indiscretion carries a penalty.”
“Does it?” Callard arose from his chair; his question was a hot challenge. “I’m not so sure of that, Mallikan. Not if I knew my uncle rightly. I’ve come back here, Mallikan, believing that Uncle Milton simply played the game as I wanted him to do. I still think that he arranged some legacy for me.”
Mallikan shook his head.
“I understand,” he said, “that your uncle left his entire estate to charity. After all, he did not have much wealth. Less than fifty thousand dollars, I believe.”
Dave Callard delivered a raucous laugh.
“You believed that, Mallikan?” he questioned. “Why no one who knew anything about my uncle’s affairs would have let that joke pass. Uncle Milton was worth millions!”
“I never met your uncle,” reminded Mallikan. “I merely talked with him over the telephone.”
“What about his secretary?” demanded Callard. “Basslett? Didn’t you have any dealings with him?”
“None at all. I never saw the fellow. Did he know much about your uncle’s affairs?”