“So I produced a revolver and forced Nethro to aid me in the capture of Cardona. Then I was ready to deal with Nethro, when the bookcase opened. I saw you, Mr. Cranston, and thought certainly that you must be in league with Nethro. That is why I attacked you.”
DREBLIN ended his explanation. He waited for questions. Before any came, Nethro put in a quick remark.
“When you socked Dreblin, Mr. Cranston,” declared the investigator, “I couldn’t figure who you were. My job was to get Cardona loose, knowing who he was. That’s why I grabbed Cardona’s gun. I wanted to cover you, and then release Cardona. So he would know that I was on the level.
“Don’t be fooled by this talk of Dreblin’s. I’ve got an alibi. He hasn’t. He’s the murderer right enough!”
A snort came from Dreblin. The magnate towered to his feet. He shook a huge fist in Nethro’s direction.
“You say I have no alibi?” stormed Dreblin. “That is where I tricked you, Nethro. I deliberately misstated facts to you. Listen to this, Mr. Cranston.”
Dropping his fist, the magnate lowered his fierce rumble.
“At half past five on the day of the murders,” stated Dreblin, “three friends called here to see me. Doctor Parry, the well-known physician; Talbot Read, head of a large shipping agency; Bernard Coyle, a present candidate for a municipal judgeship.
“That was after the hour of Lentz’s murder; but it was before either Morath or Frieth were slain. All of my three friends can agree as to the time of their arrival. I went out with them and we reached the Hotel Goliath before six o’clock. We purposely postponed dinner until six-thirty.
“I remained with those three men until twenty minutes of nine, when I left for my home to keep my appointment with Nethro. That was one reason why I was particularly angry when he did not appear.
“There is my alibi, gentlemen. I am not the murderer whom you seek. Mine is not a matter of minutes, like Nethro’s. It is a matter of hours. Proof conclusive that I had no hand in the deaths of three unfortunate men!”
Dreblin’s voice had risen to a triumphant blare. His tones ended abruptly.
Joe Cardona sat puzzled. The detective was positive that Kip Nethro had spoken the truth; now he was convinced that Philo Dreblin had also stated facts.
Harry Vincent, too, was puzzled. The Shadow’s agent found himself in a whirl of conflicting situations. He was familiar with the circumstances surrounding the three murders, and this elimination of Nethro and Dreblin left the whole scene blank.
ONLY The Shadow was unperturbed. Calm in his guise of Lamont Cranston, he retained his slight but emphatic smile. For The Shadow, when he had come here tonight, had held three possibilities in mind.
Nethro as the murderer was one. That was finished, now that the man with the gray overcoat had spoken. Nethro, as a dupe was the second; but only Dreblin could have duped Nethro and Dreblin had provided an alibi.
Nethro as a chance visitor to the murder scenes was the only possibility left. With that fact determined, The Shadow had a clear trail ahead. He was at the beginning of that path which he had left until last.
The Shadow had been wise in his choice. For the truth of murder, as he saw it, involved a scheme of almost incredible cunning. The Shadow knew the answer to crime — the only answer that could fit the circumstances.
But even The Shadow had held back from the coming trail until after he had disposed of other possibilities. For he had doubted the existence of a supercrook remarkable enough to have planned the amazing chain of murder.
The Shadow had gained the truth he wanted. He knew motives; he knew methods; most of all, he knew how to reach the evil master with whom he now must deal.
If his agents, Clyde Burke and Cliff Marsland, had already accomplished their mission of bagging Al Sycher, The Shadow would soon have the testimony that would lay the whole trail open to the law. Still maintaining his guise of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow could step out and leave the rest to Joe Cardona.
But at the very moment that The Shadow planned such a step, the telephone began to ring upon Dreblin’s desk. The Shadow’s thin smile remained fixed. He knew the reason for that coming call.
Agents must have failed. An accomplice of the supercrook had slipped their grasp. The Shadow knew that the coming quest, brief though it might be, was one which still needed his hand.
The Shadow, alone, could press the scales to bring the balance on the side of justice.
CHAPTER XVII
THE NEXT SUMMONS
THE jangle of the telephone brought startling interruption to the scene in Philo Dreblin’s study. Coming hard upon the counter accusations that had passed between Dreblin and Kip Nethro, this call promised a new complication.
Joe Cardona was vigilant as he stood by the door. From the corner of his eye, the ace saw Lamont Cranston stretch forth a leisurely hand and lift the telephone. Joe listened intently as The Shadow spoke in Cranston’s even tone.
“Hello.” The Shadow paused to hear Burbank’s acknowledgment. “Hello… Yes. Continue. Very well. No further orders.”
Hanging up the receiver, The Shadow looked toward Cardona. The detective had a hunch that the telephone call had to do with Al Sycher. Before Joe put a question, The Shadow spoke.
“Too bad, Cardona,” he observed. “Sycher, the elevator operator, refused to listen to persuasion. He fled from his post and apparently has not decided to return.
“I understand that Tukel, the clerk at the Belgaria, has already decided to take the matter up with headquarters. But since Tukel has no idea where Sycher has gone, his complaint will hardly be of value.”
“Looks like you made a good guess, Mr. Cranston,” returned Cardona. “You should have tipped me off, though. I’d have put the clamps on this fellow Sycher. He’s in it, all right. Question is, who’s he working with?”
Joe swung to glare at Dreblin; then at Nethro. It was plain that the detective was not fully satisfied that the alibis were correct. The Shadow delivered an easy laugh.
“Those alibis will stand, Cardona,” was his quiet statement. “It is plain that both of these men were at stated places when Newell Frieth was killed.”
“And in my case,” rumbled Dreblin, “when Howard Morath was murdered. My alibi covers both those instances.”
“Supposing the alibis aren’t phony,” suggested Cardona to The Shadow. “Don’t forget, Mr. Cranston, that there were three murders. Dreblin and Nethro here could have been working in cahoots with one another.”
“You have forgotten one point, Cardona.” The Shadow’s tone was patient. “Dreblin and Nethro have what we might term simultaneous alibis. Both have covered their actions at the time when Newell Frieth was murdered. Assuming — as seems highly probable — that these alibis will stand, we have a complete blank on Frieth’s death.”
“But Sycher couldn’t have killed Frieth, or even been an accomplice—”
“Quite true. We must therefore seek the person who had motive and opportunity—”
“Which brings us back to Powlden!” Joe exclaimed. “That’s who Sycher was working with, Mr. Cranston: Donald Powlden. But we’ve got to land Sycher to prove it. That is, if Powlden — well, Powlden wouldn’t have planted stuff on himself.”
CARDONA paused to rub his chin in puzzled fashion. He was moving in a circle, and he knew it. Planted evidence had been discussed. The trail had jumped from Powlden to a question between Dreblin and Nethro. Those two men cleared, the only shred of possibility somehow involved Sycher.
Yet Sycher had been held by the police at the time of Frieth’s death. In jumping back to Powlden, Cardona had unwittingly completed his circle. Sudden realization that this was a useless course had left the detective pondering.