The Man from Scotland Yard

CHAPTER XIV. THE CHANCE CLUE

EVENING had settled over Washington. The lights of the capital city formed a twinkling array when viewed from the entrance of the mammoth Union Depot. But the stocky man who beckoned to a taxicab, was no sight-seer. His tone was brisk as he snapped an order to the driver:

“Hotel Skyview Plaza. And make it snappy!”

The arrival was Detective Joe Cardona. Under his arm the New York sleuth was carrying a fiber folder.

As the cab rolled from the terminal archway, Joe sat stolidly with eyes focused straight ahead.

The trip to the hotel took a dozen minutes. Cardona paid the driver in a hurry; then walked into the lobby, looking about suspiciously as he entered. He studied three uniformed bell boys; recognizing none of them, he approached the desk.

“Is Mr. Knight in?” queried the ace.

“Sorry, sir,” replied the clerk. “Mr. Knight went out about fifteen minutes ago. He and another gentleman, sir.”

Cardona hesitated; then drew back his coat and flashed the badge on his vest. “I’m from New York headquarters,” he confided in a low tone. “My name’s Cardona. I’m a friend of Mr. Knight’s. Seeing he’s not here, I’d like to talk to the manager.”

“Certainly, sir,” nodded the clerk. “The office is directly opposite. You will find Mr. Howley in there, sir.”

Cardona went to the office and introduced himself to Howley. The manager was a dignified gentleman, who appeared quite surprised by the arrival of a. New York detective.

“If you have a complaint, Mr. Cardona,” he began, “you should take the matter to our Washington police headquarters, before coming here. We do not like to make any charge against a guest.”

“It’s not a guest I’m looking for,” explained Cardona. “I’m after a guy who’s working here as a bell hop. I traced him from the Hotel Goliath in New York. I’ve gotten some real dope on him; and my hunch is he’s working here. Take a look at this photo.”

Cardona had opened the folder. From it he drew a rogues gallery photograph and passed it to the manager. Howley uttered a surprised exclamation.

“It’s that chap Cady!” he announced. “The new man who gave us the Florida references. We just had a letter from Florida this afternoon, stating that he had never worked at the places he claimed.”

“I got this from Boston,” announced Joe, tapping the picture. “Parker Cady is his full name. He was pinched up there, a couple of years ago. We hadn’t anything on him in New York.”

“I should be glad to aid you in apprehending the scamp,” stated the manager, “but, unfortunately, Cady has left our employ. He went off duty this afternoon and did not return.”

“The same gag he pulled at the Goliath,” growled Joe. “Have you any address? Know anything about him?”

“Absolutely nothing,” replied Howley. “I shall have the house detectives on the lookout: if you wish, I can notify detective headquarters.”

“We can do just that,” agreed Cardona. “You’ve got enough for a complaint of your own against him. Grab him, if he shows up. I’ve got someone to see in the meantime.”

There was a telephone book on the manager’s desk. Cardona opened it and began looking for a name.

He did not find it. He turned further back in the book.

“For what name are you looking?” inquired the manager.

“Releston,” replied Cardona. “Senator Ross Releston; but he’s not listed.”

“He lives at some hotel, I believe,” declared Howley. “It may, by chance, be the Barlingham. I am not positive but I can—”

“Here’s another that will do,” put in Cardona. “It’s Caleb Wesdren. He’s listed.”

Cardona pointed out Wesdren’s name. Howley noted the telephone number and the address; then remarked:

“That’s not far from here. You could be there in a few minutes by taxicab.”

“I could?” queried Cardona. “Then that’s the bet. I’ll do better by calling than by phoning. Pass the word to watch for Cady, will you, Mr. Howley?”

“Certainly,” responded the manager. “I shall notify the house detective at once. Thank you, Mr. Cardona, for bringing this matter to our attention.”

CARDONA departed abruptly. He hailed a cab outside the hotel and gave the driver Wesdren’s address. The distance was further than the manager had stated. It was fully twelve minutes before the car reached the quiet street where Wesdren’s house was located.

“Can’t see the numbers, bud,” informed the taxi driver, “but this ought to be it. Unless it’s the big place up ahead.”

“I’ll find it,” stated Cardona.

Leaving the cab, Joe noted the house at which the driver had stopped. It was an old brick homestead that did not impress him as Wesdren’s logical residence. But the next house on the street was a brownstone mansion, with walls that looked like the bulwarks of a fortress.

The house occupied a wide front. Looking past it, Cardona saw that the grounds extended through to a row of squatty buildings on the next street. Squeezed between structures that looked like storage houses or garages was a brown building that matched the mansion.

It must have been a stable once, Cardona decided; probably it had been preserved and converted into a garage. Then Joe’s speculation ended as he strode toward the steps of the mansion. Going up to the front door, Cardona noted a number on the steps. This was Wesdren’s residence.

A chunky, wise-faced servitor admitted Cardona. The detective inquired for Mr. Wesdren; the servant wanted to know who was calling. Joe told him; the man went through the reception room.

Standing in the dimly lighted hall, Cardona sensed that someone else was watching him. He caught a glimpse of another servant passing through a living room on the far side of the hall; but even after that man had gone from view, the detective still felt uneasy.

He looked toward the rear of the hall; there he noted blackness that looked like a lurking spot. Cardona discerned the edge of an alcove; across from it a door. While he still stared, he heard the first servant returning.

“Mr. Wesdren will see you,” informed the man. “Come this way.”

Cardona was conducted to the office. He found Caleb Wesdren alone. The dark-haired man had remembered the detective from the meeting in New York. He shook hands, motioned his visitor to a chair and made query concerning the nature of Cardona’s business.

“I’M playing a long shot, Mr. Wesdren,” informed Cardona, taking a cigar from a box that his host extended to him. “I came down here on a hunch; and it’s turned out to be a real one.”

“Concerning matters that we previously discussed?”

“Yeah. It’s about our friend Jarvis Knight. Somebody is wise to who he is. He’s being watched.”

“Have you informed Del — ” Wesdren caught himself. “Have you seen Mr. Knight since you arrived in town?”

“No. He wasn’t at his hotel. But I got the information I wanted. When Knight was at the Hotel Goliath, I spotted a phony bell hop watching him. The fellow beat it before I could make an arrest; but I learned his name. It was Parker Cady.

“I checked on the fellow. He had a record up in Boston. I’ve got all the data here in this folder. And get this, Mr. Wesdren: Cady was working as a bell hop at the Skyview Plaza, up until this afternoon.”

“He is there no longer?”

“Apparently not. They’re going to nab him if he shows up. But in the meantime—”

Wesdren gestured by way of interruption. Cardona broke off as the executive reached for the telephone.

He watched Wesdren dial a number; then asked:

“You’re calling local headquarters?”

Wesdren shook his head.

“I’m getting Knight,” he replied. “He is with Marquette. Both are over at the Hotel Barlingham, in conference with Senator Releston.”

Cardona settled back in his chair with a pleased grin. He listened while Wesdren was connected with Releston. He heard the executive inform the senator of this new development. Then Cardona’s attention was suddenly directed elsewhere.

Straight across the room was a door. Calculating its position, Cardona decided that it was the door that led into the rear hall. As Joe stared, he observed a barely perceptible closing of the barrier. He watched the brass knob, which glistened conspicuously in the light. He gained the definite impression that the knob was turning.

Wesdren was hanging up the receiver. He spoke to Cardona:

“Senator Releston is coming here immediately. Knight and Marquette will be with him. I had intended to go over there; but—”

Wesdren broke off as Cardona made a motion. The knob had ceased turning. Joe nudged a finger toward the door and whispered “Somebody’s out in the hall. Better see who—”

Wesdren stared at the door; then arose and made stealthy strides in that direction. Cardona watched him reach for the knob; suddenly Wesdren turned it and yanked the door inward.

A MAN was standing there with upraised hand, as though he had been about to knock. Cardona noticed a long-limbed body; a bulky head upon stooped shoulders. He saw a sallow face that had a sudden contortion; eyes that glared suspiciously, then blinked.

“Ah, Jollister!” Wesdren’s tone was mild; it showed quick thought on his part. “I was just coming to find you. I thought you might be busy packing. I did not want to interrupt you with the buzzer.”

“I was about to knock, Mr. Wesdren,” rumbled Jollister. “I was startled when you opened the door so suddenly.”

“Of course. I suppose that my action was abrupt. What is on your mind, Jollister?”

“I expected to leave shortly. I still have a few papers to pack; but I am almost ready. I thought maybe you might want to see me before I went.”

“There is nothing that I can think of, Jollister. If anything occurs to me, I shall call you.”

The two men exchanged nods. Jollister turned about; Wesdren closed the door and came back to the desk. His face was serious as he threw a sharp glance toward the door.

“Was that Craig Jollister?” inquired Cardona. “The vault expert you spoke about in New York?”

“Yes,” replied Wesdren. “I can’t understand his action. What do you think, Cardona? Was the fellow eavesdropping?”

“It looked that way, Mr. Wesdren.”

The executive glanced at his watch then shrugged his shoulder.

“Jollister is leaving for the middle West at ten o’clock,” he remarked. “He was at his apartment this afternoon; it is between here and the depot. Probably he has packed. He has ample time. I do not suppose he will leave here for half an hour.

“I shall speak to him again before he leaves. But I can wait until after Releston and the others have arrived. They should be here in ten minutes. In the meantime, Cardona, prepare your data, so that we may begin a prompt discussion concerning this suspicious character whom you have uncovered.”

WHILE Wesdren and Cardona were ending this brief conversation, events occurred in the hall outside the office. From the blackness of the alcove, a shrouded figure moved slowly into dim light.

Again The Shadow had effected secret entry into Wesdren’s mansion. He had taken his former post, which gave him access to the side door of Wesdren’s office and also enabled him to observe all who arrived or departed.

The Shadow came to a standstill as a door opened on the other side of the hall. Craig Jollister peered forth and looked about with a suspicious stare. Seeing no one, the vault expert turned out the light in his little office and walked into the hall. He was wearing hat and overcoat; under his arm he carried a leather briefcase.

With long stride, Jollister started for the front door. He stopped abruptly as a servant came out of the living room. Jollister spoke:

“I’m going to my apartment, Hamilton,” he said, in his deep tone. “I have spoken to Mr. Wesdren. He knows that I am leaving.”

Hamilton nodded. He watched Jollister stalk out through the front door. Hamilton’s attitude became one of suspicion; then he shrugged his shoulders and walked back in to the living room. Jollister had passed muster with this secret service man who was playing the part of a servant.

Brief minutes passed. The Shadow edged forward to the front hall. His tall, black shape formed a moving silhouette against the wall. It was a creeping thing of blackness, silent in its progress.

The Shadow paused a dozen feet from the front door as another secret service man came down the stairs from the second floor. He waited until this man had gone through the rear hall; then The Shadow resumed his progress.

Silently and stealthily, The Shadow opened the front door. He glided easily into the outer darkness; he closed the door noiselessly behind him. A shade of blackness, The Shadow’s tall shape descended the brownstone steps.

At the bottom, The Shadow wheeled suddenly toward the wall of the mansion, just as a taxicab swung from the nearest corner.

THE vehicle stopped in front of Wesdren’s. Three men alighted: Releston, Marquette and Knight. They ascended the steps and rang the bell. The door opened immediately; Hamilton had given the visitors prompt admittance.

Blackness stole from the wall as the door was closing. The taxi driver did not see it; he was counting change at the wheel. Pocketing clinking coins, he drove away from Wesdren’s.

One block from the brownstone mansion, that driver experienced a surprise. A quiet voice spoke through the window from the rear seat, while the cab was idling at a traffic light.

The driver blinked: then nodded as he heard his new passenger give a destination. The light changed, the taximan drove ahead, still wondering how his fare had entered the cab unheard.

The Shadow’s vigil had ended. He had left Caleb Wesdren’s with a purpose. He was moving forth to action and his immediate plans concerned the man who had just left the mansion.

For The Shadow had sensed the imminence of crime. His period of waiting had ended with the moment that Craig Jollister had departed from Caleb Wesdren’s. The Shadow knew that crooks had also been waiting; from now on, they were free to move.

True, they could wait longer; delay might serve their purposes as well as promptness. But The Shadow knew the ways of crookdom. He expected action undelayed.