“It says nine o’clock for me,” objected Rush. “That was the time he expected to come to my home.”
“He couldn’t have been going to see you, Mr. Malden,” said Grewling, turning toward the door. “You have no office. I was not expecting Rubal — so office means here. The question is who was due here at eight o’clock?”
“I suppose you’ll be suggesting that I had an appointment here with Rubal,” jeered Harrison Knode, thrusting his head through the doorway. “There’s a theory for you, Grewling. Fancy that — my calling to see Rubal.”
“Is that notation in Rubal’s handwriting?” demanded Grewling, suddenly turning to the mayor.
Rush nodded.
“That’s a break for you, Knode,” stormed Grewling, turning to the door. “You and Rubal were anything but friends. It’s lucky that Rubal marked this appointment himself. It shows you weren’t the person he expected. It leaves you out.”
“Very good,” chuckled Knode. “That suits me. Good-by, chief. I’ll read the details in the Gazette tomorrow morning.”
ACCOMPANIED by Burke and Drury, Knode left the museum. The trio rode to the editor’s home. There they entered and Knode spoke privately with Drury for a few minutes. Then the editor shook hands with both men. They left together.
Drury took Clyde to a lunch wagon. He picked a spot at the far end of the counter.
“The old man asked me to speak to you,” confided Drury, in a low tone. “You heard him fox Grewling. Pulled it clever on the chief, didn’t he?”
Clyde nodded, as he lowered a cup of coffee.
“He wants us to keep mum about that appointment he had with Rubal,” added Drury. “After all, Knode didn’t keep it. So it means nothing. But if anybody knew about it, Grewling would be on Knode’s neck. The old man wouldn’t be able to cut loose in the sheet. Get the idea?”
Again Clyde nodded.
“So we’re saying nothing,” decided Drury. “Shake on it.”
Clyde shook hands. Then he made a suggestion.
“I’d like to shoot this story to the Classic,” he said. “They don’t belong to the Interstate Press. If they could beat the other New York sheets, it would put me in right back there.”
“Go ahead,” agreed Drury. “You can beat the wired service by a couple of hours anyway. Dunham will be slow sending it over the Interstate Press. He’ll stay late at the museum, getting his story.”
“Where’s the telegraph office?”
“I’ll show you.”
At the telegraph office, Clyde prepared a press-rate telegram. He let Drury read it.
“It says here,” commented Drury, “that they’re to use ‘Jory by-line.’ What’s the gag, Burke?”
“I used to write stuff under the name of Kirt Jory,” explained Clyde. “It will do instead of my own. They wouldn’t use my own name, since they’ve fired me. The police commissioner would be sore.”
“I get it,” laughed Drury. “A good stunt, Burke!”
Clyde smiled. The ruse had passed. For that by-line, “Kirt Jory,” to indicate the author of the wired story, would do more than establish the story as Clyde Burke’s.
The Shadow had provided for just such an emergency as this; the possibility that Clyde could best report to him through a story in the New York Classic. The Shadow, alone, would recognize the message in the words “By Kirt Jory.”
That, to The Shadow, would mean more than the simple fact that murder had occurred in Latuna. It would signify that cross-purposes were at work; that the deaths of Joseph Rubal and Hollis might be but the beginning of other strange events.
To The Shadow, Clyde Burke’s chosen by-line would carry the single message. “Come!”
Clyde Burke smiled to himself as he walked from the telegraph office with Bart Drury. Outside, they passed a strolling stranger. Clyde did not even notice the hawklike visage and the keen eves that stared in his direction.
Once more in the guise of Henry Arnaud, The Shadow was abroad in Latuna. He knew that his agent had dispatched a prearranged signal that was intended to bring him here. He had allowed Clyde to do so, unknowing that his chief was already in town.
For The Shadow’s plans would begin tomorrow, after nightfall. Then would he survey the spot that Clyde had already seen. With reports received, The Shadow would fare forth to visit the Latuna Museum.
CHAPTER XIV
WITHIN CLOSED WALLS
TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since the murders in the Latuna Museum. The Shadow, guised as Henry Arnaud, was seated at a writing desk in his room in the Wilkin Hotel. Across the street, he could see two khaki-clad policemen on duty near the Hotel Phoenix.
The Shadow extinguished the main light. His hands appeared long-fingered and white, beneath the glow of the desk lamp as they opened two sealed envelopes. The Shadow read reports from Clyde Burke and Cliff Marsland. The agents had left them in Henry Arnaud’s box.
That had been in accord with an outlined plan. The two aids, however, did not know that their chief had checked in before tonight.
Meanwhile, another agent had arrived. Harry Vincent, a most competent worker, had seen Clyde’s story in New York and had come to Latuna. He, too, had acted on instructions previously given by The Shadow.
Clyde’s report laid emphasis upon his visit to Harrison Knode’s. It described his trip to the museum and stressed Bart Drury’s private interview with Knode, particularly Bart’s warning that Knode’s appointment with Rubal was not to be made public.
Cliff’s report emphasized that all of Konk Zitz’s pals had been at the Phoenix Hotel. None of them could have possibly visited the isolated Latuna Museum.
Finished with this report, The Shadow moved from the writing desk. He clicked on the main light; again he appeared as Arnaud.
Seating himself in an easy chair, The Shadow picked up the Latuna newspapers. The Gazette carried the big story. Dunham had printed Grewling’s statement; also the testimony of attendants and watchmen. Theories showed that the law had struck close to the possible details of the crime.
The stumbling block was the clue that Dunham had himself uncovered. Some one had had an appointment with Joseph Rubal at eight o’clock the night before. Speculation was rife as to the identity of that person.
The Enterprise carried a resume of the story in the Gazette. A few added details of the coroner’s inquest failed to add spice.
Harrison Knode had been forced to leave out an announcement that would have staggered Howard Dunham. He could have made a scoop by printing the name of the man who had the eight o’clock appointment with Rubal. He had omitted that name because it was his own.
A SOFT laugh came from the lips of Henry Arnaud. The Shadow was considering the oddity of the case. Then he noted an item stating that the museum had been closed to the public, pending solution of the murders. Instead of ordinary watchmen, nine picked policemen were on duty, working in three shifts, each of three men.
Reverting to the morning newspaper, The Shadow picked out a statement by the police chief. It stood apart from the murder story. It referred to the lack of criminal activity in Latuna; and stated that the police had been watching all suspected crooks who happened to be in town. This statement, The Shadow knew, was for the benefit of Harrison Knode.
Police Chief Grewling had spiked the crusading editor’s verbal cannon. Grewling’s action of putting watchers at the Phoenix Hotel, stood as proof that the police were vigilant. Neither Knode — nor any one else — could say that the murders in the museum were caused by the police ignoring the criminal element in Latuna.
Some lone wolf had performed the murders. Timing his deed to the hour when the museum offered the best chance for entry, this crafty killer had played a one-man game. His motive had been to rifle Rubal’s files. He had succeeded in his game, at a time when the curator was on the verge of resigning his post.