The Ribbon Clues

CHAPTER XVI. THE VITAL SECRET

“To gain the answer to our problem,” began The Shadow, “we must consider more than the mere letters which appear upon this ribbon. We must take into consequence the factors that inspired Milton Callard to write urgent messages to three trusted friends.”

Silence followed The Shadow’s quiet statement. The listeners were tense as they awaited new development.

“We may safely assume,” resumed The Shadow, “that Milton Callard had placed his wealth in some hiding place. The key to that strong box lay in a single word: one that he feared to trust to any single individual.

“So Milton Callard clipped a ribbon into three pieces. We hold one portion” — The Shadow lifted the blue silk square — “and its letters R X have led us to believe that the other portions bear two letters each.

“Of all the words in the English language, there cannot be many that contain those two letters together.

Still, the tracing of the proper word would be a difficult task, unless we found some way to limit it. I have discovered such a way. Through studying the very nature of this bit of ribbon.”

Listeners shifted. Commissioner Weston stepped forward. The Shadow, though leisurely in tone, was becoming impressive. His words were the forerunners of important findings. All present sensed that fact.

“Had the vital word been an ordinary one,” declared The Shadow, “Milton Callard would have written it upon a strip of paper. He might have used white ribbon and printed the letters roughly with a pen. Instead, he used a blue ribbon, on which were letters stamped in gold.

“Full letters, on a faded ribbon. Proof conclusive that Milton Callard did not prepare the ribbon specially. Instead, he used a ribbon that chanced to be available. One that had previously served a definite purpose.”

Commissioner Weston was on the verge of speaking. Mallikan was staring at The Shadow; the shipping man’s lips were set; his eyes showed a glimmer that might have been partial understanding. As Weston stopped; as Mallikan eased back in his chair, The Shadow spoke again.

“Such a ribbon,” he affirmed, “would be found in one place only. Particularly when we note that its faded color and dull-gold letters have a weather-beaten look. This bit of ribbon, gentlemen, was cut from the blue, gold-lettered band that once encircled a sailor’s hat.”

AN ejaculation came from Weston, as the commissioner thrust his hand forward to pick up the ribbon from the table. The Shadow had dropped the blue silk there. He was reaching for pencil and paper while he stared toward Mallikan. The shipping man was nodding; he could not have done otherwise.

“The key word,” asserted The Shadow, “is the name of a ship. That, alone, gives us an important lead. It tells us that we may be dealing with a proper name: that of some place or some person. Names are our first choice; in considering them, let us first put down the letters that we have.”

Upon the sheet of paper, The Shadow inscribed the letters R X. He showed them to Weston, who was now close by the table. The commissioner nodded.

“R, X,” said The Shadow, slowly. “Those letters cannot mark the beginning of a word. They might be the last two letters of a six-letter name. It is more likely, however, that they are two central letters.

“R and X must be preceded by a vowel. That limits us to a few letters: A, E, I, O, U — possibly Y. I have been going through the alphabet mentally, fitting consonants in front of those vowels; adding the letters R and X.”

“Like B, A, R, X?” inquired Weston. “B, E, R, X, and so on?”

“Exactly,” replied The Shadow, “and I have worked the process rapidly. Knowing that the name might be an odd one, yet quickly recognizable, I was swift in my process. As a result, I struck suddenly upon the word itself.”

To the left of the letters R X, The Shadow printed the letters X E. He pointed to the paper; Weston read the letters aloud.

“X, E, R, X,” repeated the commissioner. “X, E, R, X — it sounds like ‘zerx,’ as nearly as I can pronounce it”

“The name of a place,” prompted The Shadow, “or a name of a person — probably a famous one”

“Xerxes!” exclaimed Weston. “That is the name! The famous king of ancient Persia. Xerxes!”

WITH a calm nod, The Shadow inscribed the letters E S at the end of the line. He stretched forward and passed the paper to Mallikan. The shipping man stared at the larger-lettered name:

“Perhaps,” suggested The Shadow, “you can tell us something regarding a ship named the Xerxes?”

“I can,” declared Mallikan, with a solemn nod. “I must admit, Mr. Cranston, that I see the answer at last. You must believe me, commissioner, when I tell you that this possible connection never occurred to me until Mr. Cranston developed it.

“I understand why Milton Callard ordered the meeting in my office. Had three bits of ribbon been laid on my desk, I would have arranged them in different order until they formed a word. Then I could have told what I knew about the Steamship Xerxes.”

“You have heard of the boat?” queried Weston, eagerly.

“Yes,” replied Mallikan. “Anyone closely concerned with the India and China trade might have heard of the Xerxes.”

“You have traveled to the Orient, Cranston,” said Weston, turning to The Shadow. “Do you know of the Xerxes?”

“No,” replied The Shadow, calmly. “That was why I felt that Mr. Mallikan might prove indispensable. Otherwise we should have been forced to wade through shipping records.”

“What about David Callard?” demanded Weston of Mallikan. “Would he know of the ship?”

“Probably, if he heard the name,” returned Mallikan. “The Xerxes was a very old freighter that plied over various routes. Its last scheduled runs were between Calcutta and Hong Kong. The latter city is close to Canton, where Dave Callard was located.

“Some of the shipments on the Xerxes were sent to the interior when the boat unloaded at Hong Kong. Other goods were reshipped across the Pacific, through the Panama Canal to New York. Our company, the Indo-China Shipping Bureau, held a half interest in a fleet of freighters. The Xerxes belonged to a subsidiary company.”

“And the Xerxes is still in service?”

“No. A year ago, the fleet was broken up. The Xerxes became a tramp steamer, under command and ownership of its captain, William Jund. The old tub arrived here in New York and I understand that Jund tried to sell it. Apparently, he failed to do so.”

“Then where is the ship now?”

“Up the Hudson, near Poughkeepsie. Moored with a group of other forgotten vessels. Rusting away, totally neglected, unless Jund is still living aboard. Even with that, the ship would be going to absolute ruin. It has joined the ghost fleet.”

“The ghost fleet!”

“Yes. Vessels that have gone out of service. Ships that will never sail again, despite the hopes of their owners. The remnants of a once active merchant marine. Boats that could not survive a losing trade, but which have been kept intact in the slim hope that they may eventually be good for more than junk.”

MALLIKAN paused. Cardona was nodding wisely to indicate that he knew about the ghost fleet that the shipping man had mentioned. Weston also seemed to recall those old ships that were banked far up the Hudson River. It was The Shadow, however, who spoke.

“Suppose, Mallikan,” he said, quietly, “that today might be December fifth. That Ralgood and Shurrick were present with Hungerfeld; that this room represented your office. What would you tell them to do, once you had placed the three bits of ribbon together, to learn the name Xerxes?”

“That is easily answered,” replied Mallikan. “I would say to go up the Hudson some day. Take a look for the Xerxes; find out who is aboard the ship. If we should find Captain Jund, we could tell him why we came.”

“That’s the answer!” exclaimed Weston. “That is exactly what we shall do tomorrow morning. Cranston, you have done great work. Mallikan, you have my thanks.”

“You have mine,” acknowledged the shipping man, rising. “Apparently, commissioner, you have come to a solution of your problems. I can start my trip to Bermuda without qualms.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, the fifteen minutes has elapsed. It is time for me to start.”

Smiling, Mallikan shook hands with members of the group; then departed, accompanied by his two detective escorts. Commissioner Weston appeared elated as he chatted with Justin Hungerfeld. The Shadow, however, retained his fixed smile as he arose from the table.

“You are leaving, Cranston?” queried Weston. “I hope, that you would stay longer, while we discussed plans for tomorrow.”

“I am sorry, commissioner,” replied The Shadow. “I am entertaining in New Jersey this evening. Like Mallikan, I am running the risk of overstaying my time.”

“Very well. I shall call you in the morning.”

Joe Cardona stepped forward as the commissioner spoke. The Shadow detected a glum look on the sleuth’s face. He paused, waiting to hear what Cardona might have to say.

“Commissioner,” asserted Joe, “we ought to get up to that ghost fleet right away.”

“Why so, Cardona?” questioned Weston. “It is late in the afternoon. Darkness will arrive before we could get there. It would be difficult to find the Xerxes from the shore.”

“It wouldn’t be so tough from the river.”

“You mean we should go by water?”

“Sure, commissioner. We’ve got some speedy boats that can average better than thirty miles an hour. We can hit it straight up the river. No traffic, no trouble; and we run square into the ghost fleet when we get there.”

“An excellent idea, Cardona. But why have you shown all this zeal?”

“I’ve just had a hunch, commissioner. Dave Callard has grabbed two of these ribbons. If Mr. Cranston here could figure out the name of Xerxes from one pair of letters, maybe Callard could have done the same with two pair.”

“You are right, Cardona. We should visit the ghost fleet at once. Do you agree, Cranston?”

THE SHADOW considered. Then he spoke.

“The missing ribbons,” he declared, “bear the letters X E and E S. Yet together, I do not consider them to be as good a clue as the R X.”

“Why not?” demanded Weston. “They give the beginning of the word and the end.”

“Yes. But that fact might not be recognized. Anyone studying those two fragments might immediately pass by the letters X E, deciding that they would not be the beginning of a word.”

“And he would concentrate on E S as the first two letters?”

“Yes; and failing with them, he would believe that the last ribbon, the only one missing, would carry the all-important first letters. Perhaps his thought may have been that there were more than two letters on the first ribbon.”

“All good logic, Cranston. I see another point, also. If Mallikan, a shipping man, did not recognize that the ribbon was from a sailor’s hatband, it is unlikely that Dave Callard or anyone else would guess the fact.”

“Quite true, commissioner, If Mallikan failed to see what the ribbon was, another might have done the same.”

Joe Cardona offered an objection.

“Mr. Cranston guessed what the ribbon was,” vouchsafed the detective. “Don’t forget that, commissioner. Of course, the two most important letters are missing from the hunks of ribbon that young Callard has gotten hold of. But if he ever managed to grab this piece, he’d know the works.”

“He would not have to gain the ribbon,” remarked The Shadow. “If he holds the other two pieces, mere knowledge of the letters R X would serve as well. Remember, commissioner, you are dealing with a murderer who gained a head start.”

“We’ll start up there right away, Cardona,” decided Weston, suddenly. “Call headquarters. Arrange for the boats to be ready. Leave word where we will be.”

THE SHADOW spoke a quiet leave-taking; then strolled out into the hall as Weston began to talk to Hungerfeld and Cardona went to the telephone to put in his call. When the commissioner looked around, he saw that his friend Lamont Cranston had gone.

“Dash that appointment of Cranston’s,” ejaculated Weston. “I was going to insist that he cancel it and come along with us.”

“Headquarters on the wire, commissioner,” remarked Cardona. “I’m arranging for the boats. We can get two and use four men to each.”

“Have four men join us, then,” ordered Weston. “They can meet us at the pier. You and I can ride in one boat, Cardona.”

“Just the two of us, commissioner?”

“No. We already have two men here.” Weston indicated the dicks who had come in from Dolver’s.

“They will go along with us, Cardona.”

“What about Mr. Hungerfeld, commissioner? You’ll leave him here?”

“Yes. Markham can look out for him.”

The detective sergeant smiled when he heard the commissioner’s statement. As a bodyguard, Markham considered himself to be the equal of a squad.

Weston’s decision was indication that the commissioner also recognized the detective sergeant’s worth.

Justin Hungerfeld, eyeing Markham, made no request for other protection. The old man was also impressed by the bulky sergeant’s businesslike air.

Cardona completed arrangements, then glanced from the window. The afternoon was waning; it was getting close to dusk. There was still time for the run up to Poughkeepsie, although Cardona had a hunch that they would not make the trip before dusk.

The ace detective had exaggerated the speed of the police boats in order to sell Weston the idea of an immediate start. A trip by automobile could be made in less time; but Cardona knew that the commissioner would prefer the boats once they were aboard. Travel would seem swifter when ploughing along close to the water.

OTHER eyes than those of Joe Cardona were also surveying that darkening sky. The Shadow, riding southward through Manhattan, was still in the guise of Lamont Cranston as he gazed from the window of his limousine and studied the sky line of the city.

With one hand on the ready bag that contained his garments of black, The Shadow used the other to lift the speaking tube and give a quiet order to Stanley. The Shadow had decided to go elsewhere than to Lamont Cranston’s New Jersey home.

He had also picked a mode of travel different from those which Cardona had considered. His plan was revealed by the quiet words which he delivered through the speaking tube, just as the car approached the Holland Tunnel:

“Stop at the Newark airport, Stanley.”