Chain Of Death

CHAPTER XV CARDONA MEETS A VISITOR

“I AM going out this evening, Norwyn. Perhaps we can play our chess match after my return.”

Howard Norwyn nodded as he looked up from the chess board. Before him, he saw the tall form of his congenial host, Lamont Cranston. Dinner ended at the New Jersey mansion, Norwyn had retired to the smoking room while Cranston made a telephone call. They had planned a chess match during dinner; now it would have to be deferred.

“You are going into the city?” questioned Norwyn.

“Yes,” came Cranston’s quiet reply.

Norwyn seemed pleased. Though his host was a leisurely, non-committal sort of personage, the young fugitive sensed that Cranston’s frequent visits to New York were in his behalf. Norwyn’s worries had quelled considerably during his extended stay at Cranston’s.

“The limousine is waiting, sir.”

Richards made the announcement from the hallway, with a friendly nod to Norwyn, Cranston turned and left the smoking room. A minute later, the limousine purred away from the drive, with Stanley at the wheel.

IT was nearly an hour later when a light clicked in The Shadow’s sanctum. White hands toyed with clippings. They reached for earphones. A voice came over the wire:

“Burbank speaking.”

“Report,” whispered The Shadow.

“Report from Burke,” informed Burbank. “He has left headquarters. Cardona is still there, working on the Devine case.”

“Any mention of the codes?”

“None.”

“Report received. Burke off duty.”

“Instructions received.”

Earphones clattered. Again, the hands were at the clippings. A soft laugh sounded in the gloom beside the focused light. Among the news items was one that had been mentioned in a previous report. It was a planted story in the New York Classic, put there by Clyde Burke through The Shadow’s bidding. It announced that Mynheer Hansel Vaart, prominent economist from the Netherlands, was due to arrive in New York.

Burke’s story — of half a column length — consisted of a reputed interview with the Dutchman. The article was conspicuous enough to attract the attention of the average newspaper reader.

The Shadow’s light went out. A soft laugh sounded in the gloom. The sanctum was empty. But The Shadow had not left the neighborhood of his abode. Another light clicked in a second room. Its burning glare was reflected by the polished surface of a mirror.

Away from the light, motion was in progress. At last, a shape moved forward, close to the polished looking glass. The blackness of The Shadow’s cloak came into view. The sable garment was drooping from the shoulders that wore it.

The slouch hat was gone. A face was revealed in the light. It was not the masklike countenance of Lamont Cranston. It was another visage that The Shadow, master of disguise, had chosen to don as one would put on a new garment.

The face that showed in the reflected light was a puffy, robust one. Above it was the edge of a close-fitting wig that was topped by thin hair of iron gray. White hands, moving upward, smoothed the line where the wig began. Deft fingers, pressing against cheeks and lips, were molding the countenance as one might work with clay.

Bushy eyebrows came into place. They fitted perfectly above the keen eyes. They matched the color of the hair. The work of disguise continued; it ended when a soft laugh came from large-formed lips. The Shadow’s task had resulted in the perfect formation of a countenance that presented a virile man of nearly sixty years.

Out went the light. The folds of The Shadow’s cloak were drawn upward. Then came silence. Masked by his chosen disguise, ready to put aside his cloak and hat, The Shadow was departing upon a definite errand.

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was seated at his desk in headquarters when a fellow sleuth entered and passed a card to the star detective. Joe studied the Old English lettering. It bore this legend:

“Hm-m,” mused Cardona. “Say — this must be the Dutchman that I read about in the Classic. Coming in from Holland on his way to a big convention in Chicago. What does he want?”

“He wants to see you. He won’t say why.”

“Show him in here.”

The detective left. He returned with a tall, stoop-shouldered man who was attired in a heavy overcoat, with large fur collar.

Cardona found himself staring at a remarkably distinguished countenance. Hansel Vaart seemed keen-eyed; his robust cheeks marked him as a man in fine health. His dignity and friendliness combined to create confidence.

“What can I do for you, sir?” questioned Cardona, in a polite tone. “I hope that you have encountered no trouble since your arrival in New York?”

“Trouble for me? Ah, no.” The visitor’s voice seemed saddened. “That trouble hass happened, yess, to some one who iss a friend off mine. While I wass yet upon the steam-boat, coming to New York. It wass three nights ago.”

“You mean something happened on the boat? What ship?”

“The boat, no. It wass here, in New York. Mein freund, Herr Professor Devine. He iss dead. It iss too bad, yess.”

“Ah!” Cardona was interested. “You knew Professor Devine?”

“Yess.” The visitor nodded. “He hass written to me some times; but not for a long time since. I wass to see him when I haff come to New York. But he iss dead.”

“Devine had very few friends,” stated Cardona. “He lived at one hotel, then another, finally at the Salamanca, where he was killed. Did you ever write to him?”

“Not for a long time since.”

“Where was he living then?”

“At a hotel. It wass called the Darien.”

“That must have been before he hired Rupert,” mused Cardona. “His servant said nothing about the Hotel Darien. Tell me, doctor, can you give me any clue regarding Professor Devine?”

“Doctor, no.” The visitor chuckled. “I am joost Mynheer Vaart. That iss all. But it wass to ask you about something that I haff come here. Haff you found the Herr professor’s goads?”

“His goads?” Cardona seemed puzzled.

“Yess,” nodded the visitor. “The goads. The writing which iss in what you call the cipher.”

“You mean codes!” exclaimed Cardona, his face lighting with elation.

“Yess,” replied Mynheer Vaart.

“Like this?” questioned Cardona, forming circles with a pencil. “Or like this?” He made rough blocks. “Are those the codes you mean?”

“Nein.” Vaart’s head was emphatic, in its negative shake. “Like this.”

He took the pencil and made a succession of criss-cross lines. It was Cardona, this time, who shook his head.

“None like that,” said the detective, in a decisive tone. “But perhaps you can tell me the purpose of these codes that Devine used.”

“It wass to him a hobby,” asserted the visitor, solemnly. “When he would write to friends, he wass accustomed to use such ways. It wass not because the writing should not be read by other people. It wass because he wass fond of those goads. With me, he sent them first to make me be confused I think. But each time that he haff made the goad different, I haff guessed it, word by word and haff sent him back the answer.”

“How long do you expect to be in town?” questioned Cardona, suddenly, as he rose to his feet.

“I must go by a train at midnight,” insisted the visitor. “It iss to Chicago that I must go from here.”

The detective glanced at his watch. He nodded; then spoke tensely to the placid Dutchman.

“We found two coded messages at Devine’s,” confided Cardona. “I turned them over to a cryptogram expert, Doctor Lucas Mather.

“Doctor Mather had no trouble with one code — the message with the circles. But the other has stumped him. The circle message was not important. It appears to be exactly what you have described — a game that some one sent to Devine.

“But those blocks are puzzlers. We need all the advice we can get on them. If you have had experience with codes written by Devine, perhaps you are the very person whose aid we need.

“Suppose I take you out to Long Island. We’ll see Doctor Mather and talk with him. We’ll give you a look at the codes. It’s only nine o’clock. I’ll guarantee to have you back in town in time to catch the midnight limited.”

FIVE minutes later, Detective Joe Cardona and his companion were riding eastward in a speedy automobile. They were bound for the home of Doctor Lucas Mather, the cryptogram expert who resided on Long Island.

Joe Cardona was elated. The ace detective had accepted Mynheer Hansel Vaart at face value. Through the possible aid of this friendly visitor from Amsterdam, Cardona hoped that he might gain a clue to the identity of the person who had slain Professor Langwood Devine.

Joe Cardona was looking for a murderous crook. Not for one instant had he suspected that such a brand belonged to the dead professor. Hence Cardona’s actual purpose summed to this: he was hunting the slayer of Devine.

Cardona would have been amazed had he known that beside him in the speeding car, was the very person who had killed Langwood Devine, in self-defense. Mynheer Hansel Vaart appeared too genuine — particularly because a newspaper report had preceded his coming to New York — to be regarded as an imposter.

Such a revelation would have astounded Cardona; the real identity of Mynheer Hansel Vaart would have left the detective bewildered. For Joe Cardona, totally oblivious to the truth, was taking a most remarkable visitor to view the codes at Mather’s home.

The star detective was riding side by side with a supersleuth whose skill made Cardona’s ability at crime detection seem like a puny power. Without the semblance of a hunch that might have given him a lead, Joe Cardona was falling for the game of a master mind.

Cardona had good reason to suppose that the taking of this visitor to Doctor Lucas Mather might bring great results in the solution of a baffling crime. But Joe Cardona had no inkling of that actual reason which was so important.

The ace sleuth was taking a tremendous step toward the ending of insidious crime, despite the fact that he was acting blindly. He was about to lay the all-important evidence before the one master sleuth who could use it best.

Joe Cardona was taking The Shadow to visit Doctor Lucas Mather!