The Crime Clinic

CHAPTER VI CARDONA’S THEORY

THE clock in the Casslin living room was chiming twelve. This midnight hour found a group of four men seated in tense conference. Of the guests who had been present while death had struck thrice, only one remained.

This was Stephen Gloucester. The dignified banking official had volunteered to stay. The other guests had been dismissed following the checking of their testimony.

With Gloucester were Inspector Timothy Klein and Detective Joe Cardona. The fourth member of the group was a new arrival, none other than Police Commissioner Ralph Weston.

A man of dynamic personality, a powerful driver, who forced his subordinates hard along the trail of crime, the police commissioner took an active interest in all cases where mystery lay thick. He had been reached by telephone. He had come here to learn facts.

Joe Cardona, in a careful but monotonous tone, was reading the testimony of all who had been present. Stephen Gloucester was nodding his accord with every statement. When Cardona completed his reading, he laid his sheets aside and looked at the police commissioner.

“Is that all?” snapped Weston.

“All,” returned Cardona.

There was a pause. Cardona arose and paced the floor. His footsteps carried him to the hallway at the rear of the living room. He swung back, hands in pockets. and faced the police commissioner.

“I have accounted for everyone,” he declared. “You heard the statements, commissioner. I double-checked them, and they fitted. At the time when Rutherford Casslin left this room to go up to his tower, every guest was here.”

“What about the servants?” asked Weston.

“Hubert and Hodges accompanied Casslin to the tower door,” explained Cardona. “While Hubert was locking it after Casslin had entered, Hodges came back here.”

Another pause. Cardona offered no theory. He was leaving that to Commissioner Weston. The ace detective had an inferiority complex so far as the commissioner was concerned. He preferred to let Weston speak first, and then offer suggestions. Whenever Cardona began with a theory, Weston was sure to shoot holes in it.

While the group was silent, a footstep sounded at the side door of the living room. Doctor Lysander Dubrong, suave of manner and frail of build, entered to join the group.

“Mrs. Casslin is resting well,” he announced, in a mild tone. “Very well, indeed.”

He drew a pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco from a pouch, and applied a match. The heavy aroma of perique became apparent as the physician puffed the strong mixture. Dubrong sat down and looked from one person to another with an almost inquiring air.

COMMISSIONER WESTON, puzzled by the problem which confronted him, swung to the physician and advanced a query. Cardona listened intently.

“You were not here, Doctor Dubrong?” asked Weston.

“At the time of the murder?” returned the physician. “No. I left here shortly after nine o’clock. I had started home, but before I reached Manhattan, I called my apartment. They told me that I was wanted back here. I made good time on the return ride. I called my apartment house from close by the bridge, so I had very little traffic to impede me.”

A slight flicker of keen interest showed on Cardona’s swarthy face. The detective made no comment, however. He had not obtained this statement from Doctor Dubrong. The physician’s exactitude of speaking impressed him.

“It was after your departure, then,” observed Weston, “that a few of the guests accompanied Casslin when he went to the tower to obtain the diamond.”

“I presume so,” smiled Dubrong. “Not having been here, commissioner, I am unable to state what happened.”

“How many persons” — Weston turned to Cardona — “accompanied Casslin on that trip?”

“When he went up to get the diamond?” asked the detective. “Five, I think” — Cardona paused to refer to his notations — “yes, five.”

“And the last time,” reflected Weston, “Casslin went up alone. Hm-m-m. What puzzles me is this. The Hindu was after that diamond. He didn’t have it on his person, however. He was armed only with a knife.”

“May I offer a theory?” inquired Doctor Dubrong.

“Certainly,” agreed Weston.

“I have seen a few Hindus in New York,” asserted the physician. “Perhaps you have heard of my East Side Clinic, where I give free medical attention to characters whom others might regard as hopeless. Hindus have come there.”

“Was the dead Hindu ever in your clinic?”

“I do not believe so. I have, however, noticed this fact regarding Hindus who live in New York. Being far from their native land, and few in number, they invariably travel in pairs. Therefore, I suppose that on an enterprise so important as the theft of a valuable diamond, two would work together.”

“Remarkable!” exclaimed the commissioner. “What is your opinion on this point, Cardona?”

“I have none, commissioner,” admitted the detective. “The Hindus that I have seen, keep away from crime. If they are anything like the Chinese—”

“They are entirely different from the Chinese,” interposed Doctor Dubrong, in an authoritative tone. “As I have just mentioned, they travel in pairs. Every time a Hindu has come to my clinic, he has been accompanied by a friend.

“This is a characteristic of the Hindu race — particularly among those who are murderously inclined. I have studied the history of the Thugs of India. With them, murder was a religion; and there were always two — or more — involved.”

“But in this case,” began the commissioner, “there could not well have been two. Unless one managed to escape while his companion was scuffling with Hubert, the servant.”

“That is not my theory at all,” returned Dubrong. The physician puffed furiously at his pipe; then laid it on a table, while he leaned forward to impress his point. “I believe there were two but that only one entered the tower. How he passed Hubert is only a matter of conjecture. But let us consider it as follows.

“Two Hindus. One was doubly armed, with revolver as well as knife. Another was peering through the window of this room. Miss Lydell, I understand, caught a glimpse of his face. The first Hindu was somewhere in the house. He managed to follow Casslin into the tower. The other dropped from the balcony and circled the castle.

“The Hindu who slipped by Hubert shot Casslin in the tower room. He took the box that contained the diamond. He tossed it, and his revolver also, through one of the slitted windows, to his companion below.”

“Why the revolver?” asked Commissioner Weston.

“You mean why did he rid himself of the revolver as well as the diamond?” Dubrong smiled. “Because the revolver was the instrument of murder. He did not want to have it on his person. Moreover, he knew that it would be unwise to use it below, where the sound of a shot could be heard.”

“Logical,” decided Weston.

“Then came the attempt at escape,” proceeded Dubrong. “The Hindu came down the stairs. He knocked at the door. Hubert opened it. The Hindu leaped upon him, with the knife. He killed Hubert, but Hodges arrived in time to end the assassin’s life.

“Thus, Mr. Commissioner, we have the answer. Hindus were seeking the Bishenpur diamond. Hindus were unable to buy it from Rutherford Casslin. Hindus plotted, and Hindus gained the diamond.”

As Dubrong arose and picked up his pipe, Commissioner Weston arose also. He extended his hand in congratulation. Doctor Dubrong received it with a smile.

“I congratulate you, doctor,” assured the commissioner. “Your theory is an excellent one. We shall send out a flyer to apprehend all Hindus in New York. Perhaps we shall be able to capture the man who has the Bishenpur diamond.”

Doctor Dubrong bowed. His thin lips wore a faint smile. Joe Cardona alone detected the expression. Dubrong prepared to leave. Cardona watched him. After the physician had departed, the ace detective settled back into his chair.

COMMISSIONER WESTON seemed elated. He began to expound upon Dubrong’s theory. Klein and Gloucester received his words with nods. Cardona, alone, remained obdurate. The detective was referring to his notes.

“Well, Cardona,” said Weston suddenly, “it looks as though we are on a real trail. Doctor Dubrong has acquainted us with some very valuable facts.”

Cardona smiled grimly. This was the chance he had been awaiting. His own theory, vague, a few minutes ago, had become strengthened. Placing his notes in his pocket, the detective arose and strode across the room. He pointed to the front window.

“This,” he affirmed, “is where Miss Lydell saw the face. I have examined this balcony, commissioner. It opens into an adjoining room. I believe, to begin with, that the Hindu who was looking in from here was the same one who entered the hallway by the steel door.”

“A minor point,” objected Commissioner Weston.

“Not at all,” asserted Cardona briskly, “when we follow a theory that only one Hindu was concerned in the affair. Let us go into the rear hallway, commissioner.”

As Cardona strode past the entrance at the side of the living room, he failed to notice a pair of gleaming eyes that watched his progress. The Shadow, stationed in the adjacent gloom, was still upon the scene.

As Cardona walked through the door at the rear of the living room, Weston, Klein, and Gloucester followed with one accord. Hardly had they gone, before a motion occurred at the side door. A shaft of darkness seemed to project itself into the living room. Uncannily, it assumed a living shape.

The Shadow became visible. Clad in his cloak of black, his face concealed by the brim of his slouch hat, the tall master of mystery advanced across the room until he reached the doorway through which the others had gone.

There, with steady gaze, he peered toward the group in the hallway. Joe Cardona and the others were standing beside the steel door that formed the entrance to the tower. Cardona’s words were plain as he pointed out significant facts.

“Hubert admitted Casslin to the tower,” he explained. “Then Hubert was struck down. Hodges arrived in time to kill the Hindu.”

“Exactly what Doctor Dubrong suggested,” remarked Weston.

“No,” objected Cardona. “Doctor Dubrong omitted a very important point. I have notations here. Mr. Gloucester can support them. Considering every element involved — the face at the window; the locked door, the key in Hubert’s pocket — there is only one inference to draw.”

“Which is”

“That the Hindu did not come from the tower. He was trying to enter the tower, in pursuit of Rutherford Casslin.”

Cardona’s voice rang with triumph. Stephen Gloucester nodded in accordance. The police commissioner appeared perplexed. Cardona followed up his point.

“There were two men here,” he asserted. “Hubert and Hodges. Both were trusted servants. Hubert fought the Hindu and died. Hodges killed the Hindu. The honesty of both servants cannot be questioned.

“How could the Hindu have followed Casslin? Remember, Hodges was here when Hubert closed the door. No! The Hindu was there” — Cardona was pointing down the hallway — “and as soon as Hodges walked away, he rushed forward to attack Hubert!”

The explanation came like a thunderbolt. Joe Cardona had scored a triumph. He could see Commissioner Weston nodding in reluctant agreement.

“The Hindu wanted the key.” Dramatically, Cardona was gesturing to depict the struggle at the door. “That is why he attacked. He stabbed Hubert as they grappled. One more point, commissioner. Hubert had closed the door. He was naturally facing it. That gave the Hindu the chance to spring at him.”

IN simple, emphatic words, Joe Cardona had completely shattered the theory advanced by Doctor Dubrong. There was, however, one point which the detective had not mentioned. Weston was quick to seize upon it.

“Then who,” demanded the commissioner, “was the man that killed Rutherford Casslin?”

“Someone in the tower,” returned Cardona.

“But how did he get there?” asked Weston.

“Beforehand,” smiled Joe Cardona. “Some guests went upstairs with Casslin. No one remembers just how many were in the crowd. Let us suppose that one person managed to remain within the tower, to await Casslin’s return. It is gloomy in that tower. He would not have been noticed.”

“Then afterward—”

“He must have managed to escape, gun, diamond, and all. He couldn’t have gone out through one of the windows in the tower; he must have managed to come through this door. But the point is this, commissioner. The Hindu was never in the tower. Casslin was killed in the tower. So someone else must have been in the tower.”

Weston considered. He turned and strolled slowly back toward the living room, the others pacing with him. Within the living room, The Shadow suddenly moved away with remarkable swiftness. He had glided through the side door before the others entered the room from the rear.

“Cardona,” said the commissioner solemnly, “I accept your theory. There is a murderer at large. The Hindu still may have been his accomplice; or possibly the Hindu was working on his own. However, the murderer — the thief — is the man that you must capture.

“I am counting upon you to learn his identity. We must not form opinions too hastily, but it is probable that he is a man of high intelligence, one who could pass himself unobtrusively in good company. Get him, Cardona.”

This was Weston’s final statement. The commissioner left, accompanied by Stephen Gloucester, whose car had gone into New York. Joe Cardona stood alone with Inspector Timothy Klein.

“Joe,” said the inspector warmly, “you put it across great tonight. You’re on the right track. The only question is — who are you after?”

Cardona wheeled as he was crossing the living room. He spoke emphatically as he tuned to Klein.

“I’ll tell you the guy I’m after,” he asserted bluntly. “I’m after The Jackdaw!”

“You didn’t say that to the commissioner—”

“Of course not. I’ll bring that up later. But The Jackdaw pulled this job tonight, and The Jackdaw is the guy I’m going to get. He’s keen enough to cover up his tracks. I’m good enough to uncover them.”

From his pocket, Joe Cardona pulled a list of the persons who had been present here when Rutherford Casslin had died. One by one, he crossed off the names. The last on the list was that of Bart Melken. Cardona crossed it off with the others.

Then, while Klein’s back was turned, Cardona wrote another name at the bottom of the column. It was the name of one who had not been here when the confusion had begun; yet one whose connection with affairs of Rutherford Casslin’s might prove to be of considerable consequence.

Cardona was standing beside the curtain when he wrote the name. Inspector Klein did not see the action. Yet there were eyes that did see; eyes that peered from above Cardona’s shoulder; eyes that the detective never dreamed were present. They saw the name that Cardona inscribed:

JOE CARDONA thrust the list into his pocket. He stepped forward to join Inspector Klein. Together, they walked through the rear door, to take a last look at the hallway and the tower.

Again, The Shadow stepped from the gloom. His tall form basked momentarily in the light of the living room. From hidden lips, lost in the folds of the cloak collar, came a soft, sinister laugh that was no more than an echoed whisper.

The Shadow had heard all. He had listened to Doctor Dubrong’s theory — a statement, which, if accepted, would have diverted all suspicion from any persons other than Hindus. He had heard Joe Cardona’s theory — shattering facts that broke Doctor Dubrong’s findings.

Joe Cardona had learned the part that the Hindu had played. He knew that someone — The Jackdaw — had accomplished the murder of Rutherford Casslin, and had departed with the Bishenpur diamond.

Joe Cardona suspected Doctor Lysander Dubrong. He had reason. The physician’s words could well have been calculated to throw the detective off the correct track.

Was Doctor Dubrong The Jackdaw? Or was that mysterious crook some other person who had kept completely from the light?

The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was confronted with these questions. But The Shadow had gained advantages over the detective.

He — The Shadow — knew that one man here tonight had been working for The Jackdaw. He knew that Bart Melken had played a minor part in crime. Moreover, The Shadow had seen the tower room from the outside of the house.

The soft laugh whispered once again. It showed a glimmering of facts, an inkling of how Rutherford Casslin could have been slain in his tower room without the murderer being caught in his escape. It told, moreover, how the Bishenpur diamond might well have been stolen away.

The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was on the trail of mysterious crime. The Shadow, master of the darkness, had found an insidious opponent worthy of his steel. From now on, The Shadow’s quest would be to find The Jackdaw, that master crook whose subtle ways were the mark of the supercriminal.

The Shadow’s laugh faded as the tall form in black merged with the gloom beyond the door of Rutherford Casslin’s living room.