The Ribbon Clues

CHAPTER X. THE FOCAL POINT

“WHAT do you think of it, Cardona?”

“We told Burke too much, commissioner. He’s gone berserk.”

“I don’t think so, Cardona. This story has merit. I have already acted upon its suggestions.”

Joe Cardona gaped as the police commissioner thumped a copy of the New York Classic. Cardona could see the firm expression that had set on Weston’s face.

“We are dealing with a murderer,” stated the commissioner. “You know and I know that Dave Callard is capable of any crime. What the Classic says is true. Death may threaten others who knew Milton Callard. We must locate them, Cardona.”

“All right,” agreed Joe, “but what’s the Classic butting in on it for? Look at this, commissioner. On the front page. An open letter to all persons who may have known Milton Callard and can give unusual facts about him. Asking such people to inform the Classic confidentially. That gripes me, commissioner.”

“It is a step beyond bounds,” admitted Weston. “Nevertheless, it is in the right direction. Remember, Cardona, I hold full authority. I can demand full information from the Classic; no matter what is learned there, the news will come to me.”

“They should have asked you to make the statement, commissioner. They’re trying to show us up.”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t get that point, commissioner?”

“I shall explain it, Cardona.” Weston leaned both elbows on his desk; his strong lips formed a smile beneath the pointed mustache. “Suppose no other friends of Milton Callard are threatened. That would mean wasted ammunition. Had we made this announcement, it would have been regarded as a cry for help. It could be justified only if some friends of Milton Callard should appear.”

“I get it now,” nodded Cardona. His expression showed appreciation of the commissioner’s canniness. “That’s a mighty good point. The Classic can afford to be a goat, if it sells extra editions while it’s doing it.”

“But I can’t afford to be one, Cardona.”

THERE was a pause. Weston picked up the newspaper and turned on a desk lamp to counteract the dusk. He found a large-typed paragraph and pointed it out to Cardona.

“While the Classic has chosen a campaign of its own,” smiled Weston, “it has added a suggestion that is also of great importance. One that we can logically follow. We shall take advantage of it, Cardona.

“Here, Burke speaks of the murderer. Burke speculates. He wonders what would have been Dolver’s fate had the murderer known that Dolver would overhear Shurrick’s dying words about the locket.”

“Young Callard would have bumped Dolver sure,” declared Cardona. “That was a lucky break for Dolver, all right.”

“Burke also emphasizes the description that Dolver gave,” added Weston. “Of course, we could have applied it to another man of Dave Callard’s build; but there is certainly a chance that Dolver could identify his assailant if the man should be captured.”

“That’s right,” acknowledged Cardona, studying the paragraph. “Say — it’s a hint that Dolver may be in danger. Read it close, commissioner. There’s a chance that young Callard will take it into his noodle to gun for Dolver!”

“Precisely, Cardona. That is why I called Courtney Dolver only half an hour ago.”

“At his home on Long Island?”

“Yes. To tell him that I had decided to place his residence under police protection.”

“Was Dolver alarmed?”

“Quite. He told me, though, that he was well guarded. He has three or four servants on the premises; all are competent men who can be trusted.”

“We are going out there?”

“Yes. As soon as Burke has arrived here.”

CARDONA’S jaw lowered at the commissioner’s statement. Weston laughed at the detective’s open-mouthed attitude.

“You will be interested, Cardona,” remarked the commissioner, “after you have seen me handle Burke. He will come here expecting to find me thoroughly annoyed. I shall take him by surprise.”

Scarcely had the commissioner finished speaking before a secretary entered to announce Mr. Burke of the Classic. A few minutes later, Clyde was ushered into the room. The Shadow’s agent approached a bit gingerly. He showed real astonishment when he received Weston’s warm handclasp.

“Grand work, Burke!” exclaimed Weston. “We thank you and the Classic for the efforts that you have undertaken. Finding friends of Milton Callard may be the solution to these baffling murders.”

“We’re ready to cooperate, of course,” acknowledged Clyde. “The M.E. told me to assure you of that, commissioner. Should our published request bring results, we shall notify you at once.”

“Quite right, Burke,” commended Weston. “I see that you have not forgotten the mistake that you made during the term of my predecessor, Wainwright Barth.”

“I’m laying off criticism,” grinned Clyde.

“Good,” decided Weston. “But from now on, Burke, we expect you to work with us. Let me know about these journalistic scoops before you release them. It will be to your advantage. In return, I shall show you direct consideration in reference to our own plans.”

“That sounds straight enough, commissioner. You mean—”

“I mean, Burke, that we are already taking new preventative measures against threatening crime. You are welcome to accompany Cardona and myself on our present mission. With the understanding that you will violate no confidence.”

“I agree to that, commissioner.”

“Very well. Burke” — Weston paused wisely — “we believe that Courtney Dolver may be in danger. We are going out to see him at his Long Island home. We feel positive that Dave Callard has regretted the fact that he did not murder Dolver last night.”

Weston spoke with a tone of definite belief. Clyde Burke gave no sign to show that he knew that Weston was merely building up the reporter’s own suggestion.

In fact, Clyde showed some surprise. Joe Cardona repressed a grin. He liked the way in which the commissioner was handling the reporter.

“We are starting at once,” added Weston. “Are you ready to go with us?”

“Absolutely,” returned Clyde Burke, warmly. “They’re not expecting me back at the office until you’ve finished with me. I’ll go along, commissioner. Glad to—”

A telephone buzzed its interruption. Weston picked up the instrument and held brief conversation; Cardona and Clyde heard him speak about Dolver’s. The commissioner concluded by giving information concerning the best route to the importer’s home.

“THAT was Mallikan,” declared Weston, as he hung up. “He’s read your story, Burke. He talked a bit worried.”

“On account of Dave Callard?” inquired Clyde.

“Yes,” replied Weston. “He says that since he is the only person in town who knew young Callard, he may be in danger. He doesn’t want trouble from a murderer.”

“How about Markham as his bodyguard?” queried Cardona.

“We can discuss that later,” chuckled Weston. “For the present, I prefer to accomplish two aims at once. Since we are going directly to Dolver’s, I told Mallikan to come there, also.”

“Alone?” asked Cardona.

“Certainly,” replied Weston. “He said he had a suspicion that he might have been watched recently; but I doubt that harm could befall him within the next hour. The roads are well traveled between here and Dolver’s home. Mallikan should undergo no risk driving out.”

The trio started from the office. They reached the commissioner’s big car; a police chauffeur piloted them eastward toward one of the huge bridges leading to Long Island. After they had crossed the East River, Weston made new comment.

“Bringing Mallikan to Dolver’s is a good plan,” announced Weston. “Mallikan knows Dave Callard by sight; Dolver encountered the rogue at the time of Shurrick’s murder. It would be wise for each to hear the other’s description.

“After that, we shall see to the protection of each man. If Callard is becoming desperate, he might be anxious to eliminate Mallikan as well as Dolver. Particularly, Cardona, since Callard has probably read the newspapers also.”

“That’s right, commissioner,” agreed the ace. “He knows that his game went blooey. Our pinning that gun of Ralgood’s on him was something he didn’t figure.”

It was completely dark by this time. As the commissioner’s car swung away from the main highway, its headlamps cut a swath through solid inkiness.

A QUARTER of a mile away from the boulevard, the chauffeur swung through an opening between two front hedges and brought the car to a stop near a gloomy portico. A light flashed on above the porch.

Someone in the house had heard the car arrive.

Weston and Cardona alighted; Clyde followed. The chauffeur pulled up ahead. The lights of the car showed a side hedge across the lawn of Dolver’s grounds; then those lights went dim as the chauffeur pressed the switch. The front door of the house opened.

A stocky servant peered out to the porch; turned about and spoke to someone. Courtney Dolver appeared; the tall importer stepped forward to greet the arrivals.

Handshakes were exchanged. Then the visitors entered, followed by Dolver and his servant. The big door slammed shut.

From a spot near the front hedge came the vague sound of a whispered laugh. The Shadow had arrived here beforehand. This was his focal point — for tonight. He had seen Clyde Burke with Weston and Cardona. With his agent within to report on doings there, The Shadow could remain amid the outer dark.