The Python

CHAPTER XXII MOVES BY NIGHT

“NINE-FIFTEEN, inspector. Time you were leaving, isn’t it?”

“I’m waiting for a call from the commissioner, Markham. He’s going to tell me where to meet him.”

“There’s the telephone bell now.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I hear it.”

Joe Cardona swung about at his desk. He picked up the telephone and spoke promptly.

“Detective headquarters. Acting Inspector Cardona speaking… Oh, yes… Hello, commissioner. You’re ready for me to start? What’s that?…”

Looking from the other side of the desk, Detective Sergeant Markham saw a rigid expression grip the usually steady features of Joe Cardona. The acting inspector’s eyes took on a bulging stare.

Markham saw Joe try to speak and falter. For the moment, it seemed as if Cardona were due for an epileptic stroke. Markham gazed astounded; he had never seen Joe exhibit such symptoms before.

Then the spasm ended. Though still tense, Cardona managed to control himself and regain his voice. In a hoarse tone, Joe stated:

“Yes, commissioner… Go ahead… I’m waiting for instructions…”

After that, Cardona listened. He was hearing a weird voice, a sinister whisper that had supplanted Weston’s precise tones. That was why Cardona had stared and faltered. He knew that whisper for the voice of The Shadow. The mysterious caller had first given a perfect imitation of the police commissioner’s voice; then, with Cardona’s attention captured, The Shadow had swung to his own inimitable tones.

“Yes… Yes…” With intervals between his affirmatives, Joe Cardona was punctuating The Shadow’s statements. “I understand… Yes… My cooperation? Absolutely… But if I am questioned later… Yes, that’s right. I won’t need to explain anything… Yes…”

A click had ended the call. Cardona sat holding the receiver to his ear. Staring across the desk, he saw Markham still watching him. Joe managed a smile and added:

“Yes, commissioner.”

With that, he hung up the dead receiver. He motioned Markham toward the door with one hand while he reached for pad and pencil with the other.

“Call the car for me, Markham,” ordered Cardona.

AS soon as the detective sergeant was gone, Cardona began to mumble almost incoherent phrases. Mechanically, he was writing down notations.

“Danton Califax — so that’s the fellow we’re going to see, whoever Danton Califax is. This lawyer — the commissioner spoke about one — his name is Bornick. Lester Bornick. The Python — he knows about it — and he’s getting set for us—”

The telephone bell rang while Cardona was muttering. Picking up the receiver, Joe responded. Again, he heard the voice of Commissioner Weston; this time, however, the tones did not change.

“You’re ready, commissioner?” queried Joe. “All right, sir… Meet you, shall I? Very well… At the residence of Danton Califax… Versailles Place… By the East River…

“By the way, commissioner. What was the name of that lawyer? Yes… The man who’s taking you there… I see. Lester Bornick… I just wanted to know who he was, since you’re all ready to start out with him…”

Hanging up, Cardona stared at the wall. His head was nodding mechanically as he mumbled once more.

“It was The Shadow,” affirmed Joe, aloud. “The Shadow, right enough. He had it all straight. Califax — Bornick — the place. Since he’s right on that, there’s something to the rest—”

Cardona’s speculation ended. With the pencil he began to write out instructions on the paper; orders that were indelibly pressed upon his mind. Cardona had received The Shadow’s aid before; and less than ten minutes ago, he had made a promise to his mysterious caller. Convinced after Weston’s call, Cardona was going through with the duty that The Shadow had commanded.

“Car’s ready, inspector.”

It was Markham, at the door. Cardona kept on writing, giving an order as he worked.

“Call Inspectors Lavin and Bray,” he told Markham. “You come in with them. I want all three of you to hear what I have to say.”

Markham went to deliver the order. Cardona kept on writing, murmuring to himself:

“Ten-thirty — East River — empty tenements — side lawn — back door — The Python—”

Lavin and Bray arrived, Markham with them. Cardona showed them his penciled papers.

“Read these over,” he ordered. “Instructions from the commissioner. Follow them to the letter. Not one slip-up. Understand?”

The men nodded their heads. Cardona strode from the office, his swarthy face grim. He had taken chances, giving those orders as if they had been the commissioner’s. The instructions were not even Cardona’s own. They were The Shadow’s.

Yet Cardona realized that if the future proved the worth of those instructions, no explanations would be needed. If, on the contrary, expected trouble did not come, he could merely claim later that he had taken certain precautions.

WHILE Cardona was realizing thus, two men were holding conversation elsewhere. The gist of their remarks was proof that The Shadow’s message carried import. The two men were Coilmasters of The Python. Luke Duronne and Albert Thurney, standing by the window of the latter’s apartment.

“Half past nine,” Duronne was saying. He looked across the city. “The flash-backs quit more than half an hour ago. Well — everyone must have gotten his orders.”

“Everyone has,” assured Thurney.

The suavity of the one made Duronne stare. Tugging at his mustache, the crook who had escaped the Tropical made a significant remark.

“You seem to know a lot about it, Thurney.”

“I do,” agreed Thurney. “What’s more, Duronne, I have a few things to tell you. My instructions, that I received tonight, were very illuminating.”

“Did The Python tell you who he is?”

“No. I wouldn’t know him if I saw him.”

“That wouldn’t be good policy.”

“Quite true. But let us be serious, Duronne. The Python has lost out on that treasure that Revoort was bringing to Ramorez. What’s more, all this newspaper howl has placed him in a tight spot. The Python — murderer of Jurrice and Ramorez — maybe he’s killed Revoort, too.

“We both know the trouble, Duronne. The Shadow managed to keep in the game. He has the swag. All that The Python can do is close out — for the present, anyway. So he’s doing it in a big way.”

“By going after Califax’s gems?” queried Duronne. “Say — they’re not worth more than fifty grand!”

“That isn’t what counts,” declared Thurney. “The Python already has more than a million in swag that he took from those last jobs. He can afford to close up shop for a while. He wants to scatter his outfits, making it look like he pulled a last stab and is through.”

“That’s logical, Thurney. Well — the getaway on tonight’s job will be a cinch. The whole thing is made to order. We’ll all duck under cover. The only trouble is, we won’t be bringing the Califax swag back to New York, so The Python can get it. Of course, it’s small change to him.”

“He wants it kept intact, Duronne. You received that order yourself. You and I are the ones to keep it. You were told that, too. There’s a chance, though, that I won’t be with you. In that case, you’re to hold the swag alone.”

DURONNE looked puzzled.

“Here’s the low-down,” stated Thurney. “I’m the man who tipped off The Python to the fact that Califax had gems. One of my Coils — fellow named Warthrope — is a servant at Califax’s. He listens in on conferences.”

“He does, eh? Say — Warthrope must be the fellow who learned that the commissioner would be at Califax’s tonight?”

“Probably he was,” replied Thurney. “Warthrope, however, makes contact direct through Laxley; he was lucky enough to get a room that opens toward the tower. But here’s the rub, Duronne. Califax knows me, because I used to call on his niece. Califax’s lawyer — Bornick — knows me, too, because I had him up here to talk about some stocks; and I’ve been to his office since then.”

“You think they may name you to the police?”

“One of them may. It’s obvious that someone must have been watching Jurrice. Califax — or Bornick for that matter — may think it’s me.”

“Well, what if—”

“What if I’m named?” Thurney chuckled. “Warthrope will tip me off, if I am. He and Warring will clear out; and I’ll go my own way. Which won’t be the direction that the police will trail. That’s all fixed.”

“Say — that means—”

“That I’ll be listed as The Python. Which is exactly what The Python wants. He’s playing for that bet tonight. That’s why I may not join you, Duronne.”

“That’s a sweet stunt, Thurney. They trail you; they can’t find you. You’re The Python — so they’ll think — and even The Shadow won’t get wise. I get my part in the play. Leave it to me to wait for word from The Python. But say — shouldn’t you be getting a head start?”

“I don’t need one. What’s more, I’d be a sap to blow if my name’s not mentioned. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get the low-down from Warthrope.”

Duronne nodded; his gesture was commendation of The Python’s craftiness. Warring came in from the other room and announced:

“Nearly ten o’clock, sir.”

“Time for me to be joining up,” decided Duronne. “So long, Thurney.”

Albert Thurney remained by the window. Staring eastward, he watched unblinking lights of blue; then spoke to his valet.

“Nearly ten o’clock, Warring,” remarked Thurney. “I can picture Warthrope, sneaking upstairs to that room of his. With the back door open, ready to scram if the game gets hot.”

THURNEY’S visualization was a bit belated. Warthrope had already reached his third-floor room in Danton Califax’s home. He was stooping in the corner, lifting the false radio cover from his dictograph receiver. Voices came to the servant’s ears. The conference had begun in the study below.

“We are most interested in The Python,” Commissioner Weston was saying. “If either of you gentlemen have any idea who he may be, tell us that fact before you state others.”

“I believe I know who he is.” Warthrope recognized Bornick’s tone. “I think that Mr. Califax will agree with me. I refer to a young man named Albert Thurney. Remember, Califax? You asked me about him.”

“I did.” Califax was replying. “But you doubted my suspicion, Bornick.”

“I have changed my opinion. I have seen Thurney since. I strongly suspect him as the criminal, for reasons which I shall state later.”

“You have Thurney’s address?” inquired Weston. Apparently, Bornick must have nodded a reply, for the commissioner added: “Write it down, Cardona. Then call headquarters and tell them to arrest Albert Thurney.”

Darkness was creeping in upon Warthrope. The servant did not realize it as he stooped above the dictograph receiver in the dimly lighted corner. Warthrope had heard news that he knew might come.

It was his cue to take to flight; to pass the word along to Thurney and Warring, before the police could reach the apartment. Warthrope arose and started to replace the cover of his fake radio.

It was then that approaching darkness took living form. From the blackness that edged the room, a cloaked figure swooped forward upon the spy. Warthrope heard a swish; he tried to blurt a cry as he wheeled around to encounter an attacker who had come upon him like a shrouded ghost.

“The Shadow!”

WARTHROPE could only gurgle his recognition of this formidable antagonist. The cloaked attacker clutched his throat with choking hands and pinned the treacherous underling to the floor. As Warthrope lay gasping, gloved hands bound his wrists with thongs; then tied his ankles. A gag was jammed between Warthrope’s lips.

The Shadow lifted the shell from the listening apparatus. He clicked a button; again voices came from the room below. Stooped by the floor The Shadow had become the silent listener to the conference in Danton Califax’s study.

While he heard, The Shadow watched. From Warthrope’s window, he could see that signal tower where Burbank still held control, to relay any of The Python’s messages. No longer did blue light flicker. The Shadow knew that The Python’s plans remained unchanged.

Moving in from darkness, The Shadow had first captured the signal room, the heart of The Python’s insidious system. His present step had been to gain Warthrope’s listening post, a spot that might later prove of vital import.

Meanwhile, between those strokes, The Shadow had thrust plans upon Joe Cardona — orders which the ace sleuth had accepted. And as a final touch, by his elimination of Warthrope, he had prevented the flight of Albert Thurney, who — uninformed of happenings — would remain at his apartment, to be captured by the law.

The Python’s Coils were tightening; but no victory lay within their grasp. Soon they would be writhing, gripped within the power of The Shadow!