The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XI. CRIME BEGINS

TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since The Shadow’s encounter with Tam Sook. During that period, he had found no trace of the man whom he sought. Diamond Bert Farwell had closed the trail behind him.

Somewhere in Manhattan, the supercrook was at large. Crime was due to occur. The Shadow had no clue toward its location. He knew that a stroke might come as early as to-night. Yet The Shadow could do nothing more than wait.

AMID the traffic of Times Square, a limousine was honking its horn while the chauffeur fumed. Seated in the back was a restless, gray-haired man who showed impatience at the delay. At last the breaks came.

Just as a huge advertising clock delivered ten clanging strokes as aftermath to discordant chimes, the traffic began to move.

Twelve minutes later, the chauffeur stopped in front of an old but well-preserved house that stood on an uptown street. This was the brownstone residence of Norris Tatson, millionaire philanthropist. It was Tatson himself who had arrived. He was the gray-haired man in the car.

There was something querulous in the millionaire’s manner as Tatson stepped from the limousine and hobbled forward on a heavy cane. The chauffeur was standing by to aid him. Tatson pointed to the front of the house and spoke to the man.

“Look there, Charles,” wheezed Tatson. “No light above the door. What ails Gorwin? He knew that I was coming home.”

“Perhaps he did not expect you so soon, sir.”

“So soon? I told him that I would be here by half past nine. This is negligence on his part.”

“He never failed before, sir.”

“That is no excuse. Charles. It is unnecessary for you to take Gorwin’s part. I shall reprimand the fellow the moment that I see him. Come. Help me up these steps.”

Charles aided. Tatson rang the door bell. There was no response. While Tatson fumed, the chauffeur produced a key and unlocked the door. Tatson hobbled in; Charles followed. They passed through a vestibule. Then the millionaire stopped with a startled exclamation. Charles stared past the stooped form of his employer.

On the floor lay Gorwin, the servant whom Tatson had decided to reprimand. The man was stiff in death.

His pale face was staring upward. The front of his livery was stained with a crimson splotch. Gorwin had been shot through the heart.

“Come, Charles!” exclaimed Tatson. “Into my study! This may mean robbery. Come. At once.”

The chauffeur hurried ahead of the hobbling millionaire. He opened the door of the ground-floor study.

The room was empty and undisturbed. Tatson made his way to the wall. He pressed a panel upward.

The action revealed a compact wall safe. Tatson found it securely locked. He chuckled harshly.

“No one found it,” he declared. “My gems are untouched. Poor Gorwin” — the millionaire clucked as he remembered the dead servant — “well, Charles, I must call the police at once.”

“What about Mr. Joland?” inquired the chauffeur, in an anxious tone.

“Joland!” exclaimed Tatson. “My word! I had forgotten him. He should be here. Run upstairs at once, Charles. See if you can find him.”

The chauffeur departed while Tatson made a call to the police. That done, the millionaire hobbled restlessly across the room, anxiously awaiting the chauffeur’s return. Hurried footsteps on the stairs announced that Charles was descending. The chauffeur entered the study.

“Did you find Joland?” snapped Tatson.

“No,” replied the chauffeur. “He is gone.”

“What!”

“He left this, sir.”

The chauffeur displayed a yellow telegram. Tatson pushed it aside and ordered Charles to read it.

“Not without my glasses,” he explained. “Tell me what it says, Charles.”

“It’s from Newfield, sir,” stated the chauffeur. “Addressed to Mr. Joland. Advising him that his father is quite ill. Asking him to come to Newfield at once.”

“I see. What time of delivery is marked on the telegram?”

“Eight thirty, sir.”

“Hm-m-m. Joland must have started shortly after that. Were his things packed, Charles?”

“Yes, sir. The room was pretty much mussed. Mr. Joland must have changed suits. There was one thrown over a chair.”

“He must have had time to catch the train. Nine-twenty, wasn’t it, Charles? The time you took Joland to the depot, several weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

A ring of the door bell followed the chauffeur’s remark. Charles hurried into the hallway, stepped gingerly past the dead body of Gorwin and answered the door. A stocky man entered. Charles nodded as the arrival flashed a badge.

“Detective Cardona, from headquarters,” was Joe’s gruff announcement. “Where is Mr. Tatson?”

“In his study, sir.”

“Show me there—”

Cardona paused as he saw the body on the floor. He entered and stooped to examine it. Two other headquarters men came in the door. Then Tatson appeared, hobbling from the entrance of the study.

A SHORT quiz followed. The millionaire and his chauffeur told all that they knew. In conclusion, Tatson handed Cardona the telegram.

“Karl Joland is my secretary,” he explained. “I left him here this evening with Gorwin. The telegram is marked eight thirty. I suppose that Joland left before nine o’clock. Gorwin must have been murdered between then and half past.”

“Why before half past?” inquired Joe.

“Because of the light over the front door,” stated Tatson. “Gorwin invariably turned it on shortly before whatever time I was scheduled to arrive. I called him to-night to say that I would be in at nine thirty. He would have turned on the light some time between quarter past and half past.”

“What time did you call Gorwin?”

“Quite early. About seven o’clock.”

Cardona made notes. He was acting as inspector in charge of this case. While Joe was busily engaged, one of his men made a comment.

“Something sticking out of the flunkey’s pocket,” said the headquarters man. “Looks like an envelope, inspector.”

Joe turned toward Gorwin’s body. He spied the corner of an envelope. He removed the object, to find it unsealed. He drew out a folded paper. It proved to be a note in pencil.

“Joland’s writing,” commented Tatson. “I recognize it. But I can’t read the words without my spectacles.”

“It’s to you,” stated Cardona. “Signed Joland. Says that he is leaving for Newfield. Taking the nine twenty train. Says that his father is ill; that you will get this note from Gorwin.”

“That corroborates the telegram,” decided Tatson.

“Let’s look about a bit,” suggested Cardona. “Nothing missing, Mr. Tatson? You’re sure of it?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“The safe in your study?”

“Is untouched.”

“Are you positive?”

“Absolutely. Of course, I can open it to make certain. But I have proof without that.”

Cardona looked puzzled. Tatson motioned him into the study. There, the millionaire showed the detective the wall safe. The front of the safe was fitted with an oddly bulging knob.

“A Blefflinger safe,” explained Tatson, “but the special knob is an added device. One faulty turn will throw it completely out of gear. Then the knob will spin. As you see” — Tatson paused to place his fingers to the knob — “it is tight at present.”

“But suppose some one knew the combination? Some one like Joland?”

“I alone know the combination. Furthermore, I changed it only recently.”

“Hm-m-m. Well, if robbery wasn’t the motive, we’ll have to look for something else. Of course, maybe some crooks came here and beat it after they killed Gorwin. But in the meantime, I ought to know some more about this fellow Joland. Was there any bad blood between him and Gorwin?”

“None at all. They seemed very friendly. In fact, Joland was always willing to perform the services required of Gorwin on nights when the butler was not here.”

“Was that frequent?”

“Once a week. Sometimes more often.”

“I think I’ll take a look up in Joland’s room.”

“Very well.”

WHILE Cardona’s men were prowling about the ground floor, looking vainly for clues, the ace went up to the secretary’s room. There he discovered evidences of hasty packing. This fitted with the fact that Joland had but a limited time to make his train.

Cardona stared at the discarded suit that had been flung over a chair. He began to examine the garments.

He thrust his hand into a coat pocket. His fingers slipped into a little inner pocket. They encountered something that Joe thought was a coin.

Bringing the object to light, Cardona uttered a surprised grunt. In one instant, the whole complexion of the case had been altered. It was not a coin that Cardona had brought from the pocket of Joland’s suit.

The object that lay in the detective’s palm was a dull gray disk that bore a Chinese character.

Identical with the disk that Duff Corley had carried. A mate to the token that Spider Mertz, dying, had tried to throw away. Here was something that Karl Joland had evidently forgotten. Proof that Norris Tatson’s secretary was a member of a secret, murderous band!

Pocketing the disk, Joe made for the stairs. He hurried to Tatson’s study. The millionaire looked up in surprise at the detective’s excited entry. Joe wasted no time. He pumped questions at Tatson.

“How much did this fellow Joland know about your affairs?” demanded Cardona.

“Why — why” — Tatson was stammering — “he knew a great deal—”

“What have you got in that safe?”

“Gems.”

“Worth much?”

“A quarter of a million.”

Cardona stepped back stupefied. Tatson smiled weakly. Then he spoke.

“Not much to me,” he said. “I had really forgotten their value until you asked about it. You see, they are stones that I intend to sell when I am offered a proper price.”

“Who has seen them?”

“Several dealers. One man — Marlin Norse — has been positive that he could find a customer. I have been keeping the gems here until I heard from him again.”

“Did Joland know that the jewels were here?”

“Yes. He was present at every conference that I held. With Norse, and when I had conferences with several other dealers. Yes, he was always present.”

Cardona was standing with hands deep in his coat pockets. In his right fist he was clutching the Chinese disk. The feel of that token roused him further.

“Open the safe, Mr. Tatson,” ordered Joe, in a firm tone. “I’ve got to see with my own eyes that those jewels are safe.”

The millionaire smiled indulgently, He hobbled to the wall and blocked Cardona’s view while he worked the combination. Stepping slightly aside, Tatson drew back the door. Cardona was moving forward.

Together, millionaire and detective stared into the interior of the safe.

Metal-lined walls alone met their view. Tatson’s safe was empty. Jewels worth a quarter million had been stolen from a strongbox that was deemed impregnable. A dead butler, a vanished secretary and a rifled safe. All hinged on the Chinese disk that Joe Cardona still clutched in his tightened fist!