He folded the envelope and placed it in his vest pocket. He dropped the pad in a pocket of his coat.
Then to the wastebasket. Scattering ashes with his foot, Cardona peered in search of other undestroyed fragments. He found none. With a shrug of his shoulders, the detective turned out the desk light and left the apartment.
TEN minutes afterward, a strange, grotesque figure came suddenly into view outside of the deserted apartment. Looming from the stairway, this shape looked like a phantom materialized from night.
A tall personage, clad in cloak of black, his head topped by a slouch hat with turned down brim, The Shadow had arrived upon the spot where murder had been followed with justly delivered death.
The Shadow merged with darkness as he passed the broken door. The tiny circle of a small flashlight glimmered on the floor. Methodically, The Shadow was beginning a search of his own.
The Shadow had received a full report from Clyde Burke. Presumably, his agent had gained full knowledge of all that Joe Cardona had discovered. Clyde had assured Burbank of that fact. Cardona had departed; The Shadow’s turn had come.
The flashlight went through with its searching spots of light. The spots where the bodies had been; the rifled drawers of the desk; these came under full inspection. Next the ashes from the wastebasket.
Here The Shadow saw that nothing could be learned. An old newspaper had furnished the blaze in which Crane’s documents had met destruction. Cardona’s cursory inspection of the ashes had ended all possibility of noting any burned fragments. The overturned basket stood for what The Shadow thought it to be; an outburst of impatience on the part of Joe Cardona.
The flashlight went out. The Shadow’s cloak swished as the mysterious being made his departure. This inspection furnished no additional material to the statements relayed by Clyde Burke. The Shadow could find no new clew.
Fate had played an odd trick tonight. Clyde Burke had left too soon; The Shadow had arrived too late.
In the interim, Joe Cardona had made an accidental discovery.
The detective, alone, possessed the single clew that remained to tell of Strangler Hunn’s purpose in slaying MacAvoy Crane. Joe Cardona did not know the meaning of that shred of evidence.
Had The Shadow found that torn paper, his keen brain might have divined the meaning of its fragmentary statement: MEN 13. But luck had been in Joe Cardona’s favor.
Upon that single clew rested the fate of living men. In Joe Cardona’s possession, its existence unknown to The Shadow, the bit of paper might allow the perpetration of further murder.
Two freaks of chance. The paper floating from destruction; its discovery by Joe Cardona — these were to be the forerunners of contemplated crime!
The Shadow, though he suspected further purpose behind Strangler Hunn’s murder of MacAvoy Crane, had not yet learned the facts that he required.
Only time and The Shadow’s keen ability to ferret crime would enable the master sleuth to undo the harm that had occurred tonight.
A task was rising before The Shadow — a task that would require the intuition of a superman — all because of the clew upon which Joe Cardona had so unhappily blundered!
CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW FOLLOWS
IT was late the next afternoon. Joe Cardona was seated at his desk in headquarters. The detective looked up from a stack of papers to see Clyde Burke at the doorway.
“Hello, Burke,” greeted the sleuth. “Great stuff, that story of yours. Thanks.”
“Same to you,” returned Clyde. “I scooped the town because you let me in on it. That’s why I’m here now. Looking for another beat.”
“You mean on MacAvoy Crane?”
“Yes.”
“No luck, Burke.” Cardona’s tone seemed dull. “I thought your story would bring us a lot of facts on Crane. It didn’t. So far as we’ve learned, Crane hadn’t had an investigating job for three months.”
“What of it? Maybe it was before that when he ran into Strangler Hunn.”
“Crane’s last job,” — Cardona paused to refer to the papers in front of him — “was a six-month assignment for the S.P.C.A. He trekked all over New York City looking into livery stable conditions and checking up incoming shipments of live stock.”
“Before that?”
“A job with a credit bureau, finding out about phony collection agencies that never turned in the dough on bad accounts. He was in that work for nearly a year.”
Clyde became thoughtful. Joe Cardona studied the reporter; then added a new statement.
“Let me tell you something about Strangler Hunn, Burke,” vouchsafed the detective. “He was a tough guy that worked along with a tough mob. They took a beating in the dock fight about seven months ago. That’s where Strangler lost his right arm.
“The whole crew scrammed out of town, and it was good riddance. They were tough gorillas and some of the others were as bad as Strangler. But he was the only one that we had with the goods. He was wanted for murder. That’s why we got him.”
“The others?” inquired Clyde.
“We haven’t seen any of them back in town,” returned Cardona. “Strangler was working alone — that’s a sure bet. There’s a chance that some of his old cronies may be hereabouts. We haven’t seen them, though. But the main point is that we can’t hook Strangler with MacAvoy Crane.”
“Listen, Joe.” Burke became serious. “I’m not so sure that there was a past tie-up between Strangler and Crane. I’m thinking about the present. Maybe Strangler was put on the job to get Crane — to stop him from going through with some investigation—”
“I’ve covered that, Burke,” interrupted Cardona. “Haven’t I just told you that Crane wasn’t working for the past three months? There’s no use worrying about it. We’ve got nothing yet. More than likely Strangler went in to rob the apartment. Maybe he had some imaginary grudge. The point is that he killed MacAvoy Crane and we got him for it.”
With that, Cardona went back to a consideration of the papers on his desk. It was evident that the detective was concerned with other matters; that he had tabled Strangler’s case for the time.
“So long, Joe,” remarked Clyde Burke.
The Shadow’s agent strolled from the office. As he reached the street he became thoughtful. There was something in Cardona’s manner that had given Clyde a hunch. The glib explanation of Crane’s past activities had aroused Clyde’s suspicions.
Entering a store, Clyde went to a telephone booth. He put in a call to Burbank, to inform the contact man of his interview with Joe Cardona. When Clyde reappeared on the street, he headed for the Classic office, beneath a dark, early evening sky.
BACK at headquarters, Joe Cardona continued to busy himself with his papers. Half an hour passed.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Cardona looked up. He saw Inspector Timothy Klein. The official made a sign with his hand and nodded. Cardona arose to follow Klein into the latter’s office.
“Burke was here,” began Cardona. “I stalled him.”
“Good,” decided Klein.
“I hated to let him down,” growled Cardona, “but it had to be done. Maybe I’ll have a chance to treat him better later on. He’s a real guy, Burke. That story of his was good for both of us.”
“That’s true,” nodded Klein, “and I can see why Burke showed up here. It’s natural for him to think that we’ve learned something about what MacAvoy Crane was doing. If the information had come directly to me, Joe, Burke might have had it. But it came in to the commissioner and he wants it kept quiet. I’ve just been talking with him. He wants you to go along tonight.”
“Fine. Did he tell you any more about the call that came to him?”