The Black Falcon

CHAPTER VIII THE PROVING CLEW

COMMISSIONER WESTON had formed a new headquarters. The dominating police official was seated behind the table in the study from which Elias Carthers had been abducted. With him were two others: Detective Joe Cardona and Lamont Cranston.

Guests had been cleared from this part of the house. The two men who had been in Weston’s car were in charge. Word had been sent out to cover all roads leading from the vicinity of the Carthers mansion.

Details of police had arrived; they had been sent to trail The Black Falcon and his band of miscreants. Here, on the scene where crime had fallen, Commissioner Weston was planning his next campaign against the supercrook.

Lamont Cranston, his privilege as a friend of the commissioner increased because of his timely aid in saving Weston’s life, was seated quietly at one side of the table. Joe Cardona, his brow grimly furrowed, was pacing back and forth across the room.

“I’d like to have talked with Elias Carthers, commissioner,” announced the detective bluntly. “Maybe if I’d come in here with you, I’d have spotted something brewing.”

“That is speculative, Cardona,” returned Weston. “I had a long conversation with Carthers.”

“We found part of a note at Apprison’s place,” asserted Cardona. “You’ve got the photostats there with you. Maybe, if you had quizzed Carthers, you might have learned something from him.”

“I had no idea that Carthers was threatened,” responded the commissioner. “Nevertheless, I am sure that he received no communication from The Black Falcon. When I began my interview with Carthers, I told him the details of the Apprison case. Had Carthers received any kind of a note, he would have mentioned it.”

“Did you tell him that we were looking for a crook named Velvet Laffrey?”

“No,” admitted Weston. “I showed him the letter from The Black Falcon. I told him that the man was a supercrook. If Carthers had ever heard of Velvet Laffrey, he would probably have mentioned it.”

“Not necessarily,” insisted Cardona. “Laffrey was always a smooth egg. This is a new game for him. I guess he hoaxed Apprison with a note, but when it caused trouble, he decided not to try that system again.”

THE police commissioner was nodding as he went over the stack of photostats. Noticing a curious look on Cranston’s firm face, Weston pushed the photographs over to his friend. He then drew The Black Falcon’s letter from his pocket and passed it to Cranston.

“See what you make of these,” suggested Weston.

“You know what I make of them,” remarked Cardona to the commissioner. “I’ve got the right trail. Velvet Laffrey is the crook. He’s working with a mob behind him. Velvet was the fellow in this room. His crew grabbed Carthers. Velvet had to kill Wistar.”

“Let us speak of the criminal as The Black Falcon,” decided Weston. “That is the name which he has used. We have seen him. We can only assume that The Black Falcon is Velvet Laffrey. For the present, Cardona, I intend to reconstruct the scene. Let me give my version as I have grasped it. Tell me if you check anything that is incorrect.”

“All right, commissioner.”

“I visited this study,” resumed Weston, “and talked with Elias Carthers at approximately quarter past ten. I went out to join you on the veranda. Almost immediately after that, The Black Falcon entered.”

“By the window?”

“I suppose so. We have examined the footprints on the lawn. They are barely distinguishable because of the dry grass. However, it is probable that The Black Falcon entered by the window.”

“Hardly, commissioner.”

The interposition came from Lamont Cranston. Weston turned to raise his eyebrows as he faced his friend.

“What makes you reject the window, Cranston?” asked Weston.

“You say that there were two men here,” observed the millionaire, in a calm, even tone. “An entry through the window would have attracted too much attention. Especially” — Cranston’s keen eyes were fixed toward the open sash — “since the window sash was probably locked.”

Weston’s gaze followed that of his friend. The commissioner saw the logic of Cranston’s remark. There were three windows altogether. The two that were closed were locked. It was probable that the third had been also.

“The Black Falcon,” decided Weston, “could not have come through the door. His arrival came too closely upon my departure. I suppose that he opened the window himself, in order to summon his waiting men. But where did he come from?”

“The closet, perhaps,” remarked Cranston.

Joe Cardona stepped over to the mirrored door. He opened it. The space was more than ample for a man to have been in hiding. Cardona turned to Weston with a definite nod.

“He must have been lying in here, commissioner,” said the sleuth. “That would have let him hear everything that was said. It would account for why he acted so soon after you were gone. He came out of here” — Cardona was acting the part as he visualized it — “and covered Carthers with his gun. He backed Carthers to the window, this way. That left Wistar at the door of the room. Wistar made a break for it. Then Velvet — The Black Falcon — got Wistar. He banged the door of the room and bolted it. He was standing by when we were smashing through.”

“Sound reasoning, Cardona,” approved Weston, with a nod. “Your only mistake was a partial reference to The Black Falcon as Velvet Laffrey. Those finger prints from Apprison’s are not sufficient! Do you understand?”

“All right,” returned Cardona. “I figure The Black Falcon had figured the door as the best way for a run-out after he bumped Wistar. That’s why he stayed there so long. It must have been three minutes at least. Then, just as you came around to cover him, he changed his mind and took to the window.”

Cardona stared toward the door of the study as he spoke. The barrier had been smashed. One hinge was broken. The bolt was out of place; the door was hanging crazily inward.

LAMONT CRANSTON was watching Joe Cardona closely. It seemed as though the detective was thinking of something apart from The Black Falcon’s actions. Cranston’s knowing look apparently divined the mental process through which Cardona was passing. A thin smile appeared on the millionaire’s lips as Cardona turned suddenly toward the closet door.

Commissioner Weston stared curiously as the detective began to examine the small brass doorknob on the outside. Then, stepping half into the closet, Cardona made a second ineffective inspection. Stepping out into the study, Cardona strode across the room and took a look at the knobs on the door to the passage.

It was here that Cardona’s face assumed a look of triumph. The detective turned toward Weston and his eye lighted as he spied an object that was lying on the table. This was a magnifying glass — evidently one that had belonged to Elias Carthers.

Without a word, Cardona picked up the magnifying glass. He smiled as he tested its power. Quickly, he plucked up one of the photostats from those that were lying in front of Lamont Cranston. He stepped back to the outer door.

With the photostat beside the doorknob, Cardona made a magnified comparison. Staring through the glass, he beckoned to Commissioner Weston. The official arose from the table and joined the detective. Lamont Cranston also approached to learn what Cardona had discovered.

“Here you are!” exclaimed Cardona. “Velvet Laffrey’s finger prints on the doorknob — the same as they were on the paper in Apprison’s. I told you Laffrey was The Black Falcon!”

Weston took the magnifying glass. The comparison was an excellent one. Plainly impressed upon the doorknob were the marks of a thumb and two fingers. There were lesser smudges, roundabout; these, however, were predominant.

Detailed through the glass, the prints on the door appeared identical with those that were registered on the photostat. The commissioner handed the glass to Lamont Cranston. Stepping back, Weston turned to Cardona.

“You are right,” commended the commissioner. “Keep up the search for Velvet Laffrey. He made his mistake tonight, when he closed the door and kept his hand upon the knob, preparing for a get-away. Let me have the glass, Cranston. I want to examine the bolt.”

No traces showed when the commissioner made this inspection. With Cardona at his side, Weston looked at the knob on the passage side of the door. This was smudgy. Cardona gave the reason.

“We were all trying to turn that knob,” explained the detective. “Laffrey didn’t handle that knob anyway — at least not after the others were at it.

“Say — we’re lucky, commissioner Look at this inside knob. Its been polished since the outer one. That’s why it took the impression so perfectly. The closet doorknobs are too grimy. This one” — Cardona paused to look again at the telltale knob — “has a nice smooth lacquer on it. Say — when Laffrey grabbed it, he was leaving his mark just like a kid stepping on a soft cement pavement! We’ve got the goods, commissioner. Velvet Laffrey is the crook we’ll have to grab!”

Cardona studied the knob again; then, with a grin, he pulled a penknife from his pocket. He opened the blade and used it as a screwdriver on the single screw which held the doorknob in place. The screw was loose; a few quick twists made the knob wobble. Catching it at the neck, where there were no impressions, Cardona removed the knob and held it up as an exhibit.

“We’ll take it down to headquarters,” he said to Weston. “Photostats of this will clinch things. We’ve got the goods on Laffrey twice.”

COMMISSIONER WESTON went back behind the table. He took his chair and thrummed with his fingers. At last he rendered his verdict.

“Cardona,” he said, “we know whom we are after. Velvet Laffrey is the crook we want. For the present, however, we shall preserve secrecy.

“The public must be warned against this dangerous kidnaper. He is likely to commit a new crime, if we persist to seek his trail. Therefore, to aid us in the job ahead, we must blind him.

“We shall speak of the criminal as The Black Falcon. Let him be known by the name that he has chosen. Continue the quest for Velvet Laffrey, but conduct it with discretion. Use the dragnet; through it we may haul the crook that we want.”

“I get you, commissioner,” assured Cardona. “Maybe it’s leaked out that we’re after Velvet Laffrey, but I don’t think so. Sooner or later, I’ll get my mitts on him, wherever he’s hiding. Leave that to me, commissioner. We can beat this fellow at his own game by throwing The Black Falcon alias right back at him.”

“Exactly,” declared Weston, rising. “Now, Cardona, we can complete arrangements to leave here. Perhaps Laffrey has been rounded up. Let us hope so. In any event, what you say is true. Once we have captured the man, we shall be sure that we have taken The Black Falcon.”

Placing the magnifying glass upon the table. Weston looked toward Lamont Cranston. The commissioner’s face was beaming. He was pleased because of Cardona’s finding. Weston took great pride in the successes of his ace. He was glad that Cardona had shown prompt work in the presence of so critical an observer as Lamont Cranston.

“Cardona and I shall return in a few minutes,” informed Weston. “If you prefer to ride back to Manhattan with me, I can detail one of my men to bring in your coupe.”

“Excellent, commissioner,” returned Cranston.

Weston and Cardona walked out of the study. The keen eyes that peered from the masklike countenance of Lamont Cranston, watched them go. Then those same eyes looked at the brass doorknob which Joe Cardona had carefully placed, bulky end balanced, upward, upon the table.

The same gaze turned to the axis that projected from the door itself; the stump from which Cardona had unscrewed the telltale knob. A soft, whispered laugh came from the thin, straight lips of Lamont Cranston.

The laugh of The Shadow! It was significant. Although neither Cardona nor Weston had realized it, The Shadow had turned their attention to the closet; from that point, Cardona had caught the possibility of impressions on the doorknob.

To The Shadow belonged the credit for the discovery of the proving clew. That was the reason for The Shadow’s laugh. The Shadow, like the police, was seeking the trail of The Black Falcon!