Second proof: Cardona did not notice the strong aroma of the cigar which Farmington smoked.
The person who placed it in the box had not obtained a cigar as strong as Farmington’s own brand.
Another pause. Then:
No trace of the poison could remain on the cigar after Farmington had chewed the end. But the tip, cut off beforehand, lay on the floor where Farmington had thrown it. The analysis shows li-shun on that tobacco.
The paper lay with its strange information until the right hand seized it and crumpled it. Then the hand wrote:
Facts in the Caulkins death.
It crossed out the words and added the single remark:
Later
This sheet was crumpled. The hands, working swiftly, removed the various articles from the table. The light clicked out. A low, soft laugh echoed eerily from the walls of the room.
It was the laugh of The Shadow. The master mind that worked in darkness had discovered how Philip Farmington had died!
CHAPTER VIII. MANN LEARNS FACTS
IT was a different Rutledge Mann who appeared that night at the Cobalt Club. No longer did his face wear a harassed look. Instead of sitting solemnly in an obscure spot, Mann strolled about through lounge and lobby with the spirit of contentment that had been his former wont.
There was nothing in Mann’s bearing that attracted attention, however. Mann was of a quiet, self-effacing type. Normally pleasant and courteous, he merely nodded to old acquaintances.
Mann had always believed that business would come to those who worked patiently and awaited it. His late misfortunes had somewhat riddled that theory; but his newly found opportunity had restored his self-confidence.
Mann was thinking as he lounged about the club. He was puzzling over business matters, and his thoughts were not of investments. Instead, he was dwelling on the activities of Double Z, the strange crime master who had baffled the police.
All that day, after reading instructions in the envelope upon his desk, Rutledge Mann had spent his time in reviewing copies of daily newspapers, with their varied reports of recent murders.
Who killed Joel Caulkins? What mystery surrounded the death of Philip Farmington?
Another question perplexed Rutledge Mann. That was the connection of Judge Harvey Tolland with the Caulkins murder. For within the envelope left him by The Shadow, Mann had found a complete report of the data supplied by Clyde Burke.
In brief, Mann was now fully acquainted with every angle of the Double Z business, And he was totally baffled!
These thoughts brought a frown to Mann’s forehead. Then he laughed softly to himself. After all, he was no detective. Why had he been chosen to study this case? He had spent the entire day, considering the details in a methodical manner.
Hence he felt a clear conscience, so far as his duty to his mysterious employer was concerned. But he had added no constructive effort.
As on the preceding evening, clusters of club members were discussing the death of Philip Farmington.
The first wave of interest had passed; but such a matter would not soon be forgotten at the Cobalt Club, where the dead banker had been so active.
Mann unassumingly joined a group and listened to the conversation. He learned nothing that he did not already know.
Mann looked for Lamont Cranston among the men present. He did not see him. Somehow, Mann could not help but associate Cranston with the good fortune which had befallen him. For months, he had been brooding over his financial troubles, but had mentioned them to no one until he had encountered Cranston last night.
IT was shortly after that that the man in black had appeared to offer life instead of death. Mann, careful and analytical in reasoning, could see no definite connection between Cranston and the mysterious stranger; yet the association persisted in his mind.
It was eleven o’clock. Mann decided to return to his apartment. He went to the check room for his coat.
He was leisurely tonight, for the old, worn coat had been replaced by a new one. Mann donned the garment and received his cane and hat with it. Like the coat, these articles were new.
He strolled across the lobby, said good night to the man stationed at the door, and stepped out to the sidewalk.
It was drizzling again. Mann looked for a cab. He heard a horn toot. A taxi man had spotted him beneath the lighted marquee in front of the club.
But before he could bring up his vehicle, another cab shot from across the street and stopped suddenly in front of Rutledge Mann. A businesslike driver opened the door, and Mann stepped in. The cab rolled away while Mann was giving his destination.
The disappointed taxi driver swung alongside with his cab and delivered a barrage of oaths at Mann’s driver, but that was the end of it. Mann smiled. These fellows took their competition keenly.
“Now,” said Mann aloud, as he sank back in the cushions of the cab, “let’s think some more about Double Z.”
“Have you formed any conclusions?” The words caused Mann to start. They had come from beside him, in a whispered voice that he recognized instantly. He turned in astonishment. Beside him sat the mysterious man who had visited him last night! At least, Mann was positive of his companion’s identity, even though he could see nothing but a black form in the corner of the cab.
“YOU — YOU are here — ” stammered Mann.
“To receive your report,” came the quiet reply. “I take it that you followed my instructions.”
“I did,” said Mann quietly. He had regained his composure after the first surprise. “But I must confess that I am completely in the dark.”
“After reading all the reports?”
“Yes.”
“You have formed no impression regarding Double Z?”
“None. Except that he must be eccentric to the extreme — and possessed of the cunningness that often goes with eccentricity.”
“That may all be true,” came the whispered voice. “But let us be specific. What are your opinions in regard to the Caulkins murder?”
“I think the police have it about right,” declared Mann. “Double Z has gone in for crime. In person. He lured Caulkins to that house, after sending him a written threat. He killed him — while he was telephoning. Cardona’s theory, that Double Z is not an expert murderer, seems logical. Those four bullets—”
“And the mention of Judge Tolland?” came the interruption.
“Another proof of Double Z’s eccentricity,” declared Mann. “I think Cardona was wise to keep it quiet.”
THERE was a short silence while the cab rolled on. Mann realized that the driver was not going directly to the apartment. They were entering Central Park, now. He realized that the man at the wheel must also be in the employ of this stranger in black.
“I have tested your impressions,” came the voice from the corner, “by giving you the simple facts as the police see them. Now let me ask you this: Would Caulkins, as a newspaper reporter, go to that house on East Eightieth Street before he told his city editor that he had received a threat from Double Z?”
“No,” replied Mann thoughtfully.
“Then what about the message?”
“I see!” exclaimed Mann. “It was planted on him!”
“Why?”
“Because — well, because he had mentioned Double Z over the telephone.”
“Now you are getting to the point.” The whispered voice expressed approval. “But why did Double Z allow Caulkins to mention his name over the phone?”
“Probably another eccentricity.”
“That is possible. But it is not in keeping with Double Z’s policy. An interrupted statement. Why was Joel Caulkins not permitted to complete it?”