The Black Falcon

CHAPTER III CRIME FOREWARNED

A BLACK feather!

Such was the trophy that The Shadow had brought from the secret stronghold on Tenth Avenue. Unaided, the master fighter had raided the palatial club where big shots met. Departing unscathed, he had left death lying in his wake.

Rowdy Kirshing had died in an attempt to slay The Shadow. Before his death, the big shot had blurted his connection with “Velvet” Laffrey. There lay another link. The police — so rumor had it — were looking for Laffrey in connection with the disappearance of Hubert Apprison, prominent New York banker.

Gangland rumors are usually backed by truth. Such was the case with this one. Less than half an hour after the echoes of The Shadow’s shots had ended within the confines of the Tenth Avenue club, a swarthy, stocky man stepped from a subway entrance near the corner of Thirty-third Street.

This individual walked along at a steady pace until he arrived at the entrance of an apartment house. He rode upstairs in an automatic elevator and knocked at the door of an apartment. The door opened to show a small anteroom. A short man, of military bearing, stepped back to admit the arrival.

“Good evening, Detective Cardona,” he said, “The commissioner is waiting to see you. Step in.”

The servant conducted the detective into a living room. He led him through to a hallway beyond and paused to knock on a closed door. A brusque voice responded from the other side of the barrier.

“What is it, Kempton?”

“Detective Cardona is here, sir,” replied the servant.

“All right,” came the voice. “Have him enter.”

The servant opened the door and ushered the detective into a small, lighted office. A desk occupied the middle of the room; beyond it was seated a firm-faced man who was going over a stack of papers.

Cardona seated himself in a chair on the nearer side of the desk. He waited for several minutes until the police commissioner laid the papers aside, rested back in the chair and eyed his visitor.

There was a marked contrast between these two men who represented the law. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston was of a powerful, executive type. His strong face, his steady lips with pointed mustache above them, showed him to be a man who believed in action and demanded it.

Detective Joe Cardona, with keen, dark eyes and solemn visage, was one who could follow instructions that were given. His impassiveness was the sign of his ability to observe. Long experience in hunting down perpetrators of crime had gained him recognition as an ace among sleuths.

IT was Cardona’s practice, when he visited Weston, to let the commissioner begin the conversation. Cardona had learned that his superior was both impulsive and impatient. When Weston had questions, he asked them. Cardona had become wise enough to govern his replies along lines that were close to the commissioner’s train of thought.

Thus Cardona waited for a full minute while Weston stared in his direction. The detective knew that a question was coming. He wanted to hear it. At length the commissioner snapped his inquiry.

“Anything new on Apprison?”

“Nothing since my last report,” replied Cardona.

Weston fingered a sheaf of papers on his desk. He nodded slowly as he considered Cardona’s noncommittal answer. Then, with his characteristic brusqueness, he gave an order.

“Let me have the details to date,” he said.

Joe Cardona repressed a smile. This was an old trick of the commissioner’s. Weston had a habit of digesting every detail of a written report; then demanding a verbal resume. He was quick to catch any variance that might occur. Cardona’s way of meeting this was to make verbal reports concise.

“At eight o’clock last Wednesday night,” declared the detective, “Hubert Apprison was in the study of his home on Seventy-fifth Street. With him was his secretary, Jonathan Blossom. Mrs. Apprison was entertaining guests downstairs.

“Shots were heard. The guests hurried upstairs. They found Jonathan Blossom lying dead, on the floor of the study. In his grasp was the top portion of a letter addressed to Hubert Apprison. It bore a date — Tuesday — and Apprison’s name and address with the words ‘Dear Sir.’

“Hubert Apprison was gone. Evidently intruders had entered by the back stairs, had seized Apprison and carried him away. The letter which Apprison had received was probably important, for most of it had been torn from Blossom’s grasp.

“The important evidence was the presence of thumb and finger prints upon the portion of the letter that Blossom held. These have been examined” — Cardona paused to bring photostatic copies from his pocket — “and have proved to be the impressions of a former confidence man named Peter Laffrey — known as Velvet Laffrey.”

Again the police commissioner nodded. He waited quietly. Cardona’s eyes narrowed momentarily; then the detective added a short statement.

“Two theories,” he said. “One that Apprison killed Blossom and made a get-away. The other that Velvet Laffrey headed a crew that carried off Apprison. I am working on the last named.”

Cardona eyed the commissioner upon the completion of this statement. He expected a criticism. He was ready for it when it arrived.

“Why,” questioned Weston, “do you reject the possibility that Apprison may have slain his secretary?”

“I do not reject it,” returned the detective, with a steady smile. “My job is to find Hubert Apprison. Once he is quizzed, we will have a lead on whether he or some one else was responsible for Blossom’s death.”

“So you are trying to locate Velvet Laffrey—”

“As a step to finding Apprison. We have evidence that Laffrey was present when Apprison disappeared.”

COMMISSIONER WESTON arose from his desk. He paced across the room while Joe Cardona watched him. At last the commissioner turned and faced the detective.

“Cardona,” he declared, “you are using commendable tactics. I want to compliment you upon your keenness. You have learned to combine theory and practice. It is an ability which you did not fully possess when I first knew you.”

The compliment was something of a back-handed one. Commissioner Weston seemed to take upon himself some of the approval that he was extending to the detective. That, however, did not curb Joe Cardona’s secret elation. The detective was used to Commissioner Weston’s brusque, egotistical manner. He knew that Weston was pleased. Cardona retained his flickering smile as he gazed at his superior officer.

Weston paced a while longer. His face clouded. He stopped short and snapped a question at his subordinate.

“Why have you not traced Velvet Laffrey?”

“We’re using the dragnet,” returned Cardona calmly. “If Laffrey is in New York, we’ll get him.”

“Hm-m-m,” mused the commissioner. “I see your point. Velvet Laffrey may have left town. Quite likely. Meanwhile, of course, a search is being made for Hubert Apprison.”

“Yes. Under Inspector Klein’s supervision.”

“Exactly. Therefore, the only excuse for the inability of the police force to locate either the kidnapped man or the supposed kidnaper is the fact that both may be absent from the city.”

“That would be a good reason for not finding either of them.”

“Cardona,” — Weston became serious as be spoke — “there is a clever crook behind the disappearance of Hubert Apprison. That crook may be Velvet Laffrey. I think he is Velvet Laffrey, but I am not willing to express a final opinion until more evidence is obtained in the matter.

“We must find the master crook. Naturally, if he has been outside of New York, we can say that the task is one that might be excusable if it failed. But if the crook should be in New York — if he should positively return to the city—”

“We ought to get him, commissioner.”

Weston nodded at Cardona’s words. The detective became a bit uneasy. He had a hunch that Weston was holding something back.

“If,” remarked the commissioner thoughtfully, “our man were to enter New York on a stipulated date and there attempt a crime similar to the kidnapping of Hubert Apprison — a crime with murder again involved — we, as representatives of the law in New York, should certainly be expected to apprehend the miscreant. Am I right?”

“Yes,” agreed Cardona with a short laugh. “If we knew what the crook is going to do, we ought to get him.”

“And if,” added Weston, “we should be somewhat in the dark regarding his actual plan of action, it would be our part to illuminate the subject in time to forestall crime?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I am glad to hear you talk that way, Cardona. Very glad, especially” — Weston was smiling — “because I am able to give you an opportunity to prove your statement.”

There was a biting challenge to Weston’s tone. Joe Cardona shifted uneasily. He watched the commissioner pick up a folded sheet of paper from the desk.

“The crook,” remarked Weston quietly, “will be in New York. Do you understand that, Cardona? The man behind the disappearance of Hubert Apprison is coming to New York. There is information that I want you to put to good use. If there is anything more that you want to know about the man in question, ask me.

“All right,” returned Cardona. “Why is he coming here?”

“To repeat his crime,” answered Weston promptly. “To perform murder as well as abduction.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

THE quickness of the commissioner’s response took Cardona aback. The detective stared in stupefaction; then, recalling Weston’s statement that he would answer required questions, Cardona put another query.

“How do you know all this, commissioner?”

“Because,” declared Weston, “I have received a letter from the crook himself.”

With that response, the police commissioner unfolded the sheet of paper. He planked it on the desk in front of Cardona’s amazed eyes. A sheet of white paper — a beautifully engraved letterhead in the upper left corner — a series of typewritten lines as the body of the message itself — these lay in plain view.

But to Joe Cardona, these meant nothing at first sight. The detective’s gaze was glued to the bottom of the page, upon the spot where one might have expected a signature to the communication.

The object which Cardona saw there was one that commanded his complete attention. Thrust through two small slits in the sheet of paper was a symbol identical with the one that The Shadow had tonight gained from the dead grasp of the big shot, Rowdy Kirshing.

Detective Joe Cardona was staring at a feather which formed a glistening black-dyed blade against the white paper to which it had been affixed!