Their job, tonight, had been to trap Sycher and bring him to The Shadow. With the operator captured, Cliff would have run the car down to the basement while Clyde went out front to get Moe and come around to the rear street.
That plan had failed. The agents had not seized the man whom The Shadow wanted. Somehow, The Shadow had divined that the elevator operator had played a part in the chain of crime. He had wanted to hear Sycher talk, under proper auspices.
The Shadow was at Philo Dreblin’s. There he would be waiting for Clyde and Cliff to appear with their prisoner. Chances were that the agents would not be able to fulfill their duty.
How would The Shadow manage in the face of this failure? That was a question which The Shadow alone would be able to answer when he received the unwelcome news.
CHAPTER XV
THE SHADOW EXPLAINS
THE SHADOW was seated at Philo Dreblin’s big desk. Calm in his guise of Lamont Cranston, he had taken charge of the situation. To Joe Cardona and Harry Vincent, The Shadow had entrusted the job of watching Philo Dreblin and Kip Nethro. The magnate and the investigator were seated in chairs under cover of revolvers held by Joe and Harry.
Cardona had recognized that some important development was due. He could not understand how or why Lamont Cranston had come here; but he knew that the rescuer’s arrival had been most timely. The detective decided that the best way to find out everything was to let Lamont Cranston take charge.
Thus The Shadow — his true identity unknown to Cardona — was about to make statements with full approval of the law’s representative.
The Shadow had given no sign of recognition toward Harry Vincent; but when he had requested Harry to act as second guard, Cardona had put up no objection. It was obvious that Harry, prisoner of Dreblin and Nethro, could not be a tool of the pair whom The Shadow had conquered.
“Chance brought me here, Cardona,” stated The Shadow, in the even tones of Cranston. “Chance, based upon an odd clue that I mentioned to Commissioner Barth. Since the commissioner refused to consider the clue worthwhile, I decided to follow it on my own.”
“What clue was that, Mr. Cranston?” questioned Cardona, in a tone of wonderment.
“A clue to the visitor who appeared at every scene of crime,” specified The Shadow. “I refer, Cardona, to the man who wore a gray overcoat.”
“That was Donald Powlden. We’ve got the goods on him, Mr. Cranston.”
“You are well supplied with planted evidence, Cardona. Let us assume, to begin with, that Powlden was actually in New Jersey at the times of the murders. Suppose someone entered his New York residence during his absence. By a window, for example. Would it not have been possible for that person to have obtained all items necessary to plant the coming murders on Powlden?”
Cardona considered.
“There was the gun,” he mused. “The bullets and powder. Powlden admitted he owned them—”
“But someone,” interposed The Shadow, “could have taken the gun, supplied the bullets, and later planted those various objects in Powlden’s drawer.”
“Yeah, that could have been done, Mr. Cranston. But the shoes with those funny heel prints—”
“Could have been removed also — and placed in the closet afterward.”
“What about those fingerprints on the piece of paper alongside of Lentz?”
“There were sheets of paper beside Powlden’s typewriter. Suppose his fingerprints had happened to be on the top sheet. The man planning murder would not have missed the opportunity of taking it.”
“That’s a point, Mr. Cranston. But those picks” — Cardona stopped short — “say, maybe they could have been planted, too.”
“They were planted,” observed The Shadow, in his slow, even tone. “The man who prepared for crime took that key ring which Powlden mentioned. It gave him new access to the inventor’s house; it enabled him to plant the evidence after the murders; moreover, he was able to lock the drawer of the secretary’s desk.”
“So Powlden wouldn’t get into it!” exclaimed Cardona. “So he wouldn’t find the planted stuff. And that letter that came to Lentz’s — there wasn’t any signature on it. The crook could have typed it!”
“I SEE that you are responding as I had hoped,” remarked The Shadow. From a pocket of his dark coat, he removed a cardboard box and opened it to extract a blackened roll of tobacco, which he proceeded to light. “There is one point, however, that we have not yet discussed.”
“The cheroots!” exclaimed Cardona, noting the cigarlike object which The Shadow had begun to smoke. “Say! There were a lot, of butts lying around in Powlden’s ash trays. A guy could have snatched some of them and planted them!”
“That is exactly what was done, Cardona. We have come at last to the clue which I mentioned to Commissioner Barth. As I smoke this cheroot, Cardona, you will observe that it produces a long, black ash. Yet I observed no such ashes at the scene of any crime. Cheroot stumps alone were visible.”
The Shadow paused to puff at his cheroot. His words had sunk in. Cardona was nodding. This one point was proof conclusive of planted evidence.
“Donald Powlden was absent from Manhattan,” assured The Shadow. “Nevertheless, we are positive that a man wearing a gray overcoat was on hand before each murder.”
“Powlden had a gray overcoat,” reminded Cardona.
“A dark gray,” stated The Shadow. “Not the light gray that Miss Farthington, Lentz’s secretary, must have seen in the unlighted hall. The same light gray that a man wore at the Belgaria; and later at the Hotel Gilderoy. The clerk at the Gilderoy specified light gray.”
The Shadow looked toward the chair wherein Nethro was seated. The investigator was lounging back upon his coat. Nethro studied the chiseled countenance of Lamont Cranston; then produced a defiant grin. The Shadow turned to Cardona.
“The man in the light gray overcoat,” stated The Shadow, “did not smoke cheroots. At Lentz’s, he smoked one of the Crown cigarettes which Lentz had lying on the table. Later, he smoked a cigarette of his own in the lobby of the Hotel Gilderoy.
“He was seated in the chair opposite Lentz. He flicked ashes to the left of that chair. I saw the grayish flakes upon the floor. Moreover, he carefully extinguished his cigarette in Lentz’s ash tray. None of the other cigarettes were pressed out. Lentz did not have that habit. He let his cigarettes burn dead.”
Cardona was nodding, lost in admiration. Joe had always respected Lamont Cranston’s keenness; he was realizing that it was greater than he had supposed.
“In the lobby of the Hotel Gilderoy,” resumed The Shadow, “cigarette ashes were at the left of the chair wherein the man in gray had been seated. Again, this visitor had sprinkled ashes to the floor. Gray ashes — cigarette ashes. To the left of his chair in both instances, Cardona—”
“Which meant that the fellow might have been left handed!”
“Precisely. That is why I allowed Powlden time to grab the clock when he was struggling with you. He had a chance to use either hand freely. He seized the clock with his right.”
“Which made you figure Powlden out!”
“Yes. And tonight, Cardona, I used the same system. When I arrived in this room, I found Philo Dreblin aiming a gun with his right hand. So I eliminated him.”
“But this guy Nethro” — Cardona whirled toward the investigator — “he grabbed my gun with his left mitt! I saw you, Nethro. So you’re a southpaw, eh? Like to use your left duke, do you? Shift over; I want to get a look at that light gray overcoat of yours.”
“Lay off me,” scoffed Nethro, holding his grin, which showed hard on his lips. “I’ll admit I was at those places. But I didn’t bump those birds. I was planted, too. There’s the mug you want!”