“Powlden is innocent,” declared The Shadow. “I knew that you were mistaken all along, Cardona. You were following a blind trail. I saw that early in the game.”
“You were smarter than I was, Mr. Cranston.”
“That, Cardona, may be a matter of opinion. For I, like yourself, was following a blind trail. True, I did not fall into the erroneous theory that involved Donald Powlden. But I did attach importance to a chance occurrence which had no actual bearing on the murders.”
“You mean when you spotted some other fellow in gray? Who later turned out to be Kip Nethro?”
“Exactly! It was purely coincidence that brought Nethro to those places before the murders.”
Kip Nethro chuckled in pleased fashion. Philo Dreblin followed with a basso laugh. Nethro had been vindicated by words; Dreblin by inference. For if Nethro’s visits had been chance ones, it was obvious that Dreblin could not have encouraged them with hidden purpose.
“In justice to myself, Cardona,” resumed The Shadow, in his quiet tones, “I must state that I was seeking a possible murderer. When I found Nethro tonight, I had reached the end of a trail. It proved to be a wrong trail in itself; but it gave me a second lead.
“Nethro, eliminated by his alibi, threw a new trail toward Dreblin. That was something which I had anticipated as a possibility, if Nethro had been Dreblin’s dupe. Dreblin, however, blocked the new trail by his simultaneous alibi.”
“All right,” spoke Cardona, promptly. “Both your trails are finished. You’ve got a lead on Sycher, and it looks like the fellow might be a bad egg. But he’s got an alibi, too. So where are you?”
“On another trail, Cardona. One that occurred to me during my investigation; but one that I rejected until I had followed Nethro’s and Dreblin’s to the limit. Those are finished; I am back on the only trail that can possibly bring results.”
“It involves Al Sycher?”
“Yes. It also makes allowance for his single alibi. Remember, Cardona, that Sycher is apart from these two men, Nethro and Dreblin. That hinges upon the fact that the final murder — the killing of Newell Frieth — could not have been accomplished by any of the three. The only answer is that Sycher belongs in a different environment than Nethro and Dreblin.”
DELIBERATELY, The Shadow arose. He stepped away from the desk. Strolling toward the door, he paused and indicated the telephone.
“As a matter of routine, Cardona,” The Shadow declared, “you should call headquarters and have others join you. Hold Nethro and Dreblin in custody until after you have checked their alibis.”
“That’s an idea, Mr. Cranston,” acknowledged Joe. “Take it from me, I’m not letting anybody slip out of my hands until I’m double sure.”
“Those two alibis,” reminded The Shadow, “are apparently strong enough to stand. I do not anticipate either Nethro or Dreblin giving you trouble. However, you will have Vincent here with you until others arrive. You can rely on Vincent.”
“You’re leaving, Mr. Cranston?”
“Yes.” The Shadow glanced at his watch. “I have an important appointment. I have overstayed my time.”
“But what about Sycher? How can I get a lead on him? Haven’t you got a hunch on that?”
“You will soon have your trail, Cardona. Think over the facts concerning the three murders. Forget Powlden. Concentrate on Sycher and the part that he must have played. Then look for one of your famous hunches.”
“I can’t grab a hunch like that.” Cardona snapped his fingers. “Suppose it doesn’t hit me, Mr. Cranston? What then? If you’ve got a hunch of your own—”
“I shall call here later, Cardona. If you have not already gained inspiration of your own, I may be able to supply a further clue. My appointment, however, demands me for the present.”
With a quiet bow, The Shadow stepped through the door. Harry Vincent caught a last glimpse of the immobile features of Lamont Cranston. Then his disguised chief was gone.
EYING Nethro and Dreblin, Cardona picked up the telephone. Both of the men seemed satisfied to accept the terms that The Shadow had proposed. They appeared anxious to have their respective alibis checked in detail.
Noting that, Cardona did not worry about trouble from them. He put in a call to headquarters and arranged for Detective Sergeant Markham to come at once to Dreblin’s. Cardona knew that the trip would not require more than fifteen minutes. In that quarter hour, it was up to him to figure things out from the start that The Shadow had given him.
Joe paced the room for a few minutes. Then he stopped and faced Nethro and Dreblin — who were smoking cigarettes, with Harry watching them. Their calmness angered Joe.
“How about it?” demanded the detective. “You fellows know something about this Duro Metal stuff. Can’t you give me a suggestion? You’re both on the level. Where are your ideas?”
“I would like to help you, inspector,” rumbled Dreblin, copying the title that he had heard The Shadow use. “But I must confess that I am completely at sea. I was positive that Nethro was the miscreant. Apparently, I did him an injustice — for which I apologize. But the situation leaves me puzzled.”
“Thanks for the apology,” laughed Nethro. “It wasn’t necessary, Mr. Dreblin, because I was just as far off. Suspecting you, without good reason. It leaves me dizzy, though, this new business. Sorry, Cardona, but I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Why not?” demanded the detective. “We’ve got a tip that Sycher had something to do with the murder of Howard Morath. From that, we can go back to the murder of Jeremy Lentz.”
“Which stops you cold,” remarked Nethro, scratching at the back of his head. “Sycher couldn’t have bumped Lentz.”
“Why not? We don’t know where he was at five o’clock.”
“I’ll grant you that. But as near as I can figure it, there were only a couple of minutes between the time that I left Lentz and that cigar salesman, Garsher, blew in to see him.”
“Well, couldn’t Sycher have got there in between?”
“And bumped Lentz? And planted that evidence against Powlden? And gone down in an elevator after the rush hour? Not a chance. Sycher couldn’t have been inside that building, Cardona.”
Joe considered. Then a thought struck him.
“Garsher might have known something about it,” remarked the detective. “He might have held up spreading the news until Sycher got out. Because Lentz and Morath were both murdered with the same gun.”
“Don’t forget,” reminded Nethro, recalling newspaper accounts, “that the cop and the elevator dispatcher were both in the lobby. I saw them there when I went out; and I guess that was the last car that had anything like a crowd in it.”
“Sycher might have done a slip,” insisted Cardona. “It would have left him free over at Morath’s. And after that he could have—”
“After that,” guffawed Dreblin, as Cardona paused. “After that, what happened? You can’t follow this man Sycher to Frieth’s, inspector. You were holding Sycher when Frieth was slain.”
“That’s right,” agreed Nethro, solemnly. “On the Frieth murder, Mr. Dreblin, our alibis are no better than Sycher’s.”
AGAIN, Cardona paced the room. The ace was mumbling to himself. Three murders, all with the same gun. Even though the antique pistol could well have been stolen from Powlden’s and then replaced there, it formed a different type of evidence than the planted clues. Three men had been murdered with that same gun; and Cardona could account for two only.
“Why don’t, you pick on Hiram Caffley?” demanded Dreblin, in a sudden rumble. “He’s as logical a man to accuse as I was. Why don’t you annoy him, Cardona?”