He turned to the want-ad section.
“Maybe this will interest you more,” he sneered. “You’re liable to be looking for a job pretty soon. Humph!” — the inspector grunted — “you’d better put in an ad like this one. A big executive. Wants a job with minimum salary of ninety-seven hundred and fifty bucks a year.
“That’s a tip for you, Joe. Ex-detective wants a job. Fifteen thousand or up. Especially willing to shadow The Shadow—”
CARDONA angrily snatched the newspaper from the inspector’s hands. He opened it to the front page and pointed to a small heading.
“Look at that,” he said. “I told the reporter to put it in.”
“‘Detective Nonplused,’” read Klein. “‘The disappearance of man from the wrecked car is a mystery to Detective Cardona. He seems to be facing the same failure that he encountered in the Lukens murder. He openly admitted that unless he finds a new clew—”
Klein dropped the paper and stared.
“You — told — the — reporter — to — put that in!” he said, in astonished tones. “What in blazes made you do that?”
“I wanted The Shadow to read it,” replied Cardona. “That bloke, wherever he is, may have the key to Blake’s death as well as the Lukens case. He promised me—”
“Promised you!” blared the inspector. “You’re crazy, Joe. He may be the guy in back of it all!”
Cardona shook his head.
“Listen, Joe,” said Klein seriously. “I’ve told you that you’re all wrong. You find a guy on the scene of the murder. He gets away. He comes back—
“You recognize him as The Shadow. You were wise enough to simply call him an unidentified man. The newspapers would razz you if you pulled The Shadow stuff. But you know, and I know, that he’s a clever guy.
“Now a fellow comes to see Wilbur Blake. He pretends to be some one else. He gets away when he is discovered.
“Blake is killed in the fracas. The guy disappears from a wrecked car with people all about him. It’s The Shadow! Who else could do it?
“Okay. He was responsible for Blake’s death. It’s likely that he killed Lukens.”
“You’re wrong, chief,” replied Cardona. “This thing is beyond me. But there’s a lot more to it than you think.
“We got The Shadow’s guns, that night Lukens was killed. It wasn’t his rods that bumped off the old doctor. Now he gets into a fight with Blake. He may have been responsible for Blake’s death, but it was the chauffeur who fired the wild shots. Somebody else was in back of it.
“What about the mystery car that chased The Shadow? They peppered machine-gun bullets all through the wrecked car. Who were they? I’ll tell you!
“They were hooked up in some way to the Lukens murder! They were out to get The Shadow!”
Klein was slightly impressed by Cardona’s statements. He became thoughtful.
“We’ve heard about The Shadow before,” he said. “That guy may be all right — he may be crooked. I don’t know. But one thing is sure— he don’t work with the police.”
“Listen, chief,” insisted Cardona. “The Shadow has handled some pretty bad boys in his time. They say that when he tells a crook something is going to happen to him, it happens.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“All right. Argue it the other way, then. He told me he’d put me wise when he got the dope on who killed Lukens. They say The Shadow means what he says. That’s why I’m counting on him.”
“You’re counting wrong, then,” grunted Klein.
A phone rang beside him. He answered it and handed the instrument to Cardona. “For you, Joe,” he added.
“Hello,” said Cardona wearily.
THEN his eyes began to stare. They were looking directly at Inspector Klein, but Cardona was unseeing. His companion looked at him in alarm. The detective seemed gripped by some overpowering astonishment.
“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed Cardona.
“Who is it?” demanded Klein.
The detective made a grimace. He signaled his superior not to interrupt. Fumbling on the table before him, he found a pad and pencil.
“The Lukens murderer?” he questioned. “You’ll have him for me? With the evidence?”
There was a pause as the detective listened intently. Then his voice spoke in more startled tones.
“The Blake case? You’ll have that, too? The murderer… Oh, you’ll clear it, you say… What’s that?… Yes, yes—”
He began to write hurriedly. Klein leaned over, but could not decipher his shaky scrawl. Occasionally Cardona exclaimed the word “Yes.” Then, finished with his notes, he slumped into a chair. Klein grabbed the phone.
“Hello!” he demanded.
The receiver clicked at the other end.
“Who was it?” exclaimed the inspector.
“The Shadow!” replied Cardona.
“The Shadow! What did he say? Were you sure it was him?”
“I’d know that voice any time,” declared Cardona. He steadied himself and began to copy his scrawled notes.
“Tonight at nine thirty,” read the inspector. “Be ready with a dozen men. Wait until the exact minute. Then proceed to—”
The inspector grunted. “What’s that,” he exclaimed angrily. “A note under the seat of a telephone booth in the cigar store at Broadway and— What is this, Joe, a hoax?”
“It’s a good one if it is,” replied the detective.
“Get up there now and nab the guy that leaves it,” ordered Klein.
“No, chief,” answered Cardona. “We’ve got to play the game. The Shadow has given me his answer. A false step, and he will drop us like a hot penny. Let me handle it the way he wants.”
“All right,” agreed Klein testily, throwing away his chewed cigar and pulling a fresh one from his pocket.
“I’m leaving it up to you! Hop to it!”
CHAPTER XX. THE EIGHTH MAN
RODNEY PAGET alighted from a cab on a side street near Broadway. He quietly entered a little restaurant and ordered apple pie and coffee. After he finished his eating, he went to the telephone booth in the obscure corner.
He removed the receiver and turned the dial to the figure seven. Holding it there, he pressed the side of the booth. Something clicked. Paget replaced the receiver and slipped through a door that opened beside him.
It was an ingenious device, the whole side of the booth turning through the wall. The opening closed behind him.
Paget walked through a storeroom and arrived in the deserted lobby of the old apartment. He took the elevator to the secret floor and entered the passage where he had gone before.
Confident, he donned a robe and hood from the pile that lay in the anteroom, and gave the signal of seven taps. He received the answer and gave his five taps. He was admitted to the weird room where he joined the silent, standing figures.
A feeling of new confidence inspired Paget tonight. With the exception of the leader of the Seven, he alone, of that silent band, knew the vital importance of this meeting.
He knew that some one had been captured while trailing him; and that the meeting had been arranged that all might know of it. Furthermore, the startling news of Wilbur Blake’s death had made the meeting doubly imperative. That, also, Paget knew.
He had stayed at an uptown hotel the previous night, obeying instructions which he had found in his apartment. He had looked at the Morning Monitor shortly before noon, and had been astonished to learn of the affair at Blake’s.
Still, he had not forgotten to consult the want-ad columns. There he had found the item that signified a meeting.
What would be the outcome of this meeting? That, Paget could not foresee. He felt sure that the mysterious leader of this band would have some scheme to offer.
Paget’s original plan, to drain Blake’s millions through the actions of an impostor, had certainly been thwarted.