Yet Cardona did not lack gratitude. He would have been pleased to extend his thanks to The Shadow, had he been given the opportunity to do so. Although ignorant of Professor Folcroft Urlich’s part in crime, Cardona knew well that a battle of brains must now be under way between The Shadow and some supermind that plotted death.
Silent death! It had failed to kill. Not only had The Shadow avoided it; he had saved Detective Joe Cardona also.
Another scheme of Professor Folcroft Urlich had been thwarted. Again, The Shadow had prevailed!
CHAPTER XII. THE QUIZ
“COME on, Slips. Open up.”
Cardona’s challenging voice brought a feeble grin from Slips Harbeck. The captured gangster was standing the ordeal of a constant grilling by Cardona and other detectives.
“What do you know?”
Slips shrugged his shoulders.
“Nothing,” he drawled.
Cardona paced the little room where the quiz was taking place. He studied Slips Harbeck’s strained face.
The gangster was slouched in a chair, in a state of exhaustion. He had managed to hold out for hours.
“Look here, Slips” — Cardona’s milder tones denoted a change of tactics — “we’ve got the goods on you. You were hooked up with Duster Brooks. We know you were with those gorillas at Sartain’s penthouse.”
“Never heard of the place,” protested Slips.
“You were in on the job at Barnsworth’s,” continued Cardona. “That’s why we put the clamps on you. But we didn’t do it until we got the goods. My man heard that phone call you got at Red Mike’s. That’s how we queered the job at Joyce’s office. You can’t get out of it, Slips. Understand?”
“You’ve got nothing on me,” drawled the gangster.
“We don’t want anything on you,” announced Cardona quietly. “We want to give you a break. You were at Sartain’s. All right. You beat it. We’ve got no proof that you even fired a shot.
“Somebody planted a death trap at Barnsworth’s place. We aren’t laying that on you. Last of all, you were to go to Joyce’s office, to get a phone call. That’s correct, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll know when I tell you what happened,” asserted Cardona grimly. “That phone call came through. I took it. I’ll show you what I nearly got.”
He motioned to one of the detectives. The man produced the fake telephone. Cardona exhibited the parts to Slips Harbeck.
“See?” quizzed the detective. “Right up against my ear like that. It would have got me, if I hadn’t turned wise all of a sudden. Say, Slips” — Cardona spoke as though he had a sudden idea — “I think you’re all right, after all. Lucky, I call it. You were going to that office. You were going to answer the telephone. Maybe this was meant for you.”
Slips grinned derisively. Cardona snapped at the opportunity. It was exactly what the detective had wanted.
“So you don’t think it was meant for me, eh?” questioned Cardona. “Then I guess you knew about it. Knew it was a plant, eh? All set to bump somebody off. That looks bad for you, Slips!”
A WORRIED expression registered itself upon the gangster’s face. Slips realized that he had put himself in a predicament. He saw the flash in Cardona’s eyes and feared the consequences. Slips knew that Cardona had the facts regarding that last call which the gangster had received from Larry Ricordo.
“Lay off me,” pleaded Slips. “You’ve got me all mixed. I didn’t know nothing about that phony phone. Maybe you were right, Joe. It might have been meant for me.”
“Somebody double-crossing you, eh?” quizzed Cardona derisively. “Fine guy for you to stick up for. Come on — it’s your only chance. If you were double-crossed, you’ve got a right to squeal. If you don’t talk, it proves you knew the game. That’s sure enough, isn’t it?”
Confronted by this dilemma, Slips tried to play a middle course. He licked his lips and blinked his eyes as he tried to face his inquisitor.
“You said you’d give me a break,” he protested. “Honest, I wasn’t in on any lay like this. I guess you’re right about the double cross.”
“You see it now, eh?”
“Yeah. Somebody wanted to get me, I guess. I’m sort of mixed up, Joe, but I guess you’re right. A double cross, but I didn’t know it. I guess Larry did want to—”
Slips Harbeck stopped suddenly and bit his lip. He realized his mistake. Joe Cardona glared triumphant.
The detective, unwearied, was quick on the job.
“Larry, eh?” he questioned. “You’re talking about Larry. Larry— what’s the rest of his name?”
“I don’t know nothing!” snarled Slips.
“Larry,” checked Cardona, in a speculative tone. “There’s a lot of Larrys who pack guns, aren’t there, Slips? I’m trying to think of some who would be in on this.”
The detective turned to question one of his subordinates. His eyes were away from Slips Harbeck.
“Say, Mayhew,” questioned Cardona, “what’s become of Larry Ricordo. You know — the guy that was going to be a big shot, but got cold feet.”
“I don’t know,” responded Mayhew. “He took out to the sticks, so they say.”
A momentary smile flickered on Slips Harbeck’s sullen face. Cardona’s turnabout had given the gangster a momentary respite.
But that was part of Cardona’s game — an old trick which he frequently worked with Mayhew. The other detective was watching Slips from the corner of his eye.
“You’ve hit it, Joe,” said Mayhew, with a grin. “Hit the bull’s-eye. Larry Ricordo’s the one we want!”
This, too, was a follow-up in Cardona’s game. Mayhew had learned his part from experience. Cardona’s pretended lack of vigilance; Mayhew’s sharp observation; then Mayhew’s comment. These were three steps.
Cardona provided the fourth. He swung back to Slips Harbeck, and loosed a sweeping volley of denunciation.
“So it’s Larry Ricordo, eh?” demanded Cardona. “You know why he beat it out of town, don’t you? Because he double-crossed Louie Muth. You didn’t know that, did you? Didn’t know who Muth’s mob was gunning after? Well, you know now! You’d better be glad we pinched you, Slips. If that mob had ever found you out—”
CARDONA’S outburst was well calculated. His statements were fictitious. He knew that some mystery surrounded the death of the mob leader whom he had named. He also was subtle when he introduced the suggestion of a double cross. That was the very element that he had been building up in Slips Harbeck’s mind.
“Come clean,” added Cardona, after a pause. “You asked for a break. I’m giving it to you. Come clean, Slips!”
Cardona had driven the wedge. It was all that he had needed. Slips Harbeck, exhausted, no longer possessed the strength to battle back after Cardona had gained a definite point. The naming of Larry; the logical guess that it might be Larry Ricordo — these had given Cardona a step toward the fact he wanted.
The ace detective followed up his advantage. He purred smooth questions, and guided Slips Harbeck toward the answers. Easing the gangster’s mind as he went along, Cardona turned everything his own way.
Slips resorted to uncertainty, licking his lips as he went along. He admitted that he had opened negotiations with a man who purported to be Larry Ricordo. He was not sure that it was Larry; for he had conducted all transactions over the telephone.
Cunningly, Slips denied all connection with the affair at Alfred Sartain’s, and the explosion at Wesley Barnsworth’s apartment. He suggested that Duster Brooks must have given his name to Larry Ricordo — or whoever it was that pretended to be the big shot.