The Black Falcon

CHAPTER IV THE COMMISSIONER’S PLAN

COMMISSIONER RALPH WESTON stood smiling grimly while his ace detective stared at the queer signature beneath the letter. Then, as Cardona made no immediate effort to read the message itself, Weston offered explanatory suggestions.

“Up here,” remarked the commissioner, pointing to the top corner at the left,” you will find the name by which our correspondent chooses to call himself.”

Cardona looked at the corner indicated. Printed in jet-black was the artistic drawing of a bird. The detective took it to represent an eagle or a hawk. Then, noting three neatly lettered words below the depicted bird, he read them aloud:

“The Black Falcon!”

“The Black Falcon,” repeated the commissioner. “An appropriate name, Cardona, for one who swoops down to gain his prey by night. The falcon, Cardona, is a bird trained in methods of effective capture.”

“The author of this letter calls himself The Black Falcon. If you will read the message, Cardona, you will see why; and I, by watching, may gain an inkling of the effect which The Black Falcon’s statements have upon their reader. When I perused the message myself, I must confess that I was too tense to consider my own reactions.”

Cardona nodded silently. He held the letter before him and scanned the typewritten lines which appeared as follows:

Joe Cardona, when he had finished the reading of this singular epistle, remained in deep thought. Commissioner Weston, watching the detective, was ready for a comment. None came. The commissioner put a question.

“What do you think of it?” be asked.

“When did you receive it?” parried Cardona.

“This afternoon,” was the commissioner’s reply. “Here, at my apartment.”

“I’ve seen a lot of crank notes,” decided Cardona, “but this doesn’t look like one.

“It is too specific,” agreed the commissioner. “Furthermore, if it were intended as a hoax, it would defeat its own purpose—”

“Because it names tonight as the time limit,” interposed Cardona, as Weston paused.

“Precisely,” declared the commissioner. “You caught that point excellently, Cardona. More promptly than I did. If the purpose of this letter was to cause mere annoyance, the writer would have given me a week to make my statement. However, with midnight as the time set—”

“We’ll know quick enough if this bird is a faker.”

“He is a bird,” announced Weston, solemnly repeating Cardona’s slang expression. “He calls himself The Black Falcon. That feather, if my ornithology is correct, is the plume of a falcon, dyed black. This man is a schemer, Cardona. His challenge is open defiance.”

THE detective’s fingers were beating a soft tattoo against the arms of the chair. Cardona was staring speculatively at the letter. He chanced a new remark.

“I’ve had a look at the afternoon papers,” he declared, “I read them coming up on the subway. I didn’t see the statement The Black Falcon asked for.”

“I know you didn’t,” returned Weston, with a firm smile. “I could have inserted one — just as a blind — but I refrained. I would rather meet this schemer openly for the time. Let us learn whether or not his boasts can be made good.”

“You’re right, commissioner,” agreed Cardona. “We’ve struck a stone wall on the Apprison case. If The Black Falcon pulls another job tonight, we’ll have a chance to trail him, maybe. At the same time—”

“The chance of murder is not to be overlooked,” admitted Weston, in interruption. “I know that, Cardona; and I considered long before I made my decision. Killing as well as abduction is possible. However, I have reasons for my decision. Before I give them, let me hear what your impression is regarding the possible identity of The Black Falcon. Give me theory if you wish — I shall not criticize it under these circumstances.”

“All right, commissioner,” responded Cardona. “Take a look at that letter while I show you something.”

He handed the letter to Weston and picked up the photostats from which he had selected a specimen of Velvet Laffrey’s finger prints. Cardona chose one of these which showed the entire portion of the torn sheet which had been clutched by Hubert Apprison’s secretary. He passed it to Weston and pointed to the typing on the photostat. Weston read it:

The letter had been torn below that point; hence no more typing showed on the photostatic copy. Cardona, however, seemed to think that the wording was sufficient.

“Typed on a Mangus Portable,” remarked the detective. “Model Eight. I had an expert look at it. He spotted it quick, by the style type. Said the machine was off the market; never sold well, and that funny type was a give-away. Now look at your letter from The Black Falcon. I’m no expert on typewriters, but I can see that it was the same kind of a machine. Expert examination may prove it to be the identical typewriter.”

Weston pulled a magnifying glass from the desk drawer and compared the letter with the photostatic sample of typing. He uttered a cry of elation as he nodded.

“I think you’re right, Cardona!” exclaimed the commissioner. “We can have an expert examine it later. But for the present—”

“Right now,” interposed Cardona, “it’s close enough to support my theory. I figured right from the start that a smart crook was in the game — and Velvet Laffrey was smooth enough to be the guy.

“Here’s the way I dope it. Laffrey sent some kind of a letter to Apprison. Probably it veiled a threat. Not getting a reply, Laffrey blew into Apprison’s house. He had a gun; he made Apprison dig up the letter. He took Apprison with him and Blossom tried to grab the letter from Laffrey. So Velvet gave the secretary the works.”

“Logical,” admitted Weston. “Particularly because Blossom may have known too much.”

“Right. Velvet Laffrey didn’t get all of the letter though, and he left his finger prints on the part that Blossom kept. Velvet was wise enough to cast Apprison out of town with him. He wants dough — all kidnapers do — and naturally he’s bothered because the police are on the job.”

“Which would account for The Black Falcon letter,” mused Weston. “So far, Cardona, it may fit.”

“It does fit,” asserted the detective. “Velvet Laffrey used to do some smooth confidence work. He’s the kind of bird who would go in for abduction. He was seen around New York only a week before Apprison was grabbed.”

“But the abduction was accomplished swiftly—”

“Which means that Velvet has mobsters working for him.”

Cardona made this statement with finality. Without realizing it, the detective was following the same course of reasoning as The Shadow. But there the detective’s findings ceased.

THE SHADOW, like Cardona, had decided that gangsters must have aided in the swift capture of Hubert Apprison. Thinking further, he had placed a racketeer above them. Rowdy Kirshing, a big shot whose income had recently been curtailed, had been spending money freely since Apprison’s abduction. Thus had The Shadow taken up the trail of Rowdy Kirshing.

A faint glimmer of the money angle reached Commissioner Weston as the dynamic police official considered Joe Cardona’s statement.

“Mobsters,” mused the commissioner. “That means cash paid out. Was this confidence man — Velvet Laffrey — well supplied with money?”

“He could be, easily enough,” returned Cardona. “It doesn’t take much to buy a few gorillas. Chances are, his crew was small — and you can bet they’re hiding out.”

“Why?”

“Because of that letter in your hand. Velvet Laffrey is holding them for another job — tonight.”

“Jove, Cardona!” The commissioner’s voice denoted new elation. “You’re striking it right! Let me mention, however” — Weston’s face began purposely to mask its enthusiasm — “that I must have more evidence before I can agree with you that Velvet Laffrey is the supercrook behind this game.”

“If it isn’t Velvet Laffrey,” protested Joe Cardona, “who is it?”

“The Black Falcon,” declared the commissioner, tapping the letter that he held in his hand.

A wry smile appeared upon Cardona’s swarthy face. The stocky detective had long been waiting for a moment such as this. His next remark, though mild in tone, was a triumphant one.

“Commissioner,” said Joe reflectively, “I once included on my reports the mention of a person called The Shadow. I took it for granted that there was such a person — that he threw his lot in to help out against crooks when the going got too hot.

“You put sort of a curb on my reports. You said that until we could identify The Shadow as a definite person, he wasn’t to be mentioned.”

“Of course not,” snorted Weston. “The Shadow is a myth — a name—”

“And so is The Black Falcon,” interrupted Cardona.

Weston’s face puffed. The commissioner showed momentary anger. He set a heavy fist upon the desk; then his rigor lightened. A smile appeared upon the lips beneath the mustache. Weston chuckled.

“You’re right, Cardona,” he admitted. “You’ve given me my own medicine. I like your frankness. This letter is an anonymous communication — that’s all we can take it for. The Black Falcon is a name — like The Shadow—”

“Unless,” interposed Cardona, “we speak of Velvet Laffrey, alias The Black Falcon.”

Weston leaned back in his chair. He smiled broadly. He had no answer. Cardona was showing him a way out — to take it, the commissioner would have to agree with the detective’s belief that Velvet Laffrey was the abductor of Hubert Apprison.

“We’ll let it rest your way,” decided Weston, in a slow tone. “We’ll assume that Velvet Laffrey is The Black Falcon. Only for the time being, though, Cardona. Only for the time being. Until” — Weston paused again to tap the feathered letter — “until midnight.”

“You mean—”

“That we may, by that time, have captured this man who signs himself The Black Falcon.”

It was Cardona’s turn to be perplexed. Weston seemed triumphant as he referred to the letter. He pointed to certain sentences; then spoke slowly.

“This message,” he declared, “is carefully worded. Here, for instance, the writer states that he expects to act before midnight. Next, he states that he will kidnap another person of wealth. Finally, he specifies within the limits of New York City.

“Why does he say midnight? Because, evidently, he knows where a certain person will be up to that hour. Why does he say person instead of man? Because that person may be a woman. Why does he say within the limits of New York City? Because the criminal may have been thinking of some portion of the metropolis other than Manhattan.

“My theory, Cardona, is that the criminal expects to raid some residence where a number of wealthy guests may be assembled. That will give him the opportunity to seize the victim that may be most available. Such a spot would very probably be somewhere on Long Island.”

“Maybe,” agreed Cardona. “But you’re taking a long shot there, commissioner—”

“One moment,” interposed Weston, quietly. “My original thoughts were vague, yet good in theory. While I was awaiting your arrival, Cardona, I looked through the newspapers to learn of society events scheduled for tonight. I learned that Elias Carthers, the tobacco magnate, is giving an exclusive reception for his niece, at his Long Island home.”

“You called Carthers?”

“I did. I learned that the guests will not arrive until after ten o’clock. While talking to Carthers, I had what you would term a hunch. I asked him if he knew Hubert Apprison. I learned that Apprison had been expected as a guest at the Carthers’ home tonight.

“We are dealing with a smart crook, Cardona. The Black Falcon — Velvet Laffrey for the present — must have learned facts regarding the exclusive social set which contains both Hubert Apprison and Elias Carthers. Viewing the situation from the criminal’s angle, I should say that his most logical action would be to abduct some one who is present at the Carthers’ reception tonight.”

Impulsively, Joe Cardona pulled a watch from his pocket. The time showed twenty minutes before ten. Commissioner Weston was smiling as the detective looked up with an anxious gaze.

“That is the reason,” remarked Weston, “why you and I are leaving at once in my car. It has been waiting below since half past nine. We shall require less than half an hour for our journey.”

RISING, the commissioner pressed a button on the desk. The front door of the office opened. Kempton appeared and stood in military attitude.

“We are leaving, Kempton,” remarked Weston, “Detective Cardona and I are going to the home of Elias Carthers, on Long Island.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, Kempton,” added Weston, as an afterthought, “I do not want any one to know where we have gone. No one, Kempton. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

His final admonition given, Weston beckoned to Cardona. Together, the commissioner and the detective left the apartment. As they entered Weston’s limousine, which was waiting on the street, Joe Cardona smiled a grin of secret elation.

The ace sleuth was a man who followed hunches. He liked them, even when others supplied them. Joe Cardona was convinced that tonight, he and Commissioner Ralph Weston would have their opportunity to forestall the crook whom Joe believed to be Velvet Laffrey.

Two keen men of the law were setting forth to outwit The Black Falcon!