"Tyrune probably." Instead, the call was one from headquarters. Joe took it. His face was serious when he replaced the telephone.
"They've found out where Tyrune lives," informed Cardona, "but he isn't there. You don't think he'd have been fool enough to go to Henshew's?"
"I don't know." Chanbury's tone was doubtful. He turned about. "What would you say, Eleanor?"
"If he had intended to go there," replied the girl, "he would have asked for the pass-key."
The argument was a sound one. It brought an admiring look from Cardona. He decided to have Eleanor here with Chanbury, when Henshew came tomorrow night. The girl had sense; and her presence would lull the crook. For the present, though, Tyrune was the question.
"We'd better run over to Jim's," said Cardona. "He'll be there by the time we are. We'll take him down to the commissioner's."
CARDONA pocketed the statement and the exhibits. Chanbury went upstairs to dress. He met Cardona at the front door; Joe said that he had called Weston's, but the commissioner was out. Cardona had left word where they would be.
They rode into Manhattan in one of Chanbury's large cars, with a chauffeur at the wheel. They found Tyrune's boarding house on an obscure street. It look a long while to arouse the irate landlady. Her indignation only increased when she saw Cardona's badge.
"Why should the likes of you be rousing up innocent people?" she inquired. "First, it's the telephone. Then you come here, disbelieving me when I tell you Mr. Tyrune ain't come home. Go up to his room and see for yourselves!"
Tyrune's door was locked. Cardona handled it with a skeleton key. The room was empty; the bed made up.
"Hasn't been here," said Cardona to Chanbury. Then, to the landlady: "Where's the telephone?"
"In the back hall, downstairs. A pay phone."
Cardona found the telephone in back of the stairs. In the dark, he missed the slot and his nickel fell to the floor. While Chanbury was out in the light, looking for change, Joe used a flashlight to find the coin. He was in a hurry to make a call to headquarters, on the chance that Tyrune had telephoned there.
Joe saw something dark at the edge of a closet door. It was too large for a coin. He fixed the flashlight on the spot. The stain was wet and ruddy. Cardona grabbed Chanbury's arm:
"Look!"
Chanbury saw the spot. His coins jingled as he dropped them mechanically in his pocket. Cardona pulled open the closed door. Out tumbled a body that seemed to uncoil as it sprawled face upward in the light.
"Jim Tyrune! Dead!"
Cardona was right. The dick was shot through the temple; and the gun that had killed him lay beside the body.
Telling Chanbury to stay where he was and ward off the landlady, Cardona went back through the dark hall. He found a flimsy back door; it was locked, but it had no key. That door could be opened easily with a skeleton.
THIRTY minutes later, a conference was under way in Tyrune's bedroom. Commissioner Weston had arrived; he was talking things over with Cardona and Chanbury. On a table lay one more clue to go with the gun that had lain beside Tyrune's body. The new evidence was a slitted bandanna handkerchief.
"Shark Meglo always wore one of these," declared Cardona, lifting the bandanna. "He must have used it when he sneaked in here to lay for Tyrune. Henshew saw Jim down at the apartment, and was leery of the way he slid out so soon. The fox shot word to Shark."
Joe picked up the gun.
"No prints," he said. "Shark wiped them off with the bandanna. He's a killer, but he's clumsy. He wanted to make it look like suicide, but he was dumb enough to stow that bandanna in the ash can, out back."
Weston shook his head.
"I guess this spoils our surprise for Henshew," declared the commissioner. "Henshew will back out, when he reads how boldly Shark murdered Tyrune."
Weston was rising. Chanbury stopped him. The grizzled art collector showed a look of inspiration.
"Why not call it suicide?" questioned Chanbury. "Shark was smart enough to think he managed to deceive us. Henshew will believe that Shark actually did handle it cleverly."
"Great!" approved Cardona. "The best idea yet! What do you say, commissioner?"
"Very, very good," approved Weston. He thrust out his hand. "Congratulations Chanbury! Your foresight assures me that tomorrow's plan will work to perfection. Just one thing" - Weston turned to Cardona:
"You must see to it that Burke does not learn about it. He is downstairs."
CLYDE was in the lower hall, when Weston and Chanbury went through. Before Clyde could follow, Cardona stopped him. Joe led the reporter back to the rear hall, where Tyrune's body still lay. Joe gave a thumb jerk as he shook his head.
"A suicide," said Cardona, sorrowfully. "Too bad! Poor Jim was a good guy. Just thought he was a failure because he flopped on that jewel robbery investigation."
"What about the note he left?" queried Clyde. "I suppose you found one up in his room?"
"No. There wasn't any note. Jim just said he felt like ending it all. He told it to Mr. Chanbury."
"Can I use Chanbury's name in the story?"
"Sure! Go ahead."
Cardona smiled as he turned away.
That was a neat touch - getting Chanbury mentioned. It would be just the sort of stuff for Henshew to read in the newspapers. Strolling out the door, Cardona was highly pleased with the way he had handled Clyde.
Joe was sure that Clyde had not seen the smile; and in that, Cardona was right. What Clyde did see was the corner of a blue bandanna handkerchief poking out of Cardona's coat pocket.
When Clyde called Burbank, he mentioned that detail. But he did not include it in the story that he wrote for the Classic. The fact that Cardona had gone in for blue bandannas was an exclusive piece of information, intended only for The Shadow.
CHAPTER XXI. MOVES AT DUSK
THE thwarted robbery at Henshew's made big news the next morning, for it involved Shark Meglo, Manhattan's chief public enemy. The newspapers had it all wrong, thanks to the excitement of the persons who had hunted Shark.
It was Shark who had staged the running fight through the apartment house; that, at least, was the opinion of those present. The proof lay in the fact that after the roving battler had disappeared on the second floor, Shark made his break through the lobby. He was credited with doubling his trail, to make a bold escape.
Henshew had prompted that theory, by giving the coolest testimony of any. He swore that he had seen Shark shoving a man ahead of him, to make a pretense of surrender; that both had entered the fray afterward.
Henshew's shout, as he described it, was: "Get the man in back!" and the story was so good that other witnesses supported it.
Evening newspapers played second fiddle to the morning sheets by reporting the tragic aftermath of Shark's raid. They had a good human-interest story in the suicide of Jim Tyrune.
The private dick, it seemed, had taken the man hunt as his own crusade, ever since Shark's murder of Silsam. Jim's failure to anticipate Shark's latest raid had caused the private detective to consider life no longer worth while.
Henshew digested that chunk of news along with his lunch. He was most pleased to learn that Tyrune had visited Chanbury, to voice his morbid sentiments. Henshew remembered Jim at the apartment; the fellow had certainly looked gloomy.
At the office, Henshew found that Chanbury had telephoned. He called the art collector, and heard Chanbury's sad comments on the Tyrune tragedy. Changing the subject, Chanbury asked if Henshew could call at nine that evening. The jewel broker agreed.
Chanbury mentioned that he was dining with the police commissioner, to give a word-for-word statement of Tyrune's glum talk; but he would be home by nine.
Hanging up, Henshew had a definite hunch that Shark had bumped Jim Tyrune. Shark had picked the right man at the right time and place.