Shadow 001 - The Living Shadow

CHAPTER XII TWO DETECTIVES TALK

WHILE the Holmwood local was still clicking along the rails toward its destination, two men sat in an office at police headquarters. Their day’s routine had ended; now they were engaged in a discussion which both regarded as important.

One of the men bore the mark of a police officer long in the service. He was tall, heavy, and domineering. His gray hair lent him a positive dignity, and his face, although full and a trifle pudgy, carried the physiognomy of the thinker as well as that of the man of action.

The other was shorter, and his dark face bespoke an Italian ancestry. He had certain characteristics of the familiar plain-clothes man, but with it there were a calmness of bearing and an ease of expression which were deceptive. His thin lips formed a straight line that never curved upward nor downward, and his dark-brown eyes had a sparkle that betokened the quick observer.

“It’s a tough case, Cardona,” said the big man, thumping thoughtfully upon the table where he sat.

The Italian shrugged his shoulders. He was standing, looking down at his companion. The latter raised his eyes as though expecting some comment or reply, but he received none.

“A tough case,” mused the big man.

“I’ve had tough ones before,” said Cardona. “I landed some; I missed others. But remember” - his voice became significant - “this case means as much to Inspector John Malone as it does to Joe Cardona.”

The big man at the table became suddenly alert. There was a challenge in his expression; he appeared as though demanding an explanation. But as he glanced at the dark eyes before him, he relaxed and laughed gruffly.

“I guess you’re right, Joe,” he said, looking at the table.

“You know I’m right,” was the reply. “You know why, too.”

“Why? Tell me.”

“You’re higher upon the force. You’ll be the goat.”

“What about yourself?”

“I have no competition. You have.”

“In what way?”

Cardona leaned forward.

“Listen, Malone,” he said, emphatically. “You’re an inspector. You were selected. There were other choices, but you got the job. The wolves are waiting right at the door. Make a slip; they’ll come in.”

“As for you -“

“As for me? Who’s going to crowd me out? If I get nowhere, it’s a sure bet that none of the other detectives will. The facts prove it. I’ve been getting results from active work. Put another man in my place. Try it. That would be your finish.”

“I guess you’re right, Joe.”

“You know I’m right, Malone.”

“But you aren’t easing up on this case, are you?”

“Of course not, Malone. But it’s a tough one. You said so yourself.”

The police inspector grunted.

“If that thug,” he said, “had had sense enough to use his own rod instead of one he picked up in the safe - well, we’d have something to work on, anyway.”

“That’s where he was wise,” came the reply.

“Wise? Using a strange gun?”

“Perhaps he didn’t have one of his own.”

“That’s not likely.”

The two men were silent. Malone continued his monotonous thumping. Cardona was motionless.

“The boys have been keeping after the servants?”

The question was Malone’s.

“They’re out,” replied Cardona.

“What makes it worse,” mused the inspector, after a pause, “is the fact they got so close to the man. Off he went across the lawn, then the ground might have swallowed him.”

“Right.”

“What about that secretary - this fellow Burgess? He gives us a good cold description at the start. Old Bingham coming by outside adds plenty more. Yet from then on -“

Malone snapped the fingers of both hands.

Another shrug from Cardona.

“Well,” drawled Malone, “if we ever get the guy, we’ll have an A-1 witness in old Bingham. This is one crook he won’t defend. If he can give witness testimony like he can handle a case in the courtroom, we’ll have it all clinched.”

“But let’s get the guy first,” observed the Italian.

A shadow fell across the table where Malone’s eyes were gazing. The inspector looked up.

“Oh, hello, Fritz,” he said in an indulgent tone. “Cleaning up early, eh?”

The tall, stoop-shouldered janitor looked at him dully.

“Yah.”

“You’ve got the best job in the place, Fritz. Know that?”

“Yah.”

Cardona laughed without changing the expression of his lips.

“Yah,” he mimicked. “That’s all I’ve ever heard you say, Fritz. Say, boy, you look kinda pale tonight. Sorta thinner, too. You oughta get a bit of exercise.”

“Yah.”

Cardona shrugged his shoulders and looked at Malone.

“It’s all right, Joe,” said the inspector. “Fritz will be here when we’re gone.”

The janitor was busy with mop and bucket. The two men paid no further attention to him.

“Joe,” said the inspector, “you’ve got brains.”

“Sure I have.”

“Well, there’s lots haven’t.”

“Right. That’s what makes brains useful.”

“Let’s drop the foolishness. You know what this game is, Joe. Hard plugging.”

“Correct.”

“That story-book stuff is all applesauce. Grind to get your information. That’s what we do. And we get it.”

“We’re not getting it now, Malone.”

“I know it, Joe, and that’s because we’re doing too much grinding. This case is different; it calls for a little fancy headwork.”

“How?”

“Listen, Joe. There’s a mind in back of this. There’s been a couple of smaller robberies. Didn’t make much noise, because they were little. We haven’t got to the bottom of them yet, though.”

“Well, Malone, we haven’t had the best men on them.”

“I know that. But I figure they were lead-ups to this one. And I figure more. The way I dope it out, there’s been a different gag - and a clever gag - in each case. This was the big job; the others were experiments.”

“This one is murder.”

“Yes, Joe, but that wasn’t intended. Let’s figure it a bit from the viewpoint of the crook that’s running it.”

“There you go, Malone. You’re assuming this master-crook stuff. You’ve been to the talkies.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no big crook, Malone. There’s a bunch of little racketeers in town; no big man.”

The moving arms of the janitor cast a grotesque, pumping shadow over the table before Malone.

“Move out of the light, Fritz,” growled the inspector.

The janitor moved across the room, carrying his bucket, and began to mop toward the hall, slowly nearing the door.

“Look at that Scanlon murder,” said Cardona. “We know who did it. Steve Cronin. Got away, but as soon as we do lay hands on him, he’ll be through. Then take that fellow Croaker - killed the same night. Double-crossed some of his gang. That shows they’re a bunch of cheap racket-men. Some other second-rate crook was out tinkering with Laidlow’s toy safe, and happened to bump off the millionaire. Simple enough. The tough part is, what became of him?”

The inspector shook his head.

“I don’t agree with you, Joe.”

“Well, that’s my opinion.”

“Change it, then.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve got to try a new track, Joe. Figure this case as complicated; not simple. First of all, let’s figure what became of the jewels?”

“They’ll be fenced. That may give us a clew.”

“I don’t think so, Joe. What about all those little jewel robberies? Do you think they’re holding the stuff? Not by a long shot. Do you know why those jobs were pulled? I’ll tell you what I think, Joe. They’re trying a new way to get rid of the stuff. That’s why none of the jewels have shown up.”

Cardona shook his head.

“Wish I could agree with you, Malone. But I don’t. Where would they fence the stuff outside of the places we know about?”

“Maybe they’re selling them to some chink.”

Another shake of Cardona’s head.

“No, Malone. These crooks don’t trust the Chinese.”

“Well, that’s usually true. But I’ve heard talk of the chinks handling stuff.”

“All talk, Malone. I’ve investigated. Looked over plenty of Chinamen. Nothing to it.”

“Maybe they were putting one over on you, Joe. The chinks are a foxy lot.”

The Italian detective almost accepted this idea.

“Maybe so,” he said.

“Well, if you get a tip on the chinks,” said Malone, “I’d advise you to follow it.”

“I agree with you there,” said the detective. “I’ll jump to any real tip with a Chinese twist.”

“Yeah, and think of this other angle. A big man in back of it. Two men, maybe. More than two, perhaps. I’m old in the game, Joe. This is something new. Big fellows laying low; little fellows doing the dirty work. Even then, I may not be at the bottom of it.”

“Listen, Malone,” said Cardona. “The big-minded idea is all right enough, but a big mind betrays itself. And there’s none in sight right now. I know. Because I handled a case once that had a big mind in it. You remember Diamond Bert?”

“Yeah. What was his real name?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure. Diamond Bert Farwell was what we knew him as. He went after jewels. Always had trouble getting rid of them, though. That’s where we began to get him.”

“Maybe there’s another like him.”

“Not a chance, Malone. That fellow was wise. He would wait for anything. Played safe. The public never heard of him, just on that account. He must have been preparing a long while before he pulled his first jobs. Then they came quick; but he slipped up when he turned the jewels over to a fence, That was where he made his mistake.”

“I know that, Joe.”

“There’ll never be another like him, Malone. He’s gone now. Killed five years ago. We got the goods back; recovered so much that the public forgot all about the robberies. Then we were after Diamond Bert. Had his picture, his record - everything. He’d been a bad boy when he was younger.”

“Do you think we’d have got him, Joe?”

“If he hadn’t been killed when that car went off the bridge? You bet we’d have got him!”

“Maybe. He was smart, though.”

“Sure. Came from a good family. Met his brother once. He came from California. Guess he was glad enough when Bert cashed in. Tough on a good family when the black sheep makes trouble.”

“When did you meet the brother?”

“Before Bert died. He had a couple of brothers and sisters. All fine people. I sorta ran into them when we were getting the goods on Bert. Then - phooey - Bert was killed and that was the end of it all. Yes, Malone, there was one man. One man. He might have been clever enough to pull this kind of a game you’re talking about, but he’s gone. Wise - could talk all kind of languages. Smooth - could pass in any company. He’s dead, and that’s that. I’m glad he’s gone.”

Inspector Malone lifted himself from his chair.

“Well, Joe, let’s move along. Keep working, boy.”

“I’ll do that, inspector. We’ll keep on grinding and watching the fences. That’ll bring results.”

“Look for brains, too,” said the inspector as they reached the door.

“Fritz, for example,” replied Cardona, pointing his thumb at the slow-moving janitor who was now working down the corridor.

“Watch the chinks,” reminded Malone.

“I’ll do that - if I get a real tip-off.”

The two men passed the janitor.

“Good night, Fritz.”

“Yah.”

The door clanged behind the inspector and the detective. Fritz, the janitor, leaned on the handle of his mop.

“Diamond Bert,” he said softly. “Diamond Bert Farwell! Dead!”

Fritz shambled down the corridor away from the door through which the men had made their exit.

Reaching an obscure locker, he opened it. His hands drew out folded cloth. A blackened cloak unpleated as it slipped over the stooped shoulders. A slouch hat settled on the head above.

A weird figure had replaced that of Fritz, the janitor. It was a phantom shape that glided noiselessly from this obscure spot. Fritz the janitor had become The Shadow. New facts gained, the master sleuth was seeking outer darkness.

As The Shadow reached the end of the hallway, a low, soft laugh echoed from the walls. A quiet laugh, but a mocking laugh; a laugh that would have surprised both Inspector Malone and Detective Cardona, had they been there to hear it.