The Triple Trail

CHAPTER VI THE LONE TRAIL

A KEY turned in the lock. The door of Room 2536 swung open. A big shouldered man stared into the dully-lighted room. Behind him were two others, one in uniform.

“Look!” The gasp came from the first man, a house dick. “There — near the window!”

The fellow was pointing to Treblaw’s body. As his companions pressed him, he advanced unsteadily and reached the spot where the dead man lay. The second dick and the policeman peered over his shoulder.

“Dead!” ejaculated the first dick. “Say — that call we got wasn’t phony. This man’s been murdered—”

He paused suddenly. A sharp interruption had come from the second house detective. Moving back from the body, this fellow had chanced to glance toward the door. There he had seen a moving shape in black.

The Shadow, shrouded in a corner of the room, had started a stealthy progress toward the door, hoping to depart while the trio remained astounded at sight of Treblaw’s body. The second dick, turning squeamishly, had spied the cloaked form as it neared the door.

“Get him!” exclaimed the second dick, to the officer beside him. “Get him!”

Suiting action to his own words, the dick sprang toward the moving shape. The Shadow wheeled. Coming in to meet his opponent, he caught the dick’s body in a flying grip that hoisted the fellow halfway to the ceiling.

The policeman was spinning forward. Anticipating the move, The Shadow hurled the struggling detective squarely against the bluecoat. Bowled over by the human missile, the cop went sprawling on the floor, with the dick rolling upon him.

The Shadow’s surge did not stop. Coming forward with his swing, he encountered the first dick rising from beside Treblaw’s body. A gloved fist swept through the gloom. It clipped the dick’s chin and dropped the man to the floor.

Clearing Treblaw’s body, The Shadow reached the window. His tall form swung through the opening, then disappeared with a surprising suddenness. He was gone before any one of the three men could spot the direction of his flight.

The policeman was coming to his feet. Looking about, he saw the two dicks rising — one rubbing his chin; the other holding his head in dazed fashion. Seeing no sign of the assailant, the officer dashed toward the door. He reached the corridor and headed toward the elevators. No one in sight.

Puzzled, yet realizing necessity for action, the policeman drew a whistle and blew a shrill blast that sounded throughout the entire floor.

An elevator opened. A puzzled operator looked out. The policeman bawled orders. The operator nodded, closed the door and dropped toward the ground floor to spread the alarm.

The officer headed back to the room. He found one detective with a drawn gun; the other was calling the desk.

THE tall, stepped walls of the Hotel Goliath were ornamented terraces that rose to a height of thirty stories. The upper steps of the mammoth building were set in too far to be viewed from the street below.

Hence no one from beneath caught sight of the beetle-like figure that was following a precarious upward course. A black blotch against the dulled front of the great building, The Shadow was performing the act of a human fly.

On occasions, The Shadow scaled difficult walls with the aid of suction disks that gave him a firm grip against the surface. He was performing his present ascent without the suction devices. He did not need them, thanks to the cornices and facings that were ready to hand. In fact, his climb lessened in difficulty as he neared the summit of the building.

The Shadow’s course brought him to the topmost parapet — a high wall that surrounded the central portion of the roof. Mounting this, The Shadow encountered a low, spiked fence. Beyond it were clusters of cedar trees, set at intervals.

Scaling the fence, The Shadow dropped between the parapet and a clump of cedars. There he divested himself of cloak and hat. He unrolled his flexible briefcase and inserted the black garments. He left the briefcase by the wall and sauntered from the cedars.

The roof formed a promenade; half a dozen persons were standing by open portions, looking out over the city. The air was chilly at this height; hence the crowd was small. No one observed the tall personage who stepped in from a spot beside the wall. Unchallenged, The Shadow strolled toward a doorway that led inside.

This was an enclosed solarium that served as the hotel library. A dozen persons were about; the few who noted The Shadow’s entrance took him to be another guest. As he seated himself beside a table, The Shadow noticed that the stairway door bore a huge lock.

A smile appeared upon the thin lips of the mask-like face. No search for a fugitive would be made up here. The Shadow looked toward a table in the corner where a librarian was seated. A telephone bell was ringing. The librarian answered it.

Finished with his call, the librarian stepped from his table. A bespectacled individual, he hemmed and hawed to attract attention. Then, as people looked toward him, he made an announcement.

“There has been some trouble downstairs,” explained the librarian. “The police are looking for a fugitive. He could not have come up here. But the elevators are being watched. If anyone wishes to go downstairs, I shall summon a special elevator to take them to the lobby.”

A few persons expressed the desire to leave. The librarian put in a prompt call. An elevator arrived, and descended with half a dozen passengers, all checked by a policeman who came with the elevator.

The Shadow remained, reading a magazine that he had taken from the table.

A quiet hour passed. At length the librarian made a new announcement. The search had been given up; elevators could be used as desired. The Shadow waited a while longer, then strolled out on the roof to find it totally deserted. Reclaiming his briefcase, he returned to the solarium and took an elevator to the lobby.

LATER, The Shadow reached his sanctum. His presence was made manifest by the sudden appearance of the bluish light in the corner of the room.

The Shadow reached for the earphones. He knew that reports should be ready; Burbank’s voice responded to The Shadow’s call.

“Report,” came The Shadow’s order.

“Report from Burke,” informed Burbank. “He has just left the Hotel Goliath. Interviewed Detective Joe Cardona regarding the murder of Stanton Treblaw.”

“Proceed.”

Burbank’s voice gave details that fitted The Shadow’s own examination of Treblaw’s room. The type of murder; the fact that the room was rifled — these had been observed by inspecting officers. The police theory was chance robbery.

“The surgeon’s statement,” declared Burbank, “sets the time of death at a few minutes after nine o’clock. At quarter past nine, someone put in a call to Treblaw’s room. It was not answered. At quarter of ten, a call came to the hotel desk, from outside, advising an investigation of Room 2536.

“Two house detectives and a policeman went there. They encountered an unknown assailant, who escaped. A search failed to uncover him. It is believed that he made a get-away before the alarm was given.”

A pause. The Shadow responded: “Report received.”

“Report from Shrevnitz,” announced Burbank, promptly. “He took a man from the Hotel Goliath to the Doswind Apartments on Fifty-fourth Street. Ten minutes running time. Noted the bell that the man pressed. Examined it later.

“The name is Tully Kelk. Vincent paid a later visit to the same apartment house. Kelk lives on the third floor, Apartment 3 F. Vincent can arrange to occupy Apartment 3 G, now vacant, across the hall.”

“Reports received,” pronounced The Shadow. “Instructions: Vincent to occupy the apartment at the Doswind. Shrevnitz to remain in that vicinity. Burke to cover headquarters.”

“Instructions received.”

“Marsland to conduct investigation in the underworld, to gain information concerning movements of mobsters who might have had part in the Treblaw killing.”

“Instructions received.”

The bluish light clicked off. The sanctum was in darkness.

But The Shadow’s work had not yet finished. He, too, was faring forth to make investigations of his own. He knew that new clues might be found in the confines of the underworld.

DOWN at detective headquarters, Clyde Burke and other reporters were talking with a stocky, swarthy-faced man who sat behind a battered desk. They were worrying Detective Joe Cardona, acting inspector in the Treblaw case.

“You want my theory,” growled Cardona, studying the faces before him, “so I’m giving it to you. But remember — it’s not final. We’ve got two facts to work on. Treblaw was killed about nine o’clock. His place was rifled; but when they found the body, some guy was still there. Close to an hour later.”

“How do you figure that happened, Joe?” quizzed Clyde.

“I’m coming to it,” stated the detective. “There must have been a couple of guys after Treblaw. One got in there and bumped the old man. Then he beat it and called back to make sure Treblaw was dead. Finding it clear, he went around to grab what swag there might be. That accounts for the first telephone call.”

“Right.”

“Well, the second guy shows up. Figuring he’s due there, the first bozo called the hotel, just to crimp the other man’s game. He did it right enough; the second bird nearly got nabbed for what the first one did.”

“Then you’re not looking for the man who got away?”

“I’m looking for the man who murdered Stanton Treblaw. So far the motive looks like robbery. I’ve called Treblaw’s home in Droverton, New Jersey. I’m going out there tomorrow to find out more. That’s all I’ve got to say for tonight.”

Cardona thumped his desk, arose and strode from the office. An ace sleuth who worked on hunches, Cardona had hit one good guess tonight: namely, that the person who attacked two house dicks and a policeman was not the murderer of Stanton Treblaw.

But outside of that one feature, Cardona’s theory lacked merit. The ace detective would have been astounded had he known that the final visitor to Treblaw’s room was The Shadow!

Oddly, The Shadow, too, was working on a theory which involved a double visit. His view of Treblaw’s body had convinced him that a squad of killers had murdered the old collector. But The Shadow was also taking into account the arrival of a second person after Treblaw’s death; one who was already playing a cunning part in the scheme of things.

That man was Tully Kelk, who lived in Apartment 3 F at the Doswind Apartments on Fifty-fourth Street. As yet, the trailing of Kelk constituted The Shadow’s only clue. But with it for a start, the master sleuth saw possibilities that had not dawned upon Detective Joe Cardona.

For Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was now close by to keep tabs on Tully Kelk, while Moe Shrevnitz, taxi driver extraordinary, was available to take up any trail that Kelk might give.

From these two aids, The Shadow was expecting prompt developments that would lead to an ultimate solution of committed crime. For The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, could play hunches on occasion. And his present hunch was that Tully Kelk had provided an important clue in the complicated chain of crime.