The Death Triangle

CHAPTER IX THE SHADOW’S CLEW

DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was completing his report of Doctor Johan Arberg’s murder. The detective was still in Arberg’s room at the Hotel Imperator. With him were Clyde Burke, Inspector Timothy Klein, and a police surgeon.

“Robbery,” asserted Cardona. “There is the motive, inspector. As for the details of the case—”

Cardona paused, a sheet of penciled notations in his hand. The telephone was ringing. The detective answered it.

“Who?” he questioned. “Came to see Doctor Arberg?… Send him up… Yes, here to the room.”

The detective turned to the other men. A puzzled look showed on his face.

“Did you ever hear of Lamont Cranston?” he questioned.

“Is he the millionaire globe-trotter?” asked the reporter.

“Yeah,” returned Cardona. “Well, he’s coming up here. He stopped in to call on Doctor Arberg. Cranston is a friend of Police Commissioner Weston, by the way.”

A few minutes later, a tall man entered the room. He stopped just within the doorway. A solemn look appeared upon his firm face as he observed the body of Doctor Johan Arberg by the table in the corner. Cardona fancied that he could see a flicker of emotion in Cranston’s brilliant eyes.

The millionaire turned to the detective.

“When did this happen?” he questioned.

“About ten thirty tonight,” answered Cardona. “How did you happen to come here, Mr. Cranston?”

“Doctor Arberg was an old acquaintance of mine,” explained the millionaire, in a quiet tone. “I used to visit him in Copenhagen. He had an interest outside of medicine — the collecting of precious stones. That is a hobby of my own. Hence Doctor Arberg and I had much in common.

“Tonight, I chanced to learn that Doctor Arberg was in New York. I read a newspaper item that stated he was stopping at the Hotel Imperator. Although it was rather late, I decided to drop by, hoping that he might still be awake. At the desk, I learned that Doctor Arberg had been murdered.”

There was conviction in every word that Lamont Cranston uttered. Joe Cardona looked squarely at the millionaire. He met Cranston’s eyes — piercing optics that shone from either side of a hawklike nose. Joe Cardona felt a definite respect for Lamont Cranston.

“Murder,” declared the detective, “is obvious in this case. The motive was robbery. Since you were a friend of Doctor Arberg, Mr. Cranston, you are welcome to remain while I review my report.”

“Thank you,” said Cranston.

As the tall millionaire seated himself, Cardona referred to his notes, then began his statements for the benefit of Inspector Klein.

“There were two telephone calls for Arberg,” said the detective. “One was shortly before nine o’clock; the other shortly afterward. Prior to that time — between eight and nine — two hotel attendants were here rearranging the furniture to suit Doctor Arberg’s ideas. The old doctor wasn’t out of the place at the time of the killings up at Lorskin’s.”

“Yet Lorskin,” interrupted Klein, “said that Arberg had a lot of money.”

“Certainly,” resumed Cardona. “Sparkles Lorskin was after it. But it’s a sure bet that Arberg didn’t go there. He was here. We don’t know what caused the mess at Lorskin’s — unless there was some double-crossing in the game. We may be able to trace something from that end, but right now, we’ve got facts here.

“It was nine twenty when Doctor Arberg went out. He was alone. He came back at ten ten — still alone. There was a report of a telephone call when he arrived. That indicates that someone was waiting to see him when he came in — or trying to find if he was still out.

“Whether the murderer was waiting for Arberg is a question. It’s more likely that he sneaked in through the door, which we found unlocked. The point is that Arberg made for the table in the corner. There’s finger prints on the telephone. It would be great if they were the murderer’s, but I think they’ll prove to be Arberg’s.”

On his feet, Cardona moved toward the corner. He began a portrayal of the crime. He stood above Arberg’s body, facing those who watched. Then he strode out to the center of the room and whirled toward the corner.

“Arberg fired at the murderer. The man fired back.” Cardona moved toward the corner, to make another complete turn. “The bullets from Arberg’s gun are in the wall. The murderer’s shots killed the old man. He must have fallen upon the table and slumped down. Shiny streaks in the dust show that.”

“The ink bottle and the clock fell on the floor. The murderer grabbed all he could get. The old doctor’s bank roll, his jewelry, even his finger ring. He made his get-away. All we know is that he’s a crook who came in here to steal. Maybe he got the idea from Sparkles Lorskin and made a stab at this job after Sparkles was shot.

“What we do know is that the murder took place at some time after ten, the time when Arberg came in; and if one clew is right, I can set the exact time. Ten twenty-five.”

WITH this statement, Cardona picked the clock from the floor and pointed to the dial. The diamonds that encircled the case glittered in the light. Cardona did not pause to admire them. He was marking the time with his finger. The clock read twenty-five minutes after ten.

“The fall stopped the works,” explained Cardona. “Unless the murderer was thinking of more than I give him credit for, that clock tells us just when the murder took place.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Klein. “You’ve got the evidence there, Joe. Ten twenty-five — that’s the time it happened.”

“Maybe,” said the detective cagily. “There’s another angle to it, though. Suppose this murder was committed at a few minutes before midnight. The murderer could have picked up the clock and turned the hands back to ten twenty-five.”

“Why?”

“To fool us into thinking he got out of here before he did. That’s why. I’m making allowance for that, inspector. At the same time, there’s a good chance that the murderer left the clock alone. The doctor here” — Cardona indicated the police surgeon — “says that Arberg must have been lying dead close to two hours. But we’re not going to take the clock time as final evidence — not by a long shot.

“Suppose we nab some crook — want to know where he was at ten twenty-five on the night when Arberg was killed. Maybe he’d produce a perfect alibi. Nobody gets away with that kind of stuff when I’m around. On the report, it will be death some time between ten twenty-five and twelve fifteen.”

“Good,” commented Inspector Klein. “Very clever, Cardona, figuring that the clock could have been turned back.”

“I don’t miss many tricks,” said the detective modestly. “What’s more” — Cardona’s face clouded — “this is going to be a tough case any way you look at it. We’ve got to start with Sparkles Lorskin and Mitts Cordy. If some other tough guys started the brawl at Lorskin’s, and got away, it’s possible that they took up the job that Sparkles and Mitts were going to do.

“With the clean-up that was pulled in the apartment, it would have been safe for some smart gunman to come up here on his own. There was only one guy left alive in the apartment — that was Sparkles Lorskin. He got his when the police arrived.”

“What about the jewels at Lorskin’s?” questioned the inspector. “He still had them when the officers reached the apartment.”

“Yes,” admitted Cardona, “but he could have driven them off. They had to scram fast enough after the shooting started. Besides that, there’s no telling how much other stuff Lorskin might have had in his apartment. We picked up plenty of his swag — but there might have been more of it.”

The detective paced back across the room and spoke again in a definite tone. He was narrowing the matter down to the situation as it existed here, in Doctor Arberg’s room.

“We’ll work from this spot, inspector,” declared the sleuth. “We’ll find out who it was that left this room some time after ten twenty-five. That’s the job we’ve got. Where Arberg was before that is important only if it brings in crooks. If he went out for any ordinary purpose between nine twenty and ten ten, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

Inspector Klein nodded his agreement. The inspector had great reliance in Cardona’s deductive ability. Clyde Burke, taking notes, was pleased with the story that he was getting.

WHILE Cardona and Klein were discussing details of the report, Lamont Cranston arose quietly and strolled across the room toward the body of Johan Arberg. The millionaire stood silent, as he looked at the upturned dial of the stopped clock.

Cranston’s eyes seemed to reflect the sparkle of the diamonds that fringed the case of the timepiece. A thin, faint smile appeared upon the millionaire’s lips. No one saw that smile. It disappeared as Cranston turned toward the door of the room.

“Doctor Arberg was a most estimable man,” said Cranston to Cardona. “His death is greatly to be regretted. I trust that you will have success in discovering the murderer.”

After a short talk with the detective, Cranston left the hotel. Joe Cardona, despite the important matters which perplexed him here, still found himself recalling Cranston’s calm composure, the immobile expression upon the millionaire’s masklike face. Clyde Burke, too, was impressed by Cranston’s arrival and departure.

Yet neither the detective nor the reporter noted an odd phenomenon which was visible when Cranston walked along the corridor. Behind the departing millionaire trailed a long, weird streak of blackness, that glided over the floor. It was the strange splotch with its topping silhouette — the shade of darkness that identified The Shadow.

THE aftermath of Cranston’s visit to the Hotel Imperator occurred some time later. A click sounded in a pitch-black room. A flickering blue light cast its spectral rays upon the polished surface of a table. White hands crept from darkness, to move within the range of light. Upon one hand sparkled the flashing, ever-changing gem which was the symbol of The Shadow.

Pen and paper were on the table. The Shadow’s hands began to use them. Long fingers sketched the outline of the clock which had been lying on the floor in Doctor Arberg’s room. The final touch was the placing of pointing hands, which indicated twenty-five minutes after ten.

Eyes from the dark studied that time. On another sheet of paper, The Shadow inscribed terse words which were open statements of his hidden thoughts. The Shadow was analyzing Detective Joe Cardona’s theory.

These were the phrases which The Shadow inscribed in his analysis. Then, in tabulated form, The Shadow marked a schedule that gave the approximate times of the events which had concerned Doctor Arberg’s affairs during the evening.

The Shadow checked the top of the column. The 8:50 call, he knew, was his own. Then minutes later, at nine o’clock, Doctor Arberg had answered another telephone call; probably one which summoned him from the hotel. The Shadow’s finger marked the interval between nine o’clock and twenty minutes after that hour.

Why the telephone call at five minutes after ten, only a few minutes before Doctor Arberg’s return? Why had that call not been repeated? The person on the wire had probably been informed that Doctor Arberg would soon be back.

The Shadow laughed. He sensed that the 10:05 call could have been made to learn whether or not anything had been discovered amiss.

After writing these words again, The Shadow deliberately drew a line through the phrases until he reached the final three words. “Evidence, the clock” — that was the only statement which The Shadow accepted. Beneath it, The Shadow wrote:

The whispered laugh that crept through the blackened room explained more effectively than words the reason why The Shadow had formed this conclusion. If, as Joe Cardona supposed, the motive had been robbery, why had the murderer failed to take the jeweled clock along with the other articles that he had stolen?

There was only one answer. He had left the clock on the floor for the express purpose of deceiving investigators. The murderer had considered that factor of more importance than the purloining of objects of value. He had taken cash and belongings to establish robbery as the motive; he had left the clock to establish a wrong time for the deed. In so doing, he had deceived the police, but not The Shadow!

As though measuring time in terms of space, The Shadow rested his thumb and forefinger upon the schedule so that it included the tabulations from 10:10 to 12:20. According to Joe Cardona, the murder must have been committed within that span of time.

The Shadow’s fingers moved. Cardona’s theory was finally rejected. One fact remained obvious. The murderer’s advantage would not be materially aided by leaving the clock to indicate any time between twenty-five after ten and the hour of midnight. Any robber would have considered the clock itself of greater value.

The Shadow’s fingers moved higher up the schedule. They indicated the time between nine o’clock and ten minutes after ten. They narrowed to show those twenty minutes between nine and the time when Doctor Arberg had been seen leaving the hotel lobby. The Shadow laughed softly.

Here was the answer. If murder had been done within that space of time, the slayer would have every reason to leave the clock upon the floor, after setting its hands ahead — not back!

THE SHADOW knew the truth. Doctor Arberg had been killed shortly after nine o’clock. The man who had been seen leaving the hotel lobby; the man who had returned at ten minutes after ten; was not Doctor Johan Arberg. He was none other than the murderer himself, disguised as the Danish specialist!

Perhaps The Shadow’s own activities — the ease with which he, himself, had earlier played the part of Doctor Arberg — accounted for his prompt conclusions. The result, however, was definite. The Shadow knew that he was dealing with a master murderer — not an ordinary criminal. He knew also that the man had held some hidden purposes in his crime.

It was the murderer who had called up at five minutes after ten, to make sure that his deed had not been discovered. He had then returned to make his final appearance as Doctor Arberg. A span of fifty minutes had been all that he required.

Why?

That was the question which The Shadow faced. But in this situation, The Shadow was equipped to follow a true clew while Joe Cardona still continued along a blind trail. The Shadow knew that the morrow would, perhaps, bring word of Doctor Arberg’s supposed whereabouts between twenty minutes past nine and ten after ten.

Cardona would think nothing of that matter. The Shadow, however, would follow the new clew. For in finding the place where Doctor Arberg had been seen during those important fifty minutes, The Shadow would be tracing the actions of the murderer himself!

The light clicked. The room was plunged in darkness. Amid the Stygian atmosphere of this unknown black-walled room, The Shadow’s laugh resounded with sinister tone. Eerie echoes responded with a sobbing shudder. When the last ghoulish reverberations had died away, the room was empty.

The Shadow had departed from his sanctum, that hidden abode where he made research into the ways of crime. His plans for his next step were in the making. The clew of the clock had served The Shadow well!