“Where?”
“Back at first base. In Silas Harshaw’s apartment. That’s where the answer is. We’ll find it” — Cardona was paraphrasing The Shadow — “we’ll find it if we search.
“Look for the trail at the inventor’s apartment. That’s why I wanted this talk to-day. We’ve got to go through Harshaw’s with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I think so,” said Biscayne. “I begin to see your logic.
“Harshaw’s servant has disappeared. A cracksman was killed in the place. Burglary seemed to be the motive. But — are we entirely sure?”
“We are not!” replied Cardona emphatically. “Maybe Homer Briggs was in the racket. Maybe some evidence was left there.
“A man got away out of the place, but he didn’t have much of a chance to take anything with him. I’m going through every nook in the joint; and I want you to be with me.”
“Excellent,” said Biscayne. “By the way, Cardona, what has developed in the search for Briggs?”
“There was a big gang fight two nights ago,” said Cardona. “A bunch of gorillas mixed; some were killed.
“There’s one bird in the morgue I saw to-day. Looks something like Homer Briggs, according to the description of bellhops from the Redan Hotel.
“They’re pretty sure about it, but that makes it all the worse. If Briggs is dead, he can’t talk.
“As for this St. Louis bird — Max Parker, the yegg — he was a stranger in New York, and we can’t seem to get a thing on him.”
“Coming back to Harshaw,” said Biscayne, “when do you propose to begin this search?”
“Tonight,” replied Cardona promptly. “I want to go there with the idea of finding something. Take the study first.
“If we don’t get results there, we’ll go through the rest of the place. You’ve got to be with me, professor. You helped the first time.
“I’d like you to be with us, too, Doctor Fredericks. We’re liable to uncover something that will give us a line on the old man. You knew him as well as anybody.”
“Probably,” said Fredericks. “I knew he was a very sick man. I had to tell him so, to make him realize how careful he must be. I shall be glad to be present.”
“Certainly,” added Biscayne enthusiastically. “Be with us by all means, doctor!
“You have aroused me, Cardona. I realize that we have been neglecting the real opportunity.”
“What time do you propose to begin?” asked Commissioner Weston, speaking to Cardona.
“Before ten o’clock,” said the detective. “We’ll all be there if another death note is dropped in the mail chute. Remember — it’s tonight!”
“I REMEMBER what you said yesterday,” remarked Commissioner Weston glumly. “You stated that you would frustrate another death, if one was scheduled to occur.”
“Things will be different tonight,” declared Cardona, with a confident air. “Death will not take place!”
“I hope not,” said the commissioner.
“Ten o’clock, then?” questioned Biscayne.
“Make it before that,” said Cardona. “I’ll be at the hotel at eight. I’m anxious to get started.
“I’ll wait a while for you, but there’s no time to be lost.”
“Professor Biscayne and I shall be there immediately after dinner,” declared the commissioner.
Biscayne turned to his cousin, Wilhelm.
“Sorry you won’t be with us, Arthur,” he said. “You might be interested in seeing Harshaw’s place.
“You financed it a bit, you know, although the old man always wanted more money.”
“I have to be at home,” said Wilhelm. “But give me a ring if you uncover anything. This sounds interesting to me.”
“Tonight, then,” announced Cardona, rising. “We’re going back to first base. Right where the trouble started.
“I’ve got a hunch that we’ll hit something big. One real break — and we’ll win!”
“The old man knew a lot,” said Biscayne thoughtfully. “He had his secrets, and he retained them. I’m thinking now — recalling his queer talk of enemies.
“I agree with you, Cardona, that a good find will clear every cloud that has formed.
“Harshaw’s enemies — and Harshaw’s plans,” continued Biscayne, in a low voice. “In his head. I can hear the old man talking now. Did he ever speak that way to you, Fredericks?”
“Not often,” replied the physician. “Our discussions usually concerned his physical condition.
“But I believe that the proper suggestion might arouse some recollection in my mind. I shall be there this evening, professor.”
“Yes,” said Biscayne, “tonight is most important. We shall do our utmost to end this chain of murders.”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE HAND OF THE SHADOW
ARTHUR WILHELM lived on Long Island. His home was a pretentious mansion located not far from Flushing.
There was a driveway in back of the house. This vehicular entrance came in from a side road.
Late in the afternoon, a man came up the drive in a delivery truck. He took a package in the back gate. A servant signed for it. The package was addressed to Arthur Wilhelm.
The servant recognized the package. It bore the label of a large New York tobacco firm. It was a consignment of fresh cigars for the millionaire.
These boxes came in every week. This one had been delivered a day earlier than usual.
Wilhelm had a standing order with the tobacco shop, and the goods came by local express.
There was nothing significant in the early delivery of that package, but the package itself was important. No one, in all the household, was allowed to tamper with those packages.
The millionaire paid a high price for his imported cigars. He felt that this was his own special brand. He liked to see each package in its original wrapping.
So the servant entered Wilhelm’s private room and left the package on the desk. That was in strict accordance with instructions.
It was known that Wilhelm had dismissed one servant who had let one box lie unnoticed for two days by putting it in the hall, instead of placing it in the private room.
When the servant had gone, a tall, thin personage stalked through the room — a man clad in black. Only one man had that mysterious guise and carriage.
It was The Shadow!
Although there was light here, no outside observer could have seen the figure that had entered. The square box lay upon Wilhelm’s mahogany desk.
The Shadow lifted it and examined it with utmost care.
Then supple hands were at work. Delicately, carefully, the wrapping of the package was removed. A stamped cigar box was disclosed.
Between the side and the top of the box, The Shadow inserted a slender piece of steel and probed within.
He stopped his work, and placed the box aside while he carefully removed his black gloves.
The sensitive fingers, white in the gloom, seemed to feel and understand the motion of the flat steel within the box as the probing was resumed.
One might have said that the steel was a projection of the hand that plied it — a living thing, with nerves of its own.
For, while The Shadow worked, he paused and searched alternately. It was a long, painstaking labor. In the other rooms of the house, twilight came; lights were switched on. Still, The Shadow took his time.
At last, the delicate task was accomplished. Slowly twisting the steel, The Shadow’s hand wedged it into a crevice that he had detected.
He held it there carefully, while the other hand, using a second implement, pried open the lid of the box.
AS the lid came up, there was a click. The top of the box swung open to show a boltlike bit of metal that had been actuated by a spring.
This controlled a little hammer, which had fallen with the shock. But the hammer never reached its mark.