Gray Fist

CHAPTER V THE GRAY PAPER

SHORTLY after Cardona and Markham had left Worth Varden’s study, a motion occurred at the door which led to the corridor through which the detectives had entered.

The key began to turn in the lock. It was operating under the pressure of some instrument that had been inserted from the other side. Uncannily, the key completed its twist, without the slightest click. The knob of the door turned noiselessly. The door opened.

Blackness projected itself into the lighted room. From this mass materialized a living form. Like a ghost from spectral regions, a tall figure assumed the shape of a being clad in black.

The Shadow had entered.

The folds of a black cloak draped The Shadow’s body. As the tall stranger moved across the floor, the cloak swished and showed a flash of crimson lining. The face of The Shadow remained unseen. The upturned collar of the cloak; the broad brim of the black slouch hat which The Shadow wore — these hid all except a pair of burning eyes that turned directly toward the desk in the center of the room.

Minutes were at the disposal of The Shadow. While Cardona and Markham were looking through the house, the master investigator had his opportunity to form theories of his own. Would they be different from the idea that Cardona had expressed? Only The Shadow knew!

Like Cardona, The Shadow went to the drawer of Worth Varden’s desk. A gloved hand opened the drawer. It plucked forth the papers that Cardona had examined. Standing beside the desk, a tall blot that loomed beneath the light, The Shadow began an examination of the documents.

The papers which pertained to the San Salvador Importing Company were bona fide. A quick inspection proved that fact. The Shadow, like Cardona, compared the note that was with the papers. This was the message, with Varden’s signature, which stated that the importer had fled.

A soft laugh escaped The Shadow’s hidden lips. A gloved hand began to open other drawers. All were empty except one — this held some sheets of blank white paper. The Shadow withdrew one. He picked up a fountain pen that lay upon Varden’s desk, and wrote a few words.

Another comparison; again the laugh. The Shadow had detected something wrong with Varden’s supposed confession. Although the importer had evidently written it in this study — at least, so Cardona had supposed — there were two factors which made The Shadow doubt the fact.

The paper on which the message appeared was of different quality than the paper in Varden’s desk drawer. The ink used in the message was of differing hue from the ink which was in Varden’s fountain pen. The Shadow knew at once that the note could not have been written by Worth Varden after the importer’s telephone call to Joe Cardona.

The deduction was masterful because of its simplicity. It showed the keen directness of The Shadow’s methods. It gave The Shadow a prompt inkling to the fact that the note might be a forgery.

KEEN eyes studied the writing on the suspected note. A tiny glass, of microscopic qualities, appeared between The Shadow’s thumb and forefinger. The eye that studied the writing through that lens saw the inscribed letters raised to great size. The eye of The Shadow detected proof of forgery.

The edges of the inked lines were blurred. They proved that the writer of this note had worked slowly; that he had copied some actual writing of Worth Varden. The forgery was an excellent one — when not subjected to microscopic examination. Yet the forger had unwittingly left the tell-tale marks through the very care which he had exercised.

The Shadow laughed softly. He crumpled the sheet of paper on which he had sampled Varden’s ink. It disappeared beneath his cloak. Burning eyes surveyed the room, while a gloved hand replaced the examined papers in the desk drawer.

The Shadow was working out his theory. He had discovered facts of vital importance. He noted a ticking clock upon a side table; his keen brain began to take in the time element involved, in this mysterious and peculiar case.

Worth Varden had called Joe Cardona nearly one hour ago. At that time, the importer had probably been alone. He had desired Joe Cardona’s presence here. The detective had promised to come. Varden had stated that he had facts to show regarding a racketeer named Seth Cowry.

No such evidence was present now. All that Cardona had found were documents that incriminated Worth Varden, without mention of Seth Cowry. The Shadow knew that events during the past hour had brought about an important change.

Some one must have visited Worth Varden. That visitor had talked with the importer. Somehow, he had managed to get Varden away. Then the visitor had reentered. Either Varden or he had carried away the evidence which the importer had intended for Joe Cardona.

The visitor must have come back after Varden’s departure. The presence of the forged note was proof of that. The unlocked door from the alleyway was assurance that something had gone amiss. Cardona had pushed the door open; yet the detective had seen nothing important in the fact that it was unlocked. The Shadow, however, had seen Cardona’s action. The Shadow knew.

Added was the evidence of the cigar butt that had been dropped outside. It indicated that some one had been lurking here. The ash tray at the side of Varden’s desk showed cigarette butts only. The importer, evidently not a cigar smoker, would not have dropped a discarded cigar outside the door of his house.

A link between Worth Varden and Seth Cowry was a surety. The Shadow was seeking some trace of that connection. His keen eyes observed the blank sheet of gray paper. The Shadow lifted it from the desk.

Here was paper unlike any other in Varden’s study. Cardona had found it with Varden’s papers. That indicated that this sheet was intended as part of the false evidence that would go against Varden.

The Shadow held the paper to the light. No trace of any writing was visible. Yet The Shadow, as he keenly studied the gray paper, saw a fact which Cardona had not noticed. The sheet of gray paper was double!

DESPITE the thin gloves that covered them, The Shadow’s fingers were deft. They peeled the paper; it came loose and separated into two individual sheets. The gum which held them was present only at the edges.

Once more The Shadow laughed. He saw the purpose of this doubled sheet. Between the portions, a message could be written — yet the inscription would be invisible until one held the paper to the light. Nevertheless, the gray paper was blank. Why?

The Shadow had the answer. His whispered laugh gave sibilant tone to his thoughts. Worth Varden had called Joe Cardona, and had mentioned that he possessed data which concerned Seth Cowry. Later, a visitor had called on Varden; and the importer had probably told him of the call to Cardona.

Varden must have possessed a message inscribed between two sheets of gray paper. The visitor must have realized that Varden could have told Cardona something regarding such a message. Hence the visitor, returning to Varden’s, had deliberately left a blank sheet of double gray paper to replace the one that had held a message to Varden.

Such was The Shadow’s deduction. The Shadow knew, from Cardona’s rejection of the gray paper, that the detective knew nothing of a mysterious note. Probably Varden had not mentioned it to Cardona. But The Shadow was picturing the mental state of the man who had come here to plant a forged confession.

As yet, The Shadow had found nothing that gave him a direct lead to Ruggles Preston, pretended friend of Worth Varden. Yet The Shadow had pictured Preston as an existing person. Furthermore, he had made a very close analysis of Preston’s actions on this night, even to the mental processes in which Preston had indulged.

Footsteps were approaching. Cardona and Markham were returning. Carrying the discarded gray paper with him, The Shadow swept quickly from the room. The door closed softly. When Cardona and Markham entered the study, the key was turning in the lock, manipulated from the opposite side of the door.

Neither Cardona nor Markham saw the turning key. Cardona opened the desk drawer; took out the San Salvador documents, and the forged note. He unlocked the door which The Shadow had just closed. With Markham following, Cardona strode out into the night.

When the coupe had pulled away, a splotch of blackness moved beneath a street lamp. A soft whisper sounded in the night. The Shadow moved through darkness.

Joe Cardona had completed his investigation at Worth Varden’s. So had The Shadow. The detective had formed his theory. The Shadow, too, had formed a theory. But where Cardona had merely fallen into the channel set for him, and had been deceived by Ruggles Preston’s work, The Shadow had used keen deduction to learn the truth of matters that had occurred at Worth Varden’s home.

LATER, the bluish light appeared within The Shadow’s black-walled sanctum. White hands appeared upon the polished table. The girasol glimmered while The Shadow inscribed orders in his special code.

One order was to Cliff Marsland. It instructed The Shadow’s agent in the underworld to continue his investigation of Seth Cowry’s affairs.

The other order was to Harry Vincent. The Shadow was instructing that young man to make a preliminary investigation that would involve the friends and business associates of Worth Varden.

The orders were completed. The Shadow folded the sheets before the vivid blue ink had time to disappear. Each message went into a separate envelope. The Shadow addressed each one, and placed both together in a larger envelope.

This container was addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building, New York City. Its legend was in ink that would not fade. To-morrow, Mann would give the coded orders to Marsland and Vincent, respectively, when they called at his office.

The white hands moved. Something appeared between them. It was the gray paper — the doubled sheet that had separated into two. The hidden eyes of The Shadow considered it; a soft laugh rippled from The Shadow’s lips.

In this gray paper, The Shadow saw the hidden hand of a master-schemer. He knew that Worth Varden had been handled only by minions; that behind the disappearance of the importer lay the craft of a supercrook.

The blue light flicked out. The laugh of The Shadow rose to its crescendo and died away. It was a presaging laugh. The Shadow knew that ways of crime must soon be met; that stirring episodes lay ahead.

As yet, The Shadow had not learned the identity of the enemy whom he must meet; nevertheless, he had seen the evidence of fiendish craftsmanship. The Shadow had sensed the hidden power of Gray Fist.

Deep silence pervaded the blackened sanctum. Mystery held sway. The Shadow had fared forth in search of an enemy who dealt in crime. When The Shadow set out on such adventure, fierce conflict was intended.

The might of The Shadow was nearing a clash with the power of a superfiend. Soon, Gray Fist would find himself compelled to meet the master fighter who was coming from the dark to put an end to crime!