The Four Signets

CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW HEARS

WHEN Detective Joe Cardona arrived at Philip Lyken’s, he found a solemn-faced policeman stationed at the front entrance to the jewelry store. The door had been broken open; Joe entered to find a scene of chaos.

The hallway led to the inner door that formed the entrance to the jewelry shop. It was this door that had been blown. Though strong and sheathed with metal, the barrier had been ripped to pieces by the terrific explosion.

More than that, the blast had left its mark on other places. Huge portions of the wall had cracked and tumbled to the floor. A gaping break showed through a rear room behind the jewelry shop. The banister of the stairway had broken from its moorings. The steps themselves were tilted at a crazy angle.

Two policemen were in the jewelry shop. Cases and shelves had tumbled; the place was strewn with glass. Yet Joe could see that robbery had failed. Glittering rings were scattered on the floor. A safe — doubtless the depositor for items of real value — was obviously untouched.

Voices from the second floor. Cardona turned and ascended the crazy steps. He reached the top and entered a little office, where a sagging floor indicated that beams had yielded beneath. A light showed through an opened doorway; Cardona entered the rear room.

Two men were standing in Philip Lyken’s bedroom. Both were uniformed; one was a patrolman, the other the lieutenant of the precinct. The latter looked up and nodded to Cardona.

The detective had come here in the capacity of acting inspector. Then the lieutenant pointed to the bed.

There, clad in nightgown and wearing slippers, was the body of Philip Lyken. The jeweler was sprawled upon the bed; a splotch of blood upon the nightgown was token of his fate. Lyken had been shot through the heart.

“LOOKS like he never had a chance,” commented the lieutenant. “Somebody walked in on him and shoved the gun against his ribs. Look close, inspector. You can see the singe from the shot.”

Cardona nodded. He studied Lyken’s body and listened to the other statements that the lieutenant had to make.

“You saw what they did to the door downstairs,” declared the lieutenant. “They got in through a cellar window, out in back. Sawed away the bars. That’s how they made it. Then some of the bunch made a getaway from the side street.”

Cardona wheeled. This was information that had not come into headquarters. The lieutenant indicated the patrolman.

“Tell him about it, Casey,” he ordered.

“I heard the explosion,” stated the patrolman. “I came up to the corner on the run. Just then the car shoots out and I was going to fire when I saw a tough bird hanging from the side door.

“I was spotted where I was, so I jumped back to the curb. There was a couple of shots come from down the street. One clips the guy on the side of the car; another pots the next fellow that was aiming at me.”

“Shots from down the street?” inquired Cardona.

“Yeah,” replied Case, with a nod. “I don’t know who fired ‘em. The car whizzes by and I open up, plastering the rear of it. Thought maybe I’d stopped ‘em, so I followed on the run. But they got away.”

“These shots from down the street,” queried Joe. “Who fired them?”

“That’s what I don’t know,” admitted Casey. “I thought some other cop had come up. That’s why I chased after the touring car. When I got back, there wasn’t nobody around, until the patrol car showed up.”

“Looks to me like somebody was gunning for the crooks,” put in the lieutenant. “That’s the only way I can explain it, inspector.”

Cardona nodded. He was sober. His thoughts had reverted to the preceding night. He remembered the shots that had served so well in the battle with Luke Zarby. Joe knew the hand that had delivered those shots. Often before, this star sleuth had gained The Shadow’s aid.

Keenly, Joe was piecing this new event with the old. Luke Zarby’s dying words — a statement concerning Hoot Shelling — new crime in the making. Had The Shadow heard those words as well?

Cardona knew that The Shadow must have picked up Zarby’s trail last night. In so doing, The Shadow had scored in a task where police had failed. It seemed logical that The Shadow had again moved ahead of the law. He had been near here tonight, tracking Hoot Shelling.

“How about those two guys in the car?” questioned the detective, suddenly. “Are you sure they were clipped?”

“You bet they were!” responded Casey. “But it wasn’t curtains. The one guy would have fallen off if he’d been killed. He managed to hang on until the rest of the bunch yanked him in.”

Cardona smiled. He was about to make another statement when footsteps sounded in the outer office.

The police surgeon had arrived; in his wake were two reporters.

During the examination, Cardona spoke to the newspaper men. One was a man toward whom the detective was most friendly: Clyde Burke, of the Classic.

Joe accompanied the reporters to the ground floor. After they had looked into the jewelry shop, they descended the rickety cellar steps and found the window at the back. A policeman, stationed there, brought the sawed-off grating into view.

Leaving the reporters in the cellar, Cardona clambered through the opening and began an inspection of the rear alleyway. While he was engaged in this examination, a call came from the cellar. Cardona went back. Burke informed him that the police commissioner had arrived and was upstairs.

THREE minutes later, Cardona arrived in the second-floor office to find a tall, crane-necked man awaiting him. This was Wainwright Barth, police commissioner in the absence of Ralph Weston. With eyes that gleamed through pince-nez spectacles, beneath a high bald head, Barth stared in expectant fashion.

“Not much of a case, commissioner,” stated Cardona. “Plenty bad enough— murder and burglary — but it doesn’t come up to the reports that we got at headquarters. First rumor was a dynamiting outrage.”

“How do you account for that report?” questioned Barth.

“Too much soup,” responded Cardona, laconically. “The crooks wanted to cripple a door; instead, they nearly brought down the house.”

Producing a sheet of notations, the detective gave the details to the commissioner. Then, at Barth’s request, Cardona formed his summary. Burke and the other reporter listened.

“Experienced workers,” explained Joe. “They sawed the grating neatly. The explosive charge must have been well planted. They probably sent one man up here to cover Lyken; it looks like he was keeping the jeweler quiet when the blast went off.

“Too big a charge. The fellow covering Lyken must have known it when the house shook. So he plugged Lyken and ran after the others. Officer Casey retarded their getaway. Two of the mobsmen were wounded.”

“Tell me this, Cardona,” insisted Barth. “What clues have you found concerning the identity of the criminals?”

“None,” returned Joe.

“None?” echoed Barth, testily. “Then your investigation has revealed no more than the obvious.”

Cardona shrugged his shoulders. Barth prepared to leave and Joe nudged the reporters toward the door.

Soon after they had left, the commissioner and the detective descended the stairs. Barth seemed disgruntled. He walked to his car, which was parked close by, then noticed that Cardona had followed him.

“Just a minute, commissioner,” said the detective. “I’ve got something more to tell you. I didn’t want the reporters to hear it, that’s all.”

Barth’s eyes glistened.

“I’m going to work on what I learned last night,” said Cardona. “Hoot Shelling’s mob may be in back of this. Hoot’s tied up with Doc Ralder, the sawbones who had that hide-out.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Barth. “The bullet from Lyken’s body can furnish the evidence when you find the gun that fired it. The bullet, Cardona!”

“One bullet?” returned the detective, with a smile. “Two bullets, commissioner. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Two bullets? Was Lyken shot twice?”

“No. The bullet that got Lyken can wait. I’m thinking of other bullets, commissioner.”

“You mean—”

“The ones that wounded those escaping crooks.”

“But how—”

“Listen, commissioner.” Cardona leaned forward. “Hoot Shelling’s in with Doc Ralder. Two of Hoot’s mob got it tonight — with bullets— and the pair of them are wounded.”

“Yes,” agreed Barth, “but those men have escaped.”

“They can’t go far,” laughed Cardona. “They’ll have to travel to a sawbones, won’t they?”

“Doc Ralder?”

“Yes.”

“But he escaped last night.”

“I know it” — despite the statement, Cardona paused triumphantly— “and that’s what I’m counting on! It’s made to order, commissioner. Do you know why? I’ll tell you. I’ve got the bird who knows who Ralder is.”

“Knows who he is?”

“Yes. A stool pigeon named Dopey Roogan is wise to the fake get-up that Doc Ralder uses in the underworld. Ralder’s got a hide-out, but that won’t keep him off the streets. He’ll be around, disguised as a blind peddler called Creeper Trigg.”

BARTH’S eyes popped in astonishment. The commissioner saw the force of Joe Cardona’s reasoning.

Doc Ralder, still at large, was the asset that the police required. Sometime tonight — perhaps even at this present moment — two crippled mobsters would be placed in his charge.

Dopey Roogan had turned the trick before. He could do it again. Barth realized that last night’s raid, apparently directed against Luke Zarby, had probably deceived Doc Ralder. There was every reason why the sawbones should believe that Zarby — not himself — had been traced to the hide-out.

“When Dopey picks up Creeper’s trail,” concluded Cardona, in a confidential tone, “we’ll have another chance to nab Doc Ralder. And with him, we’ll get those two mugs from the mob that pulled this job at Lyken’s.”

Barth nodded. He stepped into his car. The automobile pulled away; Joe Cardona strolled back into the house.

The street was deserted, save for the patrolman who was stationed by the door. The officer did not see the shape of blackness that detached itself from a wall close by the spot where the commissioner’s car had been.

The Shadow had lingered near the scene of crime. He had heard Cardona’s statement to the police commissioner. A soft laugh whispered as The Shadow moved away into the darkness. The Shadow had expected that Cardona might plan to trail Doc Ralder through Dopey Roogan. He had learned the fact that he wanted; the identity of the person whom Dopey would trail; the disguise which Ralder used in the underworld.

The Shadow had not heard the details of the investigation held at Lyken’s. They, however, were to come later, at the sanctum.

WHEN he reached his hidden abode, The Shadow found the wall bulb burning. He obtained the earphones. Burbank’s voice spoke:

“Report from Burke—”

The Classic reporter was an agent of The Shadow. He had supplied Burbank with full details. The report included a statement of Cardona’s theory concerning the crime. Lurking crooks; too large a blast; a forced getaway.

The Shadow’s laugh sounded when the report was ended. Hands moved beneath the bluish glow of the sanctum light. For the Shadow was forming a theory of his own. His keen brain saw that Cardona had erred.

The Shadow was considering the time element. The crooks had made their getaway immediately after the explosion. They could not have gained the car so quickly if they had been in the house.

Another factor concerned The Shadow. The entry to the house had been a matter of skilled accomplishment. Why had it been followed by the blunder of an explosion great enough to rock the neighborhood?

If a crook had remained to murder Lyken, how had the man managed to escape? The fume-filled hall would not have permitted a prompt exit. The killer would have been trapped.

Lyken must have been slain before the blast. If the raiders had decided to flee after that deed, why had they let the charge go off? The facts did not jibe.

Again the whispered laugh. The Shadow could see the meaning behind the chaos at Lyken’s. Skilled crooks had made an entry. They had deliberately set an over-sized charge.

They had waited, as a cover-up squad, for a signal to send them on their way.

The signal? The blast itself. Some intruder had entered after all was ready. He had murdered Lyken in cold blood. That accomplished, he had departed, igniting the fuse on the way. Had he encountered trouble, the covering crooks could have remained to aid him.

Behind tonight’s crime. The Shadow saw the secret purpose of a hidden killer. He knew that the blown door was a blind. The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, would be relentless in his search for Hoot Shelling.

But The Shadow’s quest would not end with the capture of the crook leader.

For The Shadow was sure that behind Hoot Shelling lay the hand of an insidious murderer, whose purpose had been accomplished when Philip Lyken had died.

What had Philip Lyken known? Why had he been slain? These were questions for which The Shadow sought an answer. In them, he saw the approach of further crime.

Yet, for the present, The Shadow must follow the same quest that the law was seeking. Trails in the underworld afforded the best steps toward the solution of crime that might threaten outside of the realm of the underworld.

Earphones from the wall. Burbank’s voice across the wire. Then came the shuddering whisper of The Shadow, as the enemy of crime issued new instructions for Cliff Marsland.