Cardona laughed and returned to the lighted inner office. Once more he closed the door only partially, so he could listen as he waited. Sure that no one lurked in the other room, the detective gained new confidence. He had seen no more than shadows. But sometimes shadows lived!
Joe Cardona was a man of hunches; tonight, he was on ground where hunches failed. He had imagined a menace in the other office, and only safety here. In both instances, Cardona was wrong. The hidden being whom Cardona’s fleeting light had failed to uncover was not there to thwart the law. The Shadow’s only enemies were those who sponsored crime.
Why did The Shadow wait? Had he planned the same course that Cardona was taking; and did he know the detective’s thoughts? Did he still expect Slips Harbeck to arrive? What was going on within that mind that dwelt in darkness?
Only The Shadow knew!
At last came the signal that Joe Cardona awaited. The bell box of the telephone, stationed beside the wall, gave forth the expected ring. Joe Cardona reached out and gripped the telephone. He repeated the words that he would utter:
“Nothing doing.”
The telephone rang again. Cardona lifted the receiver. As he held it to his ear, he nonchalantly seated himself upon the desk. The action turned Cardona’s back to the door.
It was then that motion occurred in the darkness. The door opened a trifle farther. A projecting mass of black moved slowly into the inner office.
Joe Cardona was listening for a voice over the wire. Then it occurred to him that he must respond first.
He spoke in a low, cautious tone.
“Hello… Hello…”
There was no answer. A look of chagrin came on Cardona’s face. As he clutched the telephone in his right hand and held the receiver in his left, he realized that his own stupidity might have caused the man to hang up at the other end.
So keyed had the sleuth been to give the certain message, that he had overlooked this minor detail. Now, with the receiver pressed closely to his ear, he still hoped that the connection had not been broken.
“Hello… Hello…”
As Cardona spoke again, The Shadow was approaching. Fully revealed, a tall, amazing phantom cloaked in black, this being had neared Cardona.
He stood directly in back of Cardona now, so close that he might have been the detective’s own shadow! Yet Cardona, intent upon the telephone, did not sense the presence of the sepulchral being who had advanced behind him.
THE SHADOW’S hands were moving. They hovered above Cardona’s shoulders. Sinister fingers nearly touched the detective’s arms. Had The Shadow changed his purpose? Did he intend to overpower the detective and to receive the call himself?
“Hello… Hello…”
Cardona again spoke futile words. Impatience flickered on the detective’s countenance. He raised his right thumb and pressed the hook to jiggle it, and possibly restore the connection. Down went the hook; the thumb released it.
At that instant, The Shadow struck. His hand came forward with a swift blow. It landed squarely upon Cardona’s left arm, and knocked the detective’s hand forward with the receiver at the very moment when the sleuth released the hook with his right thumb.
A hissing sound came simultaneously from the telephone receiver. It was accompanied by a terrific puff of smoke. A bullet whistled by Cardona’s face, and shattered a large water bottle that stood upon a stand by the wall.
Joe Cardona tumbled from the desk, telephone and receiver still in his grasp. He caught himself and staggered backward.
As his head turned so that his eyes could view his mysterious assailant, Cardona caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall form that had swung to the half-opened door. Burning eyes met the detective’s quick, startled gaze. A cloak swished, and the mysterious figure was gone.
“The Shadow!”
The cry burst from Cardona’s startled lips. The detective had recognized the personage who had struck the receiver down in time to save his life. The telephone clanked upon the desk. Bewildered, Cardona seized his revolver and his flashlight.
The tones of a strange, whispered laugh came to the detective’s ears. Cardona reached the outer office, and threw the beams of his light toward the outer door, just as it closed. The detective hurried to the hall.
He was too late. The Shadow was gone.
After a long interval, Cardona weakly returned to the inner office. The floor was soaked with water from the cracked bottle. The detective picked up the telephone from the desk. His eyes ran along the wire that connected it with the box.
Joe Cardona’s backward stagger had brought that wire free. The sleuth made an examination. He discovered that the cord was a dummy. He picked up the telephone. It, too, was a faked article.
Some one had removed the genuine phone and its wire. This instrument had been installed in its place. It was not a telephone. It was an ingenious death machine. Quickly, Cardona unscrewed the parts. He found himself possessing a remarkable device.
The receiver contained a short, stubby pistol barrel. Behind it was the hammer; out dropped a large, empty cartridge. Filled with a special charge of explosive powder, this deadly weapon had discharged its bullet with a sharp pung, accompanied by the puff of smoke.
There was a dry battery in the post of the telephone. This, connected with the receiver hook and the wire between base and receiver, had supplied the current that released the hammer of the pistol. Down and up — Cardona went through the motion with the hook. Both actions were required; the hammer rose and fell.
Certain death — silent death! Cardona had escaped it tonight. The fiend who had designed this instrument had planned well.
CARDONA did not know that the idea had occurred to Professor Folcroft Urlich when the scientist had seen Alfred Sartain’s actions with the telephone within the studio where doom had been slated to strike.
The detective knew only that the vigilance of The Shadow had saved him from certain death. Vaguely, the detective realized that The Shadow might have been the one for whom this fate had been intended. A man, jiggling the hook, would surely have the receiver to his ear.
The conjecture was correct. The Shadow, scenting a death trap, had finally centralized upon the telephone. He had watched Cardona’s actions, and had acted when the crucial moment had been reached.
Other thoughts were buzzing through the detective’s mind. This deadly instrument could well be accepted as a device intended to slay Gardner Joyce, the occupant of this office. That made a third intended crime.
Alfred Sartain had escaped death; so had J. Wesley Barnsworth. Now Gardner Joyce was on the list.
Cardona’s perplexity faded. He knew the charm that had acted on all three events. The Shadow!
To Cardona, The Shadow was a living being. On other occasions, the master of the night had intervened to save the ace detective from doom. Where The Shadow’s hand had entered, success had followed the affairs of Joe Cardona. Yet there was a reason why the detective preserved silence on that count.
Technically, The Shadow was nonexistent. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston had passed that order.
Until the identity of The Shadow was known, the being in black could not be regarded as a subject for the records.
Joe Cardona shrugged his shoulders. Once again, he had observed The Shadow only as a living phantom. He could not include tonight’s intervention in his report. He must state that he, himself, had discovered the secret of the false telephone.
Taking the death device with him, the detective strode from the office. He had proof of crime. He had connected Slips Harbeck with it; and the gangster was a prisoner. Cardona was pleased with his accomplishment; and he grinned as he thought of the effect his report would have on Commissioner Weston.