Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER XIX CARDONA RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was not in a pleasant mood when he strode into the office of Inspector Timothy Klein, the morning after the murders in the apartment of John Hendrix. The sight of the inspector’s face did not raise the detective’s spirits.

“You’ve seen this, Joe?” was Klein’s first question.

The inspector indicated a newspaper which lay upon the desk.

“Guess I’ve seen it,” responded Cardona. “I read all the morning papers.”

“This is an evening edition,” said Klein, quietly. “I just bought it.”

Cardona picked up the sheet and stared at the headlines. Then he began to scan the paragraphs below.

“Nothing new,” he growled. “This stuff about Hendrix having negotiations with South American interests don’t mean anything. I looked into that last night.”

“Read here,” remarked Klein, leaning forward and pointing to a paragraph set in bold-face type.

Cardona’s eyes flashed angrily as he perused the lines. He threw the newspaper on the desk and stared sullenly at Klein. The inspector’s face was serious.

“Panning me, eh?” grumbled Cardona. “Playing up the fact that I let the murderer get away. Fine guys, these reporters! Tell them facts and they turn against you. How could I have done any more than I did? I had my men posted all around the place.”

“You lost your man, Joe,” returned Klein, in a sober voice. “You went there to get him — if he was still on the ground. He made a getaway.”

The detective was forced to admit the logic of the argument. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked about the room, wearing an expression of impatience.

“Any new clews?” inquired Klein.

“No,” answered Cardona. “I was in here at seven o’clock; then I went out again. I’ve been figuring gangsters in this mess, but so far I haven’t gotten any trace of the men I want. Those finger prints are a blank. I’ve had them compared with the records. They don’t fit any crook that is on my list—”

“Gangsters, eh?”

“Sure thing. Three killings. A clean getaway. That guy was a tough baby. I’ll get him, though; get him if it takes me a long while!”

“The quicker the better,” commented Klein. “You know the public, Joe. They eat up anything about the inefficiency of the police. That getaway was bad business.”

“There’s a lot of angles to this case,” declared Cardona, seemingly anxious to change the turn of the conversation. “It may have been Powell they were out to get — not Hendrix. I’ve got men working on the Powell angle.”

“What was Powell’s job?”

“Sort of an investigator for Hendrix. Worked on different jobs. No one seems to know just what he was doing lately. That’s the rub of it. He reported direct to Hendrix. Either one might have been able to give us the dope we need. But both were bumped off.”

“Keep after it, Joe,” said Klein. “That’s all I can tell you. But you know how the commissioner flares up when he reads stuff like this.”

Klein pointed to the newspaper and Cardona nodded. The detective was well acquainted with the foibles of the police commissioner. He felt that Klein understood the difficulties of last night’s situation; but, unfortunately, Klein was merely an inspector.

WALKING toward his own office, Cardona experienced a confused medley of thoughts. This case loomed before him like a stone wall. The obstacles seemed to be increasing; and the criticism of the newspapers was no encouragement. Reaching his office, Cardona noted a letter lying upon the desk. Mechanically, he opened it and drew forth the contents.

The envelope contained a folded newspaper clipping. Cardona threw the piece of paper upon the desk. This was insult upon injury. Some one riding him already!

Wrathfully, Cardona brushed the clipping aside and watched it flutter to the floor. He leaned back in his chair and stared sullenly toward the wall.

It was several minutes before his mind went back to that discarded clipping. The envelope, still lying on the desk, brought a new interest. It was stamped and postmarked. It was addressed in a carefully lettered manner. Cardona noted that the postmark read 3 a.m. It dawned upon him that this envelope could not have contained a clipping that had reference to the murder. The detective became curious.

He reached to the floor and picked up the clipping. He unfolded it and laid it on the desk. Then, Cardona’s eyes bulged with astonishment.

Implanted upon the piece of torn newspaper were the impressions of fingertips!

Cardona fumbled in his pocket and brought out photographic impressions of the finger prints that he had obtained in the room of the death. His first comparison showed marked similarity between those records and the prints on the sheet of newspaper. Cardona leaped to his feet. He started toward Klein’s office; then suddenly changed his mind and returned to the desk.

Who had sent this sheet of paper?

Cardona was reflective. He realized that it would be best for him to maintain silence for the present. To make a furor about this new bit of evidence would be a grave mistake. He had no clew to the sender. He knew only that some one had voluntarily sought to give him aid. Who could that some one be?

Had Joe Cardona been an ordinary detective, his mind would have reverted immediately to Lamont Cranston. But Cardona’s experiences had been unique in the past; and this new event bore a marked resemblance to others that had occurred before.

This was not the first time that Cardona had been the recipient of unusual clews. Whenever he received live tips from an anonymous source, it was Cardona’s policy to connect them definitely with one name.

The Shadow!

To Joe Cardona, that mysterious personage was a real, living figure. At times, when unsolved crimes had thwarted the detective, he had received unexpected word from an unknown source. He was convinced that such messages came from The Shadow.

On certain occasions, Cardona had actually encountered a strange figure clad in black — a man who seemingly had the power to materialize himself from nowhere and to vanish into the shrouded atmosphere of night.

Others had heard of The Shadow. Cardona had heard from him. Others told of those who had seen him. Cardona was one who had actually seen The Shadow. Others had spoken of the vengeance which The Shadow wreaked upon evildoers. Cardona had watched the hand of The Shadow deal death to fiends of the underworld.

WITH keen, inquisitive eyes, the detective scanned the piece of newspaper. No message had accompanied it. An inspection showed the envelope to be empty.

Again, Cardona examined the finger prints. Then he noticed three tiny dots upon a word that appeared in one of the columns. Looking closely, he saw other dots. They evidently indicated certain words.

Seizing a pencil, Cardona began to write down each word that was thus marked.

The result was a jargon of a dozen words that read as follows:

Cardona puzzled over this jumbled message. He began another examination of the printed words.

He noted that one was marked with a small, single dot; another with two; then three; then four. Next came a series of dots that were slightly larger; then some that had tails like commas; finally, reversed commas.

Following this key, Cardona suddenly hit upon the correct order. He wrote this message:

The detective glanced at his watch. It showed eleven o’clock. Impatiently, Cardona arose and paced back and forth across the office. He sensed the hand of The Shadow. He was positive that within an hour he would receive further word.

Ten minutes went by. They were restless minutes for Joe Cardona. The telephone rang, Cardona sprang to the desk. He was holding the receiver in his hand before the ringing ceased.

“Cardona speaking,” he said.

A quiet, monotonous voice came over the wire. Its tones were scarcely recognizable as those of a living being. They carried a note that was ghostly in its semblance.

“The time is midnight,” declared the voice.

“Where?” queried Cardona, breathless.

“You will be informed before that hour,” said the voice.

“Where will I receive word?” asked the detective.

“Where you now are,” came the all-important words. “You will learn the plan in time to act.”

“Who is the man I want?”

“You will be told when you receive the plan.”

“Will I need other men?”

“Yes. A large squad.”

The voice ended suddenly. Cardona clicked at the hook to no avail. The message was finished.

A trifle bewildered, Cardona hung up the receiver. This had been an unexpected item in the case which confronted him. He knew no more now than he had known before, regarding the actual identity of the murderer who had killed three men.

Somewhere, somehow, he would have an opportunity to capture the man he wanted — and the time would be at midnight. That depended purely upon whether the information which he had just received was accurate.

Pondering, Cardona experienced serious qualms. He realized that if he were the victim of a hoax, his following of the suggested plans would be greatly to his disadvantage.

Suppose that this was the work of some one connected with the murderer — a plot to delude Cardona and throw him off the trail? If Cardona worked in accordance with the plan, he would be forced to remain at headquarters for twelve hours, idle all the while.

Cardona began to pound the desk with his fist. He stared at the paper with its fingered impressions. He recalled the tones of the voice that had come over the wire. Carefully, Cardona picked up the piece of newspaper and placed it, with its envelope, in a desk drawer. He left the office and strolled in to see Inspector Klein.

“I’m working on a hunch,” declared Cardona, solemnly. “I want to follow it, if there is no objection. Maybe, by tomorrow morning—”

Inspector Klein smiled. Cardona’s hunches were famous at headquarters. Some said they were luck; others, that they were exaggerated. Klein regarded them as the keen intuitions of a shrewd crime-fighter. He had great faith in Cardona’s hunches.

“Go ahead, Joe,” said Klein approvingly. “I have nothing to say. Work on this as you see best — until tomorrow morning.”

“O. K.,” replied Cardona.

Inspector Klein watched the detective as he left the room. Cardona, Klein believed, was at his best when following his own dictates. For the next twenty hours, the detective would be a man unencumbered by instructions.

In this, Klein was wrong. Joe Cardona, despite his preference for the life of a lone ace, was following instructions. The star detective had received orders and expected to abide by them. Those were the orders which Cardona had heard across the wire — instructions which he fully believed could have come from no one but The Shadow.

Convinced in his own mind, Cardona had picked his course. Unknown to any but himself, he was blindly following the dictates of the mysterious man of the night.

With The Shadow out to thwart the plans of killers, Cardona knew that it was best to follow the command.