These men had little to say. In fact, they knew little. The only one who had recognized The Shadow had been Zipper Marsh, and he had not lived to reveal what he had learned. The previous death of Dobie Wentz — former crony of Zipper Marsh — seemed to prove the theory that the battle had been started by rival gangsters who had sought to thwart Zipper Marsh’s plans.
As a startling sequel to the robbery came the recovery of the stolen jewels and documents which had been taken from the safe in Grayson’s home. Through prompt action, Detective Joe Cardona had regained every item that had been stolen.
The newspapers gave the sleuth credit for this; and Joe maintained a discreet silence so far as details were concerned. The ace detective knew the value of keeping silent at crucial times, and this was an occasion which demanded it. For Joe Cardona was totally in the dark regarding the recovery of the pilfered wealth.
He had received a mysterious telephone call the morning after the burglary. That call had led him to a hotel frequented by gangsters. There he had entered a room that had evidently been occupied by Zipper Marsh. In the dead gangster’s hideout, Joe had discovered the property that belonged to Adolph Marsh.
Cardona had arrested no one. None of the frequenters of the hotel appeared to be connected with the case. None of them could offer information. Some were gangsters whom Cardona recognized, others were characters who might have been regarded as suspicious; yet none could be linked with Zipper Marsh.
Why had the stolen goods been left at Zipper’s hideout, of all places? That was something Cardona could not answer. But in the back of his head, the shrewd sleuth had a theory. In all New York, there was one man only who never did the obvious. That man was The Shadow.
To mention The Shadow’s name would have been folly. Cardona had been reprimanded by the police commissioner for such action in the past. Officially, The Shadow did not exist.
There were many competent police officers who did not share the official verdict. Cardona was one of these. He knew the power of The Shadow. More than once had The Shadow saved him from disgrace as well as destruction. The Shadow was one person in New York who never craved publicity. So Joe Cardona took it when it came his way. He accepted it as part of the game.
THE Grayson affair made good news copy for reporters; it also afforded interesting reading for Douglas Carleton. He perused the evening newspaper when he reached Stanford Devaux’s home after dinner.
Learning that Virginia was indisposed, he spent his time in Devaux’s living room, reading, while his future father-in-law was engaged with Shelton Milbrook in the upstairs study.
Between the lines, Carleton saw the name of The Shadow. What Cardona suspected — namely, that The Shadow had played a part last night — was something that Carleton definitely knew. They had missed a prize last night — he and Gats Hackett — when they had failed to capture the occupant of the coupe.
The spoils of Adolph Grayson’s safe would have been a worthwhile acquisition. But the real loss had been the failure to slay The Shadow.
The Grayson property was trivial, compared to the stakes for which Carleton was playing. Across the path of his newly chosen career still loomed the formidable shape of that unknown antagonist.
Carleton threw the newspaper aside, and sat moodily staring at the blank wall. His meditation was interrupted by the arrival of Devaux and Milbrook. Virginia’s father greeted Carleton affably. Milbrook, too, seemed friendly.
“Sorry Virginia is not feeling well to-night,” observed Devaux. “The doctor says that she will have to stay in bed for several days.”
Carleton nodded gloomily.
“I did not intend to stay here long to-night,” he remarked. “So, under the circumstances, I think I shall go downtown now.”
“Why not ride down with me?” questioned Milbrook.
“All right,” agreed Carleton.
The two men left in a taxi. They said very little during the ride. Carleton was sullen and morose. Milbrook was affable, but taciturn.
The only discussion of importance between them was the matter of Devaux’s interest in uncut diamonds. Milbrook did not seem inclined to give much information on this subject, and Carleton did not press him.
Carleton alighted from the cab at the hotel where Milbrook lived. He said good night to his companion, and strolled toward Broadway.
He walked up the bright thoroughfare and turned into a side street, where he entered the lobby of the Gargantuan Hotel. Here he ascended to the twentieth floor, and approached a door at the end of a corridor. Taking a key from his pocket, Carleton knocked, thus causing a resonant sound.
THE door opened, and the young society man entered to join Gats Hackett and Felix Zubian. The pair were evidently expecting his arrival. Carleton helped himself to a drink which Gats supplied. Then he dropped into a chair and looked questioningly toward his companions.
“Did you read the newspapers?” he asked.
Gats joined Zubian in a nod.
“Nice wind-up to last night’s doings,” vouchsafed Carleton.
“It shows us where we stand,” observed Zubian.
“It means we’ve got to get The Shadow,” growled Gats. “He’s a mean baby. We had things fixed right — and he made a get-away. I’ve never seen a guy so lucky.”
“Lucky?” questioned Zubian, in his suave manner. “Just what do you mean by luck?”
Gats offered no reply.
“The Shadow is dangerous,” declared Zubian. “That is quite apparent. Last night’s episode is valuable. It shows that he cannot be overcome by ordinary methods. He has luck, as you term it, Gats. I call it strategy. To overcome strategy, one must meet it with strategy.”
“Yeah?” quizzed Carleton. “How?”
“We must trust our own efforts — not those of others. The Shadow is undoubtedly a menace. Let us consider last night as a test. Zipper Marsh was not equipped to meet The Shadow. We may be, if we prepare.”
“Well, we’ve put him wise—”
“We have not,” interrupted Zubian quietly. “He has learned nothing except that some one was behind the note from Dobie Wentz. He will attribute that note to gangsters opposed to Zipper Marsh — not to your crowd, Gats.”
“Maybe you’ve figured it right,” retorted the gang leader, “but what are we going to do about it?”
“Find out who The Shadow is, to begin with,” suggested Zubian.
Gats Hackett snorted his disdain.
“Guess you think that’s easy,” he growled. “Well, you’d better guess again, Zubian. There’s been plenty of smart blokes trying to spot The Shadow. They’ve never got anywhere.
“Take it right now — Squint Freston is trying to spot him. How far has he got? Squint’s the smartest spotter in New York — and what’s more, he’s got a head-start, trailing The Shadow’s stools — Vincent and Mann.”
“Yet The Shadow still eludes him.”
“Right. You can’t get The Shadow by laying low. He’s wise to that sort of stuff.”
Silence fell over the trio. Then Douglas Carleton aroused himself from his lethargy and asserted his authority.
“We’ve got to get The Shadow,” he announced. “If you fellows can’t do it, we’ll find some one who can. There’s too much at stake to let The Shadow step in and queer it.
“I have plenty of work for both of you to do — soon. In the meantime, let’s clear the way. You had your chance, Gats; but you fell short. What are you going to do about it?”
GATS HACKETT glowered. He walked over to the table to take a drink of liquor. He paused suddenly, and laid down his glass. His glower changed to an evil leer.
“What am I going to do about it?” he demanded. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do about it! I’ll tell you how to get The Shadow.”