Death Clew

CHAPTER VII. SEARCHES BEGIN

FIVE men were in the room where three had been before. Lamont Cranston and Ross Harlton had joined the trio in Roscoe Wimbledon’s library. To Joe Cardona, the arrivals formed an interesting study.

Joe had met Cranston before. As he watched the millionaire’s firm-chiseled face, the detective was impressed by its immobility. Lamont Cranston was smoking a cigarette; the occasional action of placing it to his lips was the only motion that he made.

Ross Harlton, a man in his late thirties, was a keen-faced chap who also made a good listener.

Dark-haired, with steady, deep-set eyes beneath heavy brows, Harlton looked the part of an aircraft technician.

“We were talking about the Universal Aircraft mess,” Roscoe Wimbledon was stating. “I have told Commissioner Weston that the corporation was pillaged in outrageous fashion. You have been going over the technical end of it, Harlton. What is your opinion?”

“The same as yours, Mr. Wimbledon,” replied the technician. “I have paid regular visits to the closed testing grounds on Long Island. The workmanship used in the Universal planes speaks very badly for the reputation which the concern once enjoyed.”

“This interests me,” declared Weston. “The government handled the investigation; I heard comparatively little concerning the findings.”

“Explain the details, Harlton,” suggested Wimbledon.

“Universal had been handling some big orders,” stated the technician. “Up at the World Wide plant, we wondered how they had managed to underbid us on the jobs. We found out after the swindle was uncovered.

“Universal had built a lot of commercial planes; they followed by taking a series of orders for military planes to be shipped to foreign governments. The hitch came when they completed building a batch of ships for the Paraguayan government. They wanted them down there to use on the Bolivian frontier.

“There was some talk of an embargo. Officials from Washington demanded an exact report on the number of planes that were being sent to Paraguay. This was a government investigation that proved to be a thorough one — too thorough for the Universal Corporation. Washington ordered a group of navy aviators to test the Paraguayan planes — just to learn how good they were. They found out. One of the navy men went into a bank; the wing came off the plane and he was killed. That started the trouble.

“Government investigators got a look at the specifications. They compared the planes. They found that the ships were faulty. They communicated promptly with other purchasers of Universal ships. They discovered that cheap and faulty materials had been used constantly. They learned that an outrageous graft had been perpetrated. They ordered the factory closed. That was all.”

“All from the technical standpoint,” added Wimbledon. “But the real scandal followed. The government went after Jackson Gleek. He was found dead — a suicide. Some one must have tipped off Lester Drayson. He managed to get out of the country.”

“And the status now?” inquired Weston.

“World Wide has taken over Universal,” replied Wimbledon. “I mentioned that fact to you a while ago. The faulty planes have been condemned. We are keeping them until the government gives the order to scrap them. The Universal factory will be idle until we receive the word to reopen it.”

“I am making a full account of stock on hand,” explained Harlton. “I have completed all the statistics. It merely remains to compile the details. That, however, will not be a simple task. It involves many minor points.”

“You will do the work here,” declared Wimbledon. “Beginning with tomorrow morning, Harlton. I have cancelled all appointments for the next few days. This accounting is important. We shall work on it together.”

THERE was a pause. It was Lamont Cranston who took up the conversation. In leisurely fashion, the millionaire removed his cigarette from his lips and spoke in a quiet, even tone.

“This is quite interesting,” he remarked. “I came here tonight merely to talk with Mr. Wimbledon regarding a new speed plane that I might like to purchase. I find, however, that he will be busy for the next few days. So I shall postpone the matter.

“I must confess that I am quite surprised to find the police commissioner in conference with Mr. Wimbledon. I knew that Mr. Wimbledon has been negotiating with the federal government; I am somewhat perplexed to find that the local law has also commanded his attention.”

It was Weston who responded. The police commissioner chuckled as he turned to face Lamont Cranston. Nodding in approval of the millionaire’s keenness, he produced the answer.

“Very few facts escape your notice, Cranston,” remarked the commissioner. “Since you are a friend of mine and also are acquainted with Mr. Wimbledon, I see no reason why you should not be taken into our confidence.

“Last night, a private investigator named MacAvoy Crane was slain by a notorious murderer called Strangler Hunn. The killer was shot dead by a detective. Before the fight, he managed to destroy all the papers which he had found in Crane’s apartment.

“MacAvoy Crane was in the employ of Roscoe Wimbledon. He was seeking facts regarding the business contacts of Lester Drayson, the missing president of Universal Aircraft Corporation.

“Mr. Wimbledon called me personally to tell me that Crane was in his employ. We hold to the theory that Strangler Hunn was acting under orders to kill MacAvoy Crane and to destroy the documents.”

“Quite logical,” stated Cranston.

“It is obvious,” asserted Weston, “that the man behind the game is Lester Drayson. Therefore, I am ordering a general search for the missing president of Universal Aircraft. If he happens to be in New York, we shall uncover him.”

There was emphasis in Weston’s tone. Every one nodded in approval, with the exception of Cranston.

The millionaire drew upon his cigarette; blew forth a puff then asked:

“And if Drayson is not in New York?”

There was no answer.

FOUR men sat silent, expecting Cranston to follow, up the quizzical remark. The millionaire did not disappoint them.

“The theory is a good beginning,” stated Cranston. “Let us assume that Strangler Hunn was working under orders. But does that prove that Lester Drayson would place himself in position to be captured?

“Quite the reverse. I should imagine that he would stay away from New York. But I can see another possibility. If murder has been used as a means to suppress facts, it might be used again.

“Strangler Hunn — a hired killer. Why not a second paid assassin to carry on the work now that Hunn is dead? Have you any proof that Crane is the only man to be eliminated?”

“No,” admitted Weston. “Drayson might want to get rid of others who knew too much about him. You’re right, Cranston. The very fact that Crane dug up some information proves that there would be good reason to go after other men.”

“Associates of Lester Drayson,” stated Cranston. “Have you any idea who they might be?”

“That was the information Crane was after,” broke in Wimbledon. “Lester Drayson may have had certain men in his confidence”

“He might have had a private secretary,” suggested Cranston. “Do you know of any such man?”

“Yes,” affirmed Wimbledon, in a slow, meditative tone. “I believe that Drayson did have a confidential secretary. But I have not been able to learn the fellow’s name.”

“The province of the police” — Cranston was looking directly at Weston as he spoke — “is to prevent crime as well as to solve it. This death of MacAvoy Crane is of high interest chiefly if it presages further murder.

“From Crane’s death, we find three factors. First, a man behind the murder. Second, a hired killer. Third, a possible victim. Let us assume that new murder is being plotted. There are three ways to forestall it.

“First: to find the plotter. Second: to discover the new assassin. Third: to look for the coming victim. You have chosen the first method, commissioner. You intend to look for Lester Drayson.

“I should prefer the second method. Hired killers — like Strangler Hunn— are few and far between. The third method, namely to search for the potential victim, would involve too much time.”

Commissioner Weston was smiling. He had risen from his chair; stepping forward he clapped Lamont Cranston on the shoulder.

“You are an excellent theorist,” commended Weston, with a friendly laugh. “More than that, Cranston, you have summed this case in creditable fashion. Nevertheless, I still hold to my plan.

“I intend to use the law to uncover the plotter. I shall choose the first method that you suggested. We are going to look for Lester Drayson. He apparently has much at stake. The chances are that he is in New York.”

Lamont Cranston had also risen. Like Commissioner Weston, he was ready to depart. His lips showed a quiet smile as he made a final statement.

“If I had the power which you possess, commissioner,” he said, “I should prefer the method which I have mentioned. Look for a potential murderer. Find the man who could fill the shoes of Strangler Hunn.”

“No.” Weston shook his head emphatically. “Your method would not work, Cranston. The search is on for Lester Drayson.”

When Commissioner Ralph Weston and Lamont Cranston had left Roscoe Wimbledon’s, they parted on the sidewalk in front of the big mansion. Weston stepped into his car, accompanied by Joe Cardona.

Lamont Cranston entered a waiting limousine.

HALF an hour later, a light was shining in The Shadow’s sanctum. Papers lay upon the table, beneath the glare. These memoranda concerned the checkered career of Strangler Hunn.

The Shadow, following his belief, was looking for a second choice. He was studying the records of the band with which Strangler had been associated. He was out to find a new killer.

Searches had begun. Commissioner Ralph Weston was invoking the law to hunt for Lester Drayson. The Shadow was looking for the pals of Strangler Hunn. In one sense, both the police and The Shadow were aiming for a single goal.

It seemed possible that more lives were at stake. Men like MacAvoy Crane, men who knew too much, might already be spotted for sudden doom. Perhaps innocent persons were slated to die along with the quarry that a hidden plotter sought!

Until now, The Shadow had followed. This was the time that he had chosen to work ahead. His path had diverged from the one chosen by the law. The grim race against crime had started.

Yet all the while, the law held an advantage that The Shadow did not possess. Once more, fate had tricked the master sleuth. Murder was in the making; that fact seemed evident. Yet the only clew had been sidetracked as a matter of small moment.

The paper that rested in Joe Cardona’s pocket. What a valuable bit of evidence it would be, had The Shadow known of its existence. Those letters and figures, that formed the disjointed statement — MEN 13 — would have given The Shadow the groundwork for a perfect chance to forestall coming crime.

The Shadow had divined the future. One bit of evidence had alone escaped him. Such was the grim irony that blocked The Shadow’s course. For that fragment of an unburned paper was the key to all that lay ahead!