VOLUME MISSING STOP FALSE COPY SUBSTITUTED IN PLACE OF IT STOP STOLEN
BOOK IS COPY OF SHAKESPEARE SONNETS PRINTED AT FAMOUS PRESS IN CHATHAM
ENGLAND STOP VALUE FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS STOP COMPTON SALWOOD HAD
CHARGE OF DECORATING LIBRARY INTERIOR LAST AUGUST STOP SUSPECT HIM AS
THIEF STOP
HUBERT DALLAS.
“Hubert Dallas!” exclaimed Klein. “Say — He’s the big chain-store magnate down in Maryland. How did you link him up with this, Joe?”
Cardona made no reply. He was puzzled and at a loss for words.
KLEIN was picking up the second telegram. Its message was similar to the first; it came from a wealthy man in Philadelphia who stated that he had been robbed of a priceless first edition. His telegram stated that Compton Salwood might be implicated. A bogus volume had been left in place of the genuine one.
The third wire told the same story. It was from Boston. While Klein was reading it, a detective entered to tell Cardona that he was wanted on the telephone in his own office. Joe hurried there.
“This is David Surrey,” came the call. “Calling from Miami, Florida about—”
Cardona recognized the name. David Surrey was a prominent sportsman who lived on Long Island.
“Received your wire,” informed Surrey. “Just called my home on Long Island. They looked through the books in my study and found my collection of Poe manuscripts gone.
“They were in a special binding, which I kept in a strong box. My secretary examined them and found that they are blanks, following the title page. Some one stole the originals. Compton Salwood could have done it.”
“You received my telegram?” Cardona’s question was incredulous.
“Yes,” came Surrey’s voice, “it was delivered on my yacht, anchored here at Miami. If you will call my home, you can get all the details. My secretary knows just when Salwood came out to do a decorating job. Those manuscripts are worth two hundred thousand dollars. Originals of Edgar Allan Poe. I am counting on your aid in recovering them, Mr. Cardona.”
Joe was stupefied after he hung up the receiver. While he waited, puzzled, the telephone rang again. The call was from Fleer Talbot a wealthy man who lived on Riverside Drive. He, too, had received a telegram. He had discovered the loss of three books that he valued at a total of sixty thousand dollars.
“Do you have the telegram that I sent you?” questioned Cardona.
“Yes,” was the reply. “It’s right here.”
“What time did you receive the telegram?”
“About an hour ago. It was a night message.”
“Would you mind reading it aloud?” requested Cardona, “I want to make sure that it was correctly sent.”
“All right,” returned Talbot. “The message is as follows: Examine your collection for forged items. Stop. Suspect Compton Salwood. Stop. Notify me detective headquarters.”
“That is all?” quizzed Cardona.
“All except your signature,” informed Talbot.
“O.K.,” said the detective. “I’ll be up to see you, Mr. Talbot. Salwood has been murdered; we haven’t found the stolen books and manuscripts yet, but we’re after every clew.”
Cardona smiled grimly as he sat at his desk. He began to make notations of these last two calls. He realized that this was the time for bluff. Some one — a person in the know — had sent those telegrams last night. The credit was going to Joe Cardona.
The detective had no trace of exactly what had happened. He did not know of the filing index that had been purloined from Compton Salwood’s office. He did not know that The Shadow had gone through that list.
How could Cardona have known that The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, had called Burbank by telephone from near the Holland Tunnel? How could he have known that Burbank had sent a stock telegram with Cardona’s signature to every person on the list which The Shadow had gained at Salwood’s?
Not for a moment did Cardona suspect that Clyde Burke had also acted under instructions. The report in the Classic had presumably been an exaggeration; actually it was a preparation for the bombshell that had now been dropped.
Cardona’s one reaction was a feeling of friendliness to Clyde Burke for the mistake that the reporter had made. Cardona was also wise enough to see that it would be best to take advantage of the break that had come his way; to let people believe that he, Cardona, had actually sent the telegram.
That suggestion might not go with Inspector Klein, but the fact did not worry Joe. He intended to discuss the matter later with the inspector. The big job at present was to get on the trail of the missing manuscripts.
But Joe Cardona realized, for the first time, the hugeness of the case that confronted him. Until the telegram and phone calls had arrived, he had figured that Compton Salwood’s activities had been of a comparatively minor nature, restricted to the theft of two Villon manuscripts.
The turn of events showed Cardona that there was more in back of it. As Burke had indicated in the Classic, a gigantic scheme had been uncovered. Some master crook had arranged robberies by means of clever substitutions, hoping that his crimes would not be discovered until long after the work had been done.
The supercrook had sent Compton Salwood to his doom. The interior decorator had been due to leave for a meeting with his hidden thief by eleven o’clock last night. Salwood had remained in his office. Cardona had arrived too late to save him.
Amid all this, Cardona felt a secret satisfaction as he recognized the hand of one who, like himself, was on the side of right. Some secret investigator had learned facts regarding the game in which Salwood had served as pawn. That investigator had turned the tide in Cardona’s favor.
The grim smile remained upon the detective’s lips. Well did Cardona decide upon the identity of the being who had aided him. In his own conflicts with men of crime, Cardona had received such aid before.
Behind the struggle that now impended, Joe Cardona could guess the spectral presence of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XIV
TERRY’S THEORY
EVENING found Terry Barliss in his living room. A stack of evening newspapers was lying on the floor. Terry was reading one of the sheets, devouring the sensational news that concerned the thieving operations of Compton Salwood.
The doorbell rang. The servant answered it. Harry Vincent appeared. Terry arose to greet his friend. Harry smiled as he saw the stacks of newspapers. Before he could make a comment, Terry took up the subject that was on his mind.
“Not all smoke, after all, was it?” he inquired. “It looks as though I do own a genuine Villon manuscript — even if I don’t have it.”
“Have you seen Detective Cardona?” inquired Harry.
“He called me by telephone,” replied Terry. “Funny thing — we knew that Compton Salwood had fixed up uncle’s library, but we never made any connection.”
“What did Cardona have to say?”
“Merely that he is investigating. Apparently, a dozen persons have been robbed; in every case fake books and manuscripts were substituted. Cardona is checking on the times of Salwood’s operations.
“So far as I am concerned, I’m merely one of the victims. There’s nothing to do but wait. I’m glad you stopped in, Harry. I’ve been thinking over this Salwood case and I’ve been wondering about it. I can’t talk to Cardona; he’s after all sorts of clews and is too busy. But I’ve been working on a theory of my own.”
Harry showed immediate interest. This was encouragement to Terry. He regarded Harry’s visit merely as a chance call. Harry, however, was keen to know what was in Terry’s mind.
For Harry knew that The Shadow was actively engaged in an effort to locate missing items which had been stolen from prominent collectors. The pilfered books and manuscripts were worth at least a million dollars.