The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW CONNECTS

ONE hour after Joe Cardona had discovered the second Chinese disk, a group of four players were ending their bridge game at the exclusive Cobalt Club. Rising one by one, they sauntered from the private card room until a last player remained.

This gentleman was an ungainly sort of person. His head craned forward and his sharp eyes glistened through pince-nez spectacles. These features, combined with the shiny surface of his hairless pate, gave him the look of a bald eagle.

In fact, he seemed to survey the world as if from a lofty height. Even in the solitary surroundings of the little card room, his gaze was searching and his bearing filled with self-importance. Such was Wainwright Barth, at present the police commissioner of New York City.

Wainwright Barth was always the last to leave after a long session of bridge. The reason was simple; his spectacles invariably needed polishing. So to-night, Barth paused before crossing the threshold. He removed his pince-nez glasses and began to shine them with a piece of chamois.

“Good evening, commissioner.”

Barth looked up as he heard the voice. Adjusting his pince-nez, the commissioner stared toward the person who had entered the card room. He saw a tall, firm-featured individual whose masklike face was turned in his direction. Keen eyes were peering from the sides of a hawkish nose. Barth recognized Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter.

“Ah! Cranston!” exclaimed the commissioner. “I did not know that you were in town. I understood that you were leaving on an exploration trip to Kashmir.”

“That was postponed,” returned Cranston, quietly. “I am still in New York, as you perceive. I believe I shall remain here a while, commissioner. Oddly” — thin lips framed the semblance of a smile — “one may sometimes uncover more adventure in Manhattan than in the wildest outposts of the globe.”

“I agree with you,” declared Barth. “When crime becomes rampant in this metropolis, more danger exists here than in an African jungle. But fortunately” — Barth chuckled — “crime has been calling for an armistice, during my tenure of office. Outside of petty robberies, there have been no real evidences of organized crime activity.”

“Perhaps,” said Lamont Cranston, quietly, “that may mean the coming of new efforts. Organization may be under way. Lulls are deceiving, commissioner. Let me cite an example. When I was exploring in Sumatra, we encountered a tribe of former headhunters whom the Dutch had presumably civilized. These natives were quiet, singularly passive—”

“Sumatra is not New York,” interrupted the commissioner, in a testy tone. “There is no analogy between headhunters and gangsters. Furthermore, we have not attempted to civilize the denizens of the underworld. We have curbed them, driven them to cover. The proof is the fact that rogues have been disappearing from New York.

“One of my most capable men — a detective named Joe Cardona — holds to the theory that something is brewing beneath the surface. But developments have not justified his opinion. I believe that my relentless campaign is suppressing crime, that crooks realize they have met their match—”

Barth broke off as an attendant entered the card room. The man approached the commissioner and spoke in a confidential tone.

“Gentleman to see you sir,” said the attendant. “He is Mr. Cardona, from headquarters. Its very important, he says—”

“Show him in,” snapped Barth.

THE attendant left and returned with Joe Cardona. Barth dismissed the attendant and closed the door.

He motioned Cardona to a seat at the card table; then did the same with Cranston. Barth wanted Cranston to hear what the detective might have to say.

“Well, Cardona,” began Barth, as he took a chair, “I suppose you have developed some new theory regarding crime activity. What is it now? More rogues gone traveling?”

“Yes,” returned the detective. “Gone where they won’t come back. Plenty broke loose to-night, commissioner. Take a look at this report sheet.”

Barth received the paper. He read the details that began with Duff Corley’s visit to headquarters and terminated with the discovery of the man’s body in the house with green lights. Then, as the commissioner looked up, Cardona laid a sheet of paper on the table. It showed the impression of the disk that Duff had displayed to Joe. With added emphasis, Joe tossed Spider’s disk beside it.

“They match,” he declared.

They did match. Barth discovered that when he laid the disk beside the paper and surveyed both through his pince-nez. His examination completed, Barth pushed the two objects toward Lamont Cranston.

Turning to Cardona, the commissioner questioned:

“Well?”

“The case is clear cut,” returned Cardona. “It supports what I’ve been telling you, commissioner. These bozos have been ducking out of sight because they’re needed. Some big shot intends to use them. This disk, for instance, was found on Spider Mertz. It means that he was one of the key men in the organization.”

“What about the mobsters with him?”

“None of them had disks. They were just gorillas, working for Spider. The same with the dead man that we found at the entrance to the alleyway. They were covering up after Duff Corley went into the house with the green lights.”

“But who killed Duff?”

“Some other member of the band. A fellow who was in the know. He stabbed Duff and took the disk. He must have made his departure by the back door. That’s why Spider had his crew on duty. Just in case we landed there too soon.”

“I don’t quite fathom it, Cardona.”

“Listen, commissioner. The thing began on the level. Spider Mertz lined up Duff Corley. Gave him a disk, so he could join with the gang. But Spider told Duff to wait until somebody tipped him where to go. Like a probation period.

“In the meantime, Duff was being watched. He didn’t know it. I didn’t know it. He came to headquarters to talk with me. From that time on, he was marked for death. He was told to go to the house where he went to-night. That place was a trap.

“Killing Duff was easy enough. But these crooks knew that the guy had turned stoolie — at least they figured it that way. They didn’t know how close I’d be. So it was Spider’s job to raise hob if anybody showed up. Well — somebody did show up.”

“You and your squads!”

“Not only us. Somebody else got in ahead of us. That started the trouble. Spider and his outfit must have been around on the back street. They heard the shots and drove around the block. Meanwhile, The Sha—”

Cardona caught himself suddenly. He corrected his statement as rapidly as possible.

“Meanwhile,” said the detective, “whoever it was that had trailed Duff got busy. He put some shots into that death car and crippled the machine-gunners. The rest was easy for my men.”

CRANSTON had noted Cardona’s pause. He knew that Joe figured The Shadow as the one who had saved the situation. But Cardona’s break had slipped by Wainwright Barth. That was fortunate. The police commissioner had tabooed mention of The Shadow in connection with crime. He regarded The Shadow as a myth.

“We’re up against something, commissioner,” assured Cardona, in an earnest tone. “It’s an organization, that works automatically. Duff Corley was lined up. He was spotted turning stoolie. He was slated to be blotted out.

“There’s a Chink in it somewhere. The disk shows that. But Spider Mertz and his mob were just plain gorillas. The guy that bumped Duff must have been a wop. He used a stiletto and he knew what it was for.

“There you have it. Duff’s dead. So is Spider. We’ve got nobody who knows anything. But we know there’s an organization — a real one — of guys who carry those disks with them. We’ve seen what they do to a squealer.”

“An organization,” mused Barth. “Perhaps you are right, Cardona. Its purpose—”

“Murder,” put in Joe. “That was the purpose to-night.”

“Yes.” The agreement came unexpectedly from Lamont Cranston. “The disk indicates agreement with Cardona’s idea, commissioner.”

“The disk?” questioned Barth, half puzzled.

“Yes,” replied Cranston, as he passed the object to the commissioner. “I can tell you the meaning of the character engraved on it.”

“A Chinese word?”

“Not exactly. The character is an idiograph, which may be applied in various fashions. It is termed a numerative. It is pronounced pa—”

“But its meaning?”

“Literally, ‘something which is grasped by a handle’. That, for instance, could mean a revolver. Or a knife. Or—”

“Spider used his gat to-night,” burst forth Cardona. “The fellow that killed Duff had a stiletto. Mr. Cranston has hit it, commissioner.”

Barth arose and stood in pompous attitude. It was his custom, when he swung from one supposition to another, to throw full support to the new idea. He had rejected Cardona’s theory, at first; now that the existence of a hidden band seemed logical, Barth wanted to set the pace for the detective.

“Let me commend your work,” declared the commissioner, turning to Cardona. “At first I considered your theory poorly-founded. Events, however, have proven its soundness. These criminals who have gone from sight may all be potential members of the band which we have uncovered.

“Spare no effort, Cardona. Investigate everywhere. Inquire into the activities of the Chinese tongs. If necessary, utilize the dragnet. Search every suspect to learn if he carries one of these.”

With his final sentence, Barth displayed the Chinese disk. He passed it back to Cardona, along with the piece of paper that bore the penciled impression.

“It’s going to be a tough job, commissioner,” declared the detective, in a dubious tone.

“Why so?” demanded Barth.

“Because,” affirmed Joe, “there’s something deep beneath all this. It wasn’t crime to-night, commissioner; that is, it wasn’t crime against the public. Those fellows were dealing with a double-crosser.

“What’s more, they got Duff before he learned anything. Put him on the spot right at the start. It was just a splash on top of the water. Now its smooth again. What’s more, that crowd will be foxier than ever.”

“But they will have to show their hand again,” objected Barth. “The rascals are planning something. That is plain.”

“Sure they are,” agreed Cardona, grimly. “That’s what makes it tough, commissioner. We’ve seen what they can do to one of their own kind. When they cut loose with crime, they’ll be hard to stop.”

“Therefore,” asserted Barth, “we shall take measures to prevent them.”

TEN minutes later Lamont Cranston strolled from the Cobalt Club. Cardona had left. Cranston had paused for a brief chat with the commissioner; then he had taken his departure. A limousine pulled up as Cranston reached the sidewalk. The millionaire entered.

Through the speaking tube, he gave a quiet order to the chauffeur. The car rolled away and twisted its course through a labyrinth of secluded streets. Finally, it stopped by a darkened curb. The chauffeur settled back behind the wheel.

A rear door opened. From the interior merged a cloaked figure that moved away into the thickness of the night. From a bag in the back of the limousine, Lamont Cranston had produced certain garments. He had donned them while the car was rolling.

Cloak and hat had rendered him invisible after his departure from the car. His course into the night was untraceable. The role of Lamont Cranston was ended for the time. Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow.