The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XIII. FARROW’S VISITOR

SLADE FARROW was seated by his living room window. Comfortable in his secluded apartment, the sociologist was reading the morning newspaper. He was particularly interested in the latest story that concerned the robbery at Tatson’s.

Karl Joland was wanted for the murder of Gorwin and for the theft of his employer’s gems. The police had lost the secretary’s trail; but they appeared to be making a thorough investigation of his past. The sociologist studied a picture of Joland; one that Tatson had given to the newspapers. Farrow shook his head. He wondered why the law had centered on this one man. His lips moved as though framing a question.

Then, to Farrow’s astonishment, came a verbal answer to the very thought that was in his mind. From somewhere close beside him, a quiet voice responded:

“Because of the disk.”

Farrow dropped the newspaper and stared. A stranger was seated in a chair not five feet away. Farrow had never seen this personage before. The visitor was tall; that was apparent despite the fact that he was seated. He was quietly dressed; his features were steady, almost masklike.

A hawklike nose dominated the visage that Farrow studied. The sociologist also caught the glint of flashing eyes. Recovering quickly from his startlement, Slade Farrow felt a steady thought come drumming through his brain. He knew that this visitor was The Shadow.

Farrow was correct. Here, at ten o’clock in the morning, The Shadow had arrived to confer with him.

But the disguising features which The Shadow had chosen were ones that he seldom used. He had not come here as Lamont Cranston; nor was he utilizing other physiognomies that he had worn frequently in the past. The Shadow had arrived as a nameless personage.

Farrow shifted mechanically in his chair. A flood of impressions gripped him. Dave had gone out a while before. That had paved the way for The Shadow to enter unseen. Yet Farrow, himself, was surprisingly alert. It seemed impossible that any one could have entered without discovery.

“You were wondering about Karl Joland.” The Shadow spoke in an even tone, his words slow, but clipped. “Your expression betrayed that fact. Therefore, I gave you the true reason why the police seek Joland. Because of the disk.”

“Joland had a disk?” inquired Farrow, finding his voice.

“You have read the newspaper report,” replied The Shadow. “It includes all the details except one. The newspaper states that Joland discarded one suit for another. It was in the pocket of the discarded suit that Detective Cardona found a Chinese disk.”

Farrow nodded. He had read the facts thoroughly. The arrival of the telegram. The time that Joland’s train departed. The fact that the secretary did not take the train. Even the point regarding the front light that Gorwin had failed to turn on before half past nine. The story had also included mention of Joland’s note, found in Gorwin’s pocket.

“I see,” said Farrow. “The secretary was a logical suspect. The only trouble is that he is a bit too logical. He might have planned things better, if he were naturally a crook. He might have done worse if he were inexperienced at crime. But since a disk was found in his pocket—”

Farrow paused to stare at The Shadow. He caught the flash of the eyes that shone from the immobile face. He saw a slight smile on the almost artificial lips; an expression that seemed fixed there.

“The disk makes Joland a crook,” exclaimed Farrow, suddenly. “It puts him in league with men of crime. It proves him to be capable of murdering the butler. It shows that he could have engineered the robbery.”

“Then you believe,” decided The Shadow, steadily, “that Joland is guilty.”

“Guilty of complicity, perhaps,” said Farrow. “Probably the criminal; but backed by another man. One whom we both know. Diamond Bert Farwell.”

SLADE FARROW, like Joe Cardona, had reached a verdict. Yet the sociologist, after delivering his decision, began to rub his chin. Farrow realized the existence of a mysterious presence in this room; something that Cardona had not detected when Fritz had entered his office. Perhaps it was that presence; the unknown stranger whom Farrow believed to be The Shadow; possibly, Farrow possessed a keenness that Cardona did not have — whichever the case, Farrow suddenly began to reconsider his decision.

“No!” exclaimed the sociologist. “It doesn’t fit! There is something missing! If Joland were actually a crook, he would not have blundered as he did.”

“Name the points that impress you,” stated The Shadow.

“Well,” decided Farrow, “the telegram from Newfield would have been a blind to begin with. Also the note that Joland presumably gave to Gorwin. Those showed cleverness, if we assume that Joland is the murderer.

“What hits me is the matter of the suit that Joland left behind him. Suppose he changed the suit before he attempted crime. He would never have left the Chinese disk in the pocket. Anything, except that disk.”

“Granted,” remarked The Shadow.

“Suppose then,” resumed Farrow, “that Joland had not changed his suit. Suppose he committed crime first. With time short for a getaway, the last thing he would have done would be to change his clothes. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” responded The Shadow. “Your thoughts, Mr. Farrow, have paralleled my own. I also recognized another point in the Joland theory.”

“What was that?”

“The matter of the outside light. The newspapers state that Joland sometimes performed Gorwin’s duties for him. Had Joland — a clever crook — actually slain Gorwin, he would have certainly considered the time element.”

“I begin to understand. He would have wanted the police to think that Gorwin was slain after his departure. That outside light was due to come on at about nine fifteen. If Joland—”

“If Joland had turned it on after killing Gorwin, it would have set the time of the murder at approximately half past nine.”

Farrow nodded. New theories crept through his mind. He began to have flashes of thought that came as if by inspiration. Before he could connect them, he heard the quiet voice beside him.

“The telegram was a hoax,” declared The Shadow, in his even tone. “It was sent by an agent of the actual murderer. It was used to draw Karl Joland from the house. Joland had time to change his clothes. He actually gave a note to Gorwin. He left shortly before nine o’clock.”

Farrow was nodding again. He was picturing the very scene that The Shadow was describing. He could see Joland packing, leaving, anxious to make his train.

“Shortly after Joland’s departure,” resumed The Shadow, “the actual murderer arrived. He rang the door bell. Gorwin admitted him promptly, thinking that Joland had returned for something. The murderer backed Gorwin deep into the hall, covering him with a revolver.

“Then, deliberately, at close range, this criminal murdered the butler. A well muffled shot not only cleared the way for crime, it enabled the master crook to pin the deed on Joland.”

“By planting a disk in the pocket of the other suit!”

“Precisely. The disk could have been left in a drawer, or dropped on the floor. But the murderer decided that the pocket was the best place for it. Cardona had already discovered one of those disks. There would be no use in trying to conceal the fact that the crime ring is moving. It was better to start the law upon a hopeless, blind trail.”

“Diamond Bert!” exclaimed Farrow. “This is his work. He has the nerve to do it.”

“Exactly,” agreed The Shadow. “Now tell me what happened to Karl Joland.”

The tone was not a question, yet it called for an answer. Farrow thought quickly. He knew that The Shadow had already divined the truth. Farrow got it also.

“They grabbed him,” decided the sociologist. “On the street outside of Tatson’s. Maybe with a fake taxi. They had to make it look as though Joland had fled.”

The facts fitted. Slade Farrow was sober. He knew the power of the fiend that he and The Shadow were combating. He realized that Gorwin had been slain in cold blood, simply because the servant would have testified in Joland’s behalf. It was that thought that made Farrow ask a sudden question.

“But why did they have to use Joland at all?” he quizzed. “If he wasn’t needed on the inside—”

Farrow stopped short as he viewed the unchanged smile upon The Shadow’s fixed lips. New thoughts popped. Set on the right track, Farrow was following the steps that The Shadow had taken hours before.

“I see!” exclaimed the sociologist. “Because some one else was the inside man. Some one else knew that those jewels were there. Some one else paved the way for Diamond Bert. That man had to be covered.

“Joland was around when dealers called on Tatson. There was one fellow who came there several times. The newspapers merely mentioned his name because it was in Tatson’s testimony. I remember the name. Marlin Norse.”

“Marlin Norse,” repeated The Shadow. “I called at his store last night. I entered after it was closed. I knew that whatever contact Norse might have with agents of Diamond Bert would be made in his office. That would be the only place where Norse would require a Chinese disk.”

“You found one?”

“Yes. In a box of paper clips. I left it there. Norse may need it later.”

“It’s all clear now!” cried Farrow. “Norse was a better bet than Joland, all along. Dickering with Tatson, he talked the millionaire into keeping the gems in his home. Ready for Diamond Bert to come and get them!”

“By opening the safe!”

Farrow stopped short. He began to stroke his chin. He looked steadily toward The Shadow.

“How did Diamond Bert open it?” inquired Farrow. “I understand that safe was just about crack-proof.”

“Some one accompanied him,” replied The Shadow.

“Even then it was a job,” said Farrow. “I don’t believe that any one could have accomplished it without the combination.”

“Perhaps Tapper could have.”

FARROW’S eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, he was worried. Tapper was one of Farrow’s reformed crooks. Cracking safes was his specialty. Did The Shadow think that Tapper had turned crooked to aid Diamond Bert? The Shadow caught the troubled thoughts that had gripped Slade Farrow.

“Tapper did not aid Diamond Bert,” stated The Shadow. “I mentioned his name merely because I should like to borrow him.”

“Borrow him?”

“Yes. Norris Tatson has closed his house because of Gorwin’s death. The wall safe is empty. No one will be watching it. It would be interesting to have Tapper experiment with it.”

“It would. Most certainly. I can assure you that Tapper could open that safe as quickly as any expert in the country. Unless—”

Farrow paused; then smiled, “Unless you consider yourself an expert,” he said. “I believe that you could do the job.”

“I could,” declared The Shadow. “Very effectively. Too effectively. It would be an unfair test. I should like to match a skill such as Tapper’s with that of the man who aided Farrow. I believe that the results would be illuminating.”

“Very well. You shall have Tapper.”

“And Hawkeye, also. I have work for him.”

Farrow chuckled. He felt at ease by now. He was thinking of Hawkeye’s arrival at this apartment a few nights ago.

“Hawkeye knows who jolted him,” laughed Farrow. “You should have heard him talk about The Shadow. He’s still a bit worried, even though I have reassured him. When will you need Hawkeye?”

“Later to-day,” declared The Shadow. “You will hear from me. As for Tapper, you may give him the proper orders yourself.”

“Very well.” Farrow reached for the newspaper. He began to scan the columns. “I think Norris Tatson’s address is given here. Let me see. Not there — ah! Here it is. One hundred and ninety-eight West—”

Farrow paused abruptly. He had raised his head as he turned toward The Shadow’s chair. To his amazement, the spot was vacant. Silently, mysteriously, in full daylight, Farrow’s visitor had gone!