The Python

CHAPTER XX CRIME’S SEQUENCE

TWENTY minutes after The Shadow’s departure from the Cambia Hotel, Joe Cardona arrived at that bullet-riddled establishment. Reports of a new conflict had brought the ace detective from his hunt for Carl Ramorez. Joe had come to learn of this later conflict; and he had brought Clyde Burke along.

A square-faced patrolman gave Joe a brief report; and in it were facts that pleased the acting inspector. The bluecoat had arrived promptly on the scene; he had found the moaning hotel clerk and had made him talk before the ambulance had come.

“He blabbed,” asserted the officer. “Told what he knew, inspector, although it wasn’t much. He said he was working for a fellow called The Python.”

“The Python!” Cardona swung to Clyde. “Say — remember what Markham just told us? About that fellow we plugged at the Legrand? The one called Tony? Just before he cashed in, he mumbled that same name — The Python.

“There’s a big-shot in back of this business, Burke. A big-shot called The Python. He was the one who pulled that funny business down at the new East River tunnel, too. How do I know? Because that fellow Tony was one of the bunch that tied up the watchmen there. He fits the description; we’ve been looking for him.

“What’s more, Burke, it fits in with this dirty work on board the Tropical. There was a torch in back of that blaze; and like as not he was working for The Python. And when we add it all up, we’ve got more. Those jewel robberies that left us groggy; we figured they were all staged by one big brain.

“The Python. That’s the name the big-shot goes under, so far as his crew is concerned. But we know more about him, maybe, than they do. We know who he is. Carl Ramorez.”

That decision rendered, Cardona finished a brief inspection and left the Cambia Hotel with Clyde in his wake. They entered a police car; Cardona instructed the driver to take them to the Balboa Apartments. While they rode, Joe talked.

“The Balboa Apartments,” he stated, “are only about three blocks from the Bragelonne. So here’s the way I figure it. Ramorez was on the watch of Jurrice. He saw him go out; so he went up there to Jurrice’s room. As luck had it, Jurrice came back. Ramorez strangled him.

“Then he went out to look for Revoort. He was waiting for him when we walked in. It was a nice surprise for Senor Ramorez; but he made a getaway. Anyhow, he didn’t find a chance to strangle Revoort.

“You know, Burke, I’ve got an idea why this crook calls himself The Python. That’s a big snake — a python — that can strangle anything up to the size of a tiger. Say — he’s got crust, this fellow, calling himself The Python!”

FIVE minutes later they arrived at the Balboa Apartments. When they had alighted, Clyde pointed to the nearest corner, where large, darkened windows indicated a drug store that had probably closed at midnight.

“That’s the place where Jurrice went in to telephone,” exclaimed. Clyde. “Say, that’s odd, isn’t it? Jurrice stopping off here so close to Ramorez’s apartment. There were other funny things about Jurrice. His keys, for instance: it seems he asked for one while he was carrying another—”

“Forget Jurrice,” interposed Cardona. “We’re going to take a look in on Ramorez’s apartment. I’ve got a man here; but he’s been waiting until I showed up. Well, look who’s here” — Joe paused as they were entering a quietly furnished lobby — “What are you doing up here, doctor?”

The man whom Cardona addressed was the police surgeon who had been on the Jurrice case. The doctor was rather testy when he answered Joe.

“I’ve been waiting at the Hotel Bragelonne,” he declared. “Expecting you to come back there. You walked out in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to check up my report.”

“I thought you had finished, doctor,” said Cardona.

“I had, practically,” quibbled the surgeon, “but how did I know that you were through with me? I called headquarters; they told me I could find you here.”

“Well, here I am. Sorry, doctor, to have kept you waiting. Come along with us while I look over an apartment. You can check up the Jurrice report while we’re there.”

Stepping from an automatic elevator on the third floor, Cardona and his companions found a detective waiting for them. The fellow produced a key that he had obtained from the janitor.

“Been here about fifteen minutes,” informed the dick. “This is Ramorez’s apartment — 3 H — but I haven’t gone into it yet. Haven’t seen anyone around.”

Joe took the key and unlocked the door. He stepped into a room that was pitch-black, because of lowered shades. Fumbling, Cardona found the light switch and pressed it. He looked about a tidy living room; then gazed suddenly toward the floor by an opened door.

“Look — look there!” exclaimed Cardona. “See it — that hand on the floor?”

DRAWING a revolver, Cardona bounded forward to the doorway, where only a human hand was visible, projecting from the next room. The light showed a sprawled body, when Cardona reached the edge of the doorway. A head was turned face down. Cardona stooped and tilted the face into the light.

“It’s Ramorez!” exclaimed the ace. “Carl Ramorez! Dead!”

“Strangled like Jurrice,” decided the police surgeon, methodically. “Hm-m-m. Step back, please, while I examine the body. Unless you want to go in and search the other room.”

“We’ll search the whole place,” affirmed Cardona.

They made the search while the doctor was examining the body of Ramorez. Finding no one, they returned and looked at the body. Cardona brought out his watch, noted the time and spoke to Clyde.

“It was twelve-fifty when we arrived at the Legrand,” stated Joe. “It’s one-fifty now. Exactly one hour. In that time, Ramorez not only made his getaway; but he came back here. Somebody was laying for him; and got him, like they did Jurrice.

“Yet who could have pulled it? We figure The Python; but Ramorez is the one we took for The Python. Remember that hiss of his, Burke? And a crew coming in when they heard it? I can’t figure it as it stands now. Ramorez coming back here—”

“You know this man?” The police surgeon interrupted with his query. He had risen from beside the body. “Tell me then, inspector, when did you last see him?”

“Just an hour ago,” replied Cardona. “I had him under arrest, down at the Legrand Hotel.”

“Very interesting, inspector.” The surgeon was studying his watch. “Let me see — it’s nearly two o’clock. That makes seven hours since Craig Jurrice was strangled. And one hour—”

“One hour ago, I saw this man, Ramorez—”

“Let me finish my statement, inspector. One hour after Jurrice was strangled, this man — whom you say is Ramorez — was murdered in a similar fashion.”

Cardona stared; then spoke.

“But we saw this dead man, doctor! Both Burke and myself. Shortly before one o’clock—”

“Then you saw a dead man walking,” retorted the police surgeon dryly.

“This man has been dead for six hours at least.” He pointed, wagging his finger toward the body of Carl Ramorez. “He was murdered before eight o’clock. Within one hour after the death of Craig Jurrice!”

The startling truth began to dawn on Joe Cardona. The intruder at the Legrand Hotel must have been The Python; that much was certain. But he had not been Carl Ramorez, much though he had resembled the dead Cuban. The Python had murdered Ramorez hours ago and had taken the dead man’s place.

“The Python,” mused Cardona, solemnly. “A double murderer — a master of disguise — the man in back of the fire and bloody mutiny on the Steamship Tropical—”

“A story, Joe?” queried Clyde, eagerly.

“Yes,” nodded Cardona. “Let it ride, Burke. Go after it strong. We’ll keep this crook on the run — this big-shot who calls himself The Python.”

LATER, reports came to The Shadow, in his sanctum. Harry and Cliff had left New Jersey, accompanied by Louis Revoort; and the treasure had gone with them. That point was settled; what now concerned The Shadow was the report from Clyde Burke.

Details regarding the deaths of Craig Jurrice and Carl Ramorez. To The Shadow, these told more than Joe Cardona had guessed. The strange behavior of Jurrice was explained. So was the trap which The Python had set at the old Cambia Hotel.

Beneath the glow of a shaded lamp, The Shadow inscribed three names:

His hand drew a line through the topmost name. Revoort — so The Python thought — had been eliminated, aboard the Tropical. That belief had caused The Python to concentrate upon Jurrice. He had watched Jurrice; when the fellow became too conspicuous at the steamship company’s office, The Python had decided that it might be well to deal with him.

Yet the treasure had been missing; and Jurrice was the only link. The Python must have learned that Jurrice was going back to the Bragelonne; thus informed, the crook had gone in there ahead of him. How? The Shadow’s whispered laugh told the answer.

The Python had entered the Bragelonne made up as Jurrice. It was he who had obtained the extra key. He had been lurking in Jurrice’s bedroom when the man entered the suite. The Python had hoped for a break, probably because one of his watchers had spotted Ramorez at the steamship office. The break had come — a call to Jurrice from Ramorez.

The Python must have learned Ramorez’s true address, the Balboa Apartments. He must have heard Jurrice say that he would go there. That would have been sufficient cause for The Python to strangle Jurrice. It was The Python — not the real Jurrice — whom Clyde Burke had met in the hotel corridor.

As Jurrice, The Python had slipped Clyde Burke and had visited Ramorez. He had learned the Cuban’s plans for communication with Revoort. He had strangled Ramorez; then, still using his ability as a make-up artist, he had disguised himself as the dead Cuban. Believing Revoort dead, The Python had guessed that the only person capable of taking the treasure hunter’s place would be The Shadow.

The pill-boxed room at the Cambia Hotel must long have been a ready trap; one that The Python had prepared for the reception of an unsuspecting foe. Having learned that Revoort did not know Ramorez’s actual address, The Python — as Ramorez — had made the Cambia his new abode. He had kept calling the Legrand, in case The Shadow came there.

THE SHADOW, in this reconstruction, had crossed out the names of Jurrice and Ramorez with heavier lines than he had used on Revoort’s name. The Python’s past actions were plain to The Shadow. The future had become The Shadow’s new concern. Slowly, his long, pointed finger tapped the blotted name of Craig Jurrice.

Jurrice was the man who had dickered, in hope of selling the regained treasure. The law would unearth facts concerning Jurrice. Through such discoveries, The Python could be traced. The Python, himself, must know that fact; having played for wealth and lost it, to The Shadow, The Python would also know that his only present game should be a cover-up of his activities.

The Shadow had won a victory; but his foe, The Python, had managed to retreat. The Shadow’s present strategy must be to harry his balked foe; to force The Python to the limit. Action would be necessary on The Python’s part, even when seeking cover, if the issue could be forcibly pressed by The Shadow.

There was a way to do it. The law could be stirred, through a prompt newspaper campaign. By rousing the press, The Shadow could bring facts to light concerning Craig Jurrice. The more the law gained, the worse would be The Python’s situation. The supercrook, driven to hiding, would have to order his remaining henchmen to cover of their own.

The Shadow had already planned a way to intercept new messages between The Python and his Coilmasters. Prepared for strike, unseen and unsuspected, The Shadow needed only to deliver the preliminary blow; that campaign of notoriety that would bring The Python into the limelight.