A soft laugh sounded in the darkness of the big automobile. It was the whispered echo of The Shadow’s mockery. It was a voiced answer to a pressing problem.
Despite the complications that had occurred at Compton Salwood’s; despite the fact that Salwood’s lips were sealed, The Shadow had gained clews to crime. He was ready for another move.
At Lamont Cranston’s order, Stanley stopped the limousine while his employer went to make a telephone call. After Cranston returned, the car continued on its way. The soft laugh echoed once again in the darkness.
Though chance had tricked him tonight, The Shadow could see the opening trail that would lead him to the crime maker who had ordered the death of Compton Salwood.
The presence of the mobsters; the flight of the lone man who had lingered; the strange murder of Compton Salwood — all these facts were fitting into a complete scheme.
The evidence that The Shadow had gained prior to Salwood’s return to his office was sufficient to give a clew to those which the master crime hunter already possessed.
Despite the efforts of a supercrook to balk detection by slaying Compton Salwood, The Shadow would continue his lone battle. Coming events would show him the way to final triumph.
In all his calculations, The Shadow took account of chance. He had a way of meeting circumstances that had never failed. Yet The Shadow was destined to encounter the unexpected once again before he reached the spot he sought.
The future, though The Shadow might seek to plan it, lay beyond his full control. That was a fact that The Shadow was destined to learn.
CHAPTER XIII
CARDONA’S TURN
TO Detective Joe Cardona, the murder of Compton Salwood brought unusual complexities. When he had set out for Salwood’s shop, Joe had believed that he was visiting a madman. He could see no connection between the interior decorator and the manuscript that had been supposedly stolen from the home of Shattuck Barliss.
The sight of Salwood’s dead body; the forms of five dead and wounded mobsters on the floor of the front shop; the quick escape of one man through the window — these were factors that were quite as important as they were baffling.
When definite facts were concerned, Joe Cardona was the man to follow them. What the detective lacked in deductive reasoning, he possessed in proclivity for action. When morning had arrived, Joe appeared in the office of Inspector Timothy Klein and laid a full report upon the desk.
“Tell me about it, Joe,” suggested the inspector.
“There’s a lot to tell,” declared the detective. “I’ve talked with young Barliss and I’ve found out a connection with Compton Salwood.”
“Barliss knew him?”
“No; but his uncle did. Salwood redecorated the library for old Shattuck Barliss. There’s a chance that a real manuscript was stolen there and that Salwood knew about it.”
“A good start.”
“That’s not all. I followed the lead and called up Wendel Hargate. He told me, when I questioned him, that Salwood had fixed up his place also. He was rather gruff about it; seemed annoyed because I called. But it’s possible that Salwood could have known about something phony up there, too.”
“You searched Salwood’s shop?”
“All the way through. No missing manuscripts, though. It’s tough to figure just how Salwood stood. Maybe he was a crook; maybe he knew what crooks were doing. He was scared when he called me. He had reason to be.”
“What about the mobsters?”
“Sooky Downing’s crew. I’ve questioned them. They don’t know anything. The only one who was in on the know was Sooky, and as luck would have it, he was one of the two who was killed in the fight.”
“Then the man who escaped—”
“Is unidentified. It was like this, inspector. Sooky was ready to sell his gang to the highest bidder. Some fellow made a deal with him, so the wounded gangsters tell me. They went to Salwood’s and barged in through the window. Sooky told them to keep their rods tight — no shooting was the order.
“But Sooky spotted some guy inside the place and started the trouble himself. The rest of the crowd pitched in. They got theirs; and some one knifed Salwood in his office.”
“Then what about the man who escaped?”
“That’s just it. Maybe he murdered Salwood. He may have been the guy who battled Sooky’s mob. On the other hand, I’m wondering about the fellow who hired Sooky. Two of the wounded men say they think he was along. The third isn’t sure about it. None of them know who the fellow was anyhow.”
“You landed there after the fight?”
“Yeah. That’s what makes it more puzzling. Who let me in after I rang the bell? I don’t think Salwood did, though he might have gotten the knife just after he pushed the button to open the back door. It doesn’t seem logical that the murderer would have done it.”
Inspector Klein nodded thoughtfully. He picked up the report and began to study it. He read the details that Cardona had just mentioned. His face showed a perplexity that equaled that of the detective.
“We know one guy got out,” declared Cardona emphatically. “There’s no clew as to who he was, but I’m tracing Sooky Downing’s actions during the past few days. In the meantime, I’m taking Compton Salwood’s statement as he gave it to me over the telephone. He stated that his game was up; that he wanted to tell all he knew.”
“He was a crook, all right,” decided Klein, as he studied the report.
A DETECTIVE appeared, bringing a newspaper. Cardona seized it and began to study the reports of last night’s fray. His face showed varied changes. Klein watched him and knew that Cardona was finding paragraphs he liked, as well as some he did not.
“These reporters are all wet,” declared Cardona. “They’ve got the whole thing garbled. They’ve interviewed Barliss about his manuscript and Hargate about his. Barliss talked to them; Hargate wouldn’t.”
The detective who had entered handed Cardona another sheet. Joe grinned as he began to scan the headlines. This was a copy of the Classic. Joe knew that he could rely upon Clyde Burke for a fair report.
Suddenly, Joe’s pleased look turned to chagrin. The detective threw the newspaper upon the desk and pounded it with his fist.
“I’ll fix Burke for this!” he exclaimed. “He’s gone crazy! Look at that! See what he says there. He’s branding Compton Salwood as a crook whose activities have run up into millions! Thefts of rare books and manuscripts of tremendous value.”
“He’s given you credit for finding it out,” observed Klein. “These reporters are exaggerators anyway. They’re paid to be—”
“Credit!” Joe Cardona uttered a contemptuous snort. “What do you mean, credit? He says that I’ve started investigations throughout the entire East — that I’ve promised startling developments by noon today—”
He broke off in a rage and crunched the copy of the Classic between his hands. As he threw the newspaper on the floor and turned toward the door, Cardona showed a purplish tinge on his swarthy face.
Inspector Klein tried to calm the outburst. He failed. At this critical moment, however, something occurred to quell Cardona’s rising wrath. A detective came into the office carrying three telegrams.
“They came in for you, Joe,” the man declared. “I signed for them.”
Cardona tore open the first envelope. He stared at the message it contained in amazement.
He tore open the second. His eyes were bulging as he read its lines. After he opened the third, all three fluttered from his hands.
Klein plucked the topmost telegram from the desk. He read its capitalized message. The telegram was from Baltimore. It was worded:
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