Treasures of Death

CHAPTER XIII CARDONA’S TURN

TO Detective Joe Cardona, the murder of Compton Salwood brought unusual complexities. When he had set out for Salwood’s shop, Joe had believed that he was visiting a madman. He could see no connection between the interior decorator and the manuscript that had been supposedly stolen from the home of Shattuck Barliss.

The sight of Salwood’s dead body; the forms of five dead and wounded mobsters on the floor of the front shop; the quick escape of one man through the window — these were factors that were quite as important as they were baffling.

When definite facts were concerned, Joe Cardona was the man to follow them. What the detective lacked in deductive reasoning, he possessed in proclivity for action. When morning had arrived, Joe appeared in the office of Inspector Timothy Klein and laid a full report upon the desk.

“Tell me about it, Joe,” suggested the inspector.

“There’s a lot to tell,” declared the detective. “I’ve talked with young Barliss and I’ve found out a connection with Compton Salwood.”

“Barliss knew him?”

“No; but his uncle did. Salwood redecorated the library for old Shattuck Barliss. There’s a chance that a real manuscript was stolen there and that Salwood knew about it.”

“A good start.”

“That’s not all. I followed the lead and called up Wendel Hargate. He told me, when I questioned him, that Salwood had fixed up his place also. He was rather gruff about it; seemed annoyed because I called. But it’s possible that Salwood could have known about something phony up there, too.”

“You searched Salwood’s shop?”

“All the way through. No missing manuscripts, though. It’s tough to figure just how Salwood stood. Maybe he was a crook; maybe he knew what crooks were doing. He was scared when he called me. He had reason to be.”

“What about the mobsters?”

“Sooky Downing’s crew. I’ve questioned them. They don’t know anything. The only one who was in on the know was Sooky, and as luck would have it, he was one of the two who was killed in the fight.”

“Then the man who escaped—”

“Is unidentified. It was like this, inspector. Sooky was ready to sell his gang to the highest bidder. Some fellow made a deal with him, so the wounded gangsters tell me. They went to Salwood’s and barged in through the window. Sooky told them to keep their rods tight — no shooting was the order.

“But Sooky spotted some guy inside the place and started the trouble himself. The rest of the crowd pitched in. They got theirs; and some one knifed Salwood in his office.”

“Then what about the man who escaped?”

“That’s just it. Maybe he murdered Salwood. He may have been the guy who battled Sooky’s mob. On the other hand, I’m wondering about the fellow who hired Sooky. Two of the wounded men say they think he was along. The third isn’t sure about it. None of them know who the fellow was anyhow.”

“You landed there after the fight?”

“Yeah. That’s what makes it more puzzling. Who let me in after I rang the bell? I don’t think Salwood did, though he might have gotten the knife just after he pushed the button to open the back door. It doesn’t seem logical that the murderer would have done it.”

Inspector Klein nodded thoughtfully. He picked up the report and began to study it. He read the details that Cardona had just mentioned. His face showed a perplexity that equaled that of the detective.

“We know one guy got out,” declared Cardona emphatically. “There’s no clew as to who he was, but I’m tracing Sooky Downing’s actions during the past few days. In the meantime, I’m taking Compton Salwood’s statement as he gave it to me over the telephone. He stated that his game was up; that he wanted to tell all he knew.”

“He was a crook, all right,” decided Klein, as he studied the report.

A DETECTIVE appeared, bringing a newspaper. Cardona seized it and began to study the reports of last night’s fray. His face showed varied changes. Klein watched him and knew that Cardona was finding paragraphs he liked, as well as some he did not.

“These reporters are all wet,” declared Cardona. “They’ve got the whole thing garbled. They’ve interviewed Barliss about his manuscript and Hargate about his. Barliss talked to them; Hargate wouldn’t.”

The detective who had entered handed Cardona another sheet. Joe grinned as he began to scan the headlines. This was a copy of the Classic. Joe knew that he could rely upon Clyde Burke for a fair report.

Suddenly, Joe’s pleased look turned to chagrin. The detective threw the newspaper upon the desk and pounded it with his fist.

“I’ll fix Burke for this!” he exclaimed. “He’s gone crazy! Look at that! See what he says there. He’s branding Compton Salwood as a crook whose activities have run up into millions! Thefts of rare books and manuscripts of tremendous value.”

“He’s given you credit for finding it out,” observed Klein. “These reporters are exaggerators anyway. They’re paid to be—”

“Credit!” Joe Cardona uttered a contemptuous snort. “What do you mean, credit? He says that I’ve started investigations throughout the entire East — that I’ve promised startling developments by noon today—”

He broke off in a rage and crunched the copy of the Classic between his hands. As he threw the newspaper on the floor and turned toward the door, Cardona showed a purplish tinge on his swarthy face.

Inspector Klein tried to calm the outburst. He failed. At this critical moment, however, something occurred to quell Cardona’s rising wrath. A detective came into the office carrying three telegrams.

“They came in for you, Joe,” the man declared. “I signed for them.”

Cardona tore open the first envelope. He stared at the message it contained in amazement.

He tore open the second. His eyes were bulging as he read its lines. After he opened the third, all three fluttered from his hands.

Klein plucked the topmost telegram from the desk. He read its capitalized message. The telegram was from Baltimore. It was worded:

“Hubert Dallas!” exclaimed Klein. “Say — He’s the big chain-store magnate down in Maryland. How did you link him up with this, Joe?”

Cardona made no reply. He was puzzled and at a loss for words.

KLEIN was picking up the second telegram. Its message was similar to the first; it came from a wealthy man in Philadelphia who stated that he had been robbed of a priceless first edition. His telegram stated that Compton Salwood might be implicated. A bogus volume had been left in place of the genuine one.

The third wire told the same story. It was from Boston. While Klein was reading it, a detective entered to tell Cardona that he was wanted on the telephone in his own office. Joe hurried there.

“This is David Surrey,” came the call. “Calling from Miami, Florida about—”

Cardona recognized the name. David Surrey was a prominent sportsman who lived on Long Island.

“Received your wire,” informed Surrey. “Just called my home on Long Island. They looked through the books in my study and found my collection of Poe manuscripts gone.

“They were in a special binding, which I kept in a strong box. My secretary examined them and found that they are blanks, following the title page. Some one stole the originals. Compton Salwood could have done it.”

“You received my telegram?” Cardona’s question was incredulous.

“Yes,” came Surrey’s voice, “it was delivered on my yacht, anchored here at Miami. If you will call my home, you can get all the details. My secretary knows just when Salwood came out to do a decorating job. Those manuscripts are worth two hundred thousand dollars. Originals of Edgar Allan Poe. I am counting on your aid in recovering them, Mr. Cardona.”

Joe was stupefied after he hung up the receiver. While he waited, puzzled, the telephone rang again. The call was from Fleer Talbot a wealthy man who lived on Riverside Drive. He, too, had received a telegram. He had discovered the loss of three books that he valued at a total of sixty thousand dollars.

“Do you have the telegram that I sent you?” questioned Cardona.

“Yes,” was the reply. “It’s right here.”

“What time did you receive the telegram?”

“About an hour ago. It was a night message.”

“Would you mind reading it aloud?” requested Cardona, “I want to make sure that it was correctly sent.”

“All right,” returned Talbot. “The message is as follows: Examine your collection for forged items. Stop. Suspect Compton Salwood. Stop. Notify me detective headquarters.”

“That is all?” quizzed Cardona.

“All except your signature,” informed Talbot.

“O.K.,” said the detective. “I’ll be up to see you, Mr. Talbot. Salwood has been murdered; we haven’t found the stolen books and manuscripts yet, but we’re after every clew.”

Cardona smiled grimly as he sat at his desk. He began to make notations of these last two calls. He realized that this was the time for bluff. Some one — a person in the know — had sent those telegrams last night. The credit was going to Joe Cardona.

The detective had no trace of exactly what had happened. He did not know of the filing index that had been purloined from Compton Salwood’s office. He did not know that The Shadow had gone through that list.

How could Cardona have known that The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, had called Burbank by telephone from near the Holland Tunnel? How could he have known that Burbank had sent a stock telegram with Cardona’s signature to every person on the list which The Shadow had gained at Salwood’s?

Not for a moment did Cardona suspect that Clyde Burke had also acted under instructions. The report in the Classic had presumably been an exaggeration; actually it was a preparation for the bombshell that had now been dropped.

Cardona’s one reaction was a feeling of friendliness to Clyde Burke for the mistake that the reporter had made. Cardona was also wise enough to see that it would be best to take advantage of the break that had come his way; to let people believe that he, Cardona, had actually sent the telegram.

That suggestion might not go with Inspector Klein, but the fact did not worry Joe. He intended to discuss the matter later with the inspector. The big job at present was to get on the trail of the missing manuscripts.

But Joe Cardona realized, for the first time, the hugeness of the case that confronted him. Until the telegram and phone calls had arrived, he had figured that Compton Salwood’s activities had been of a comparatively minor nature, restricted to the theft of two Villon manuscripts.

The turn of events showed Cardona that there was more in back of it. As Burke had indicated in the Classic, a gigantic scheme had been uncovered. Some master crook had arranged robberies by means of clever substitutions, hoping that his crimes would not be discovered until long after the work had been done.

The supercrook had sent Compton Salwood to his doom. The interior decorator had been due to leave for a meeting with his hidden thief by eleven o’clock last night. Salwood had remained in his office. Cardona had arrived too late to save him.

Amid all this, Cardona felt a secret satisfaction as he recognized the hand of one who, like himself, was on the side of right. Some secret investigator had learned facts regarding the game in which Salwood had served as pawn. That investigator had turned the tide in Cardona’s favor.

The grim smile remained upon the detective’s lips. Well did Cardona decide upon the identity of the being who had aided him. In his own conflicts with men of crime, Cardona had received such aid before.

Behind the struggle that now impended, Joe Cardona could guess the spectral presence of The Shadow!