Murder Every Hour

CHAPTER VI THE NOON MAIL

THE next day found Wainwright Barth lunching at the Cobalt Club with his friend Lamont Cranston. The two were seated at an obscure table in the grillroom, where Barth was discoursing on the murders of the day before.

“Evidence is plenty, Cranston,” stated Barth. “Unfortunately, we have been unable to uncover a suspect. Yet, in a sense, that has been of value.”

“How so?” inquired The Shadow, in the casual tone of Cranston.

“Had these been ordinary murders,” replied Barth, “we might have followed false procedure. Let me elucidate. Take the case of Jeremy Lentz as a beginning. There we had a man who could have murdered Lentz.”

“You refer to George Garsher, the cigar salesman?”

“Yes. He was alone when he discovered Lentz’s body. Certain factors favored him. The lack of a weapon was the best; still, Garsher could have hidden the gun. But when the second murder took place, Garsher had a perfect alibi.”

“He was in police custody.”

“Precisely. Let us proceed to the case of Howard Morath. Two persons could have been involved. Mrs. Ditting and Al Sycher, the elevator operator. Both discovered the body individually. Of course, we can eliminate Mrs. Ditting. But Sycher had no alibi for five o’clock — the time of Lentz’s death — nor was anyone with him when he came up in the elevator to answer Morath’s call at six.”

“Which brings us to the third murder—”

“Yes. When Newell Frieth was slain at seven, Sycher, like Garsher, was in custody. So we knew that neither of the two could have been the chain killer who committed three murders.

“The bullets have been extracted from the bodies of all three victims. Every one of those slugs was fired from the same smooth-bore gun. So you see, Cranston, we are dealing with a killer extraordinary — a rover who went from one murder to another, leaving circumstances which placed men like Garsher and Sycher under temporary suspicion.”

“You had no suspect in the third case?”

“No. Which proves that circumstances were accidental. In the third instance, two men found the body. Hiram Caffley and Lewis, the house detective at the Hotel Gilderoy. It would be ridiculous to consider either of them as suspects; but for the sake of thoroughness, suppose we do so.

“Caffley was at his office until after half past five. He left Judge Channing shortly before six. So Caffley could not possibly have visited Lentz’s at five o’clock, for his conference began at four and continued until five-thirty. Which eliminates him from the chain.

“As for Lewis, he was at the Gilderoy constantly during the afternoon. So you see, Cranston, there is absolutely no one who could possibly be suspected in the third murder; and those whom we considered in the first two cases are totally out.”

WHILE Barth was speaking, The Shadow drew a small cigar case from his pocket and extracted a blackened roll of tobacco that looked like a small stogy. He lighted it while he waited for the commissioner to resume.

“We have released Garsher and Sycher,” stated Barth. “The former is out selling his cigars; the latter has resumed his job as elevator operator at the Belgaria Apartments. Meanwhile, we have cautioned every one to keep our clues from the press. We are out to find the tall man who wore a light gray overcoat. When we have located him we will—”

Barth paused to sniff. A pungent odor was reaching his nostrils. The commissioner realized that the strong aroma was that of tobacco smoke.

“What in the world are you smoking?” he demanded.

“A cheroot,” replied The Shadow, calmly. “I used to smoke them in Burma. I recalled that fact during your investigations yesterday.”

“Jove!” exclaimed Barth with a laugh. “That makes you an applicant for an alibi, Cranston. Well, I can furnish you with one. You were with me at five o’clock; at six; and at seven.”

“Notice these ashes, commissioner,” suggested The Shadow, flicking the end of the cheroot. “They stand out black against the white of the tablecloth. Unlike cigarette ashes, which are gray.”

Barth stared, puzzled. Then he adjusted his pince-nez and shook his head.

“What have ashes to do with it, Cranston?” demanded the commissioner. “My word! We found cheroot stumps at the scene of every crime. Those should prove sufficient. Why look for ashes also?”

A thin smile rested on The Shadow’s lips. Barth ended his perplexity with a caustic comment.

“Like all others who witness crime investigations,” stated the commissioner, “you, Cranston, have developed the habit of considering extraneous facts. The tyro always seeks to uncover some complication.

“Cheroot ashes make a good example. We find the stumps that prove a cheroot smoker was present at three places. The stumps sufficed, but you began to worry about ashes. To the point of buying cheroots and smoking them.”

Barth then smiled indulgently. The Shadow made no comment; he merely puffed at the cheroot and flicked a new quota of darkened ashes into a plate on the table.

“Once we have located the proper suspect,” decided Barth, “we shall find the solution to this chain of crime. Cardona is an efficient detective. He is going through records that we found at Lentz’s, Morath’s and Frieth’s, seeking the name of someone who might be connected with all three.”

As Barth paused, a club attendant approached the table. The servant spoke to the commissioner. Barth arose hurriedly and beckoned to The Shadow.

“Cardona is here, Cranston,” confided the commissioner. “Apparently he has uncovered some new clue. He is upstairs in the reception room. Let us talk with him.”

THEY found Cardona pacing the little reception room when they arrived. The detective was eager with news. He produced an envelope that bore a cancelled two-cent stamp. The letter was addressed to Jeremy Lentz; and bore the inventor’s office address.

“Came in by the noon mail,” explained Cardona. “It was posted in Manhattan this morning. Read it, commissioner.”

Barth extracted the letter. Like the envelope it was typewritten, including the signature. Barth read the message; then passed it to The Shadow. The letter was as follows:

“Who is Powlden?” inquired Barth of Cardona. “Did you ever hear of him before?”

“I found some carbon copies at Lentz’s office,” replied the detective. “Copies of letters that Lentz had sent to Powlden.”

“None from Powlden to Lentz?”

“None. And Lentz’s letters were sketchy. Simply notes saying that he was busy and would arrange to see Powlden later. I’d passed them up as unimportant, until this came in.”

“You learned nothing about Powlden?”

“I learned enough, commissioner. The man is an inventor, like Lentz was. The stenographer told me that. Lentz and Powlden used to work together. They separated after a row.”

“Pertaining to an invention?”

“Yes. A synthetic gasoline that Morath patented and Frieth sold to some big oil company. Lentz claimed that it was his invention; that he perfected it. But apparently Powlden had the same claim. Anyway, it was Lentz who got the credit for it.”

“The stenographer told you all this?”

“Yeah. She remembered odd details as she went along. I found out where Powlden lives. An old house on Eighty-eighth Street. I sent Markham up there. Powlden isn’t home.”

“Did you try to enter the house?”

“Not yet, commissioner. I wanted to give you the news first. Markham’s watching there—”

A telephone began to ring in the corner of the reception room. Commissioner Barth answered it. His expression became excited.

“Yes, Markham… Yes.”

Barth’s voice was querulous. “Cardona is here… Yes, he has told me about Powlden… Ah! The man has returned? Good… Yes, keep your station until we arrive… What’s that?… Tall? Stooped? With gray overcoat?… Excellent, Markham!”

Barth hung up triumphantly. No further explanation was necessary. Both of his companions had caught his words. They knew that Donald Powlden answered the rough description of the man whom the law was seeking.

Beckoning, Barth started from the reception room, with Cardona close behind him. His gesture indicated that he wanted Cranston also. The Shadow followed at a strolling gait.

In his guise of Cranston, The Shadow allowed a faint smile to show upon his chiseled lips. This was a result that he had anticipated; a lead that would bring the law to a spot where a suspect could be found.

The Shadow held keen interest for the immediate future. He seemed to divine the circumstances of this sequel that had followed crime.