The Silent Death s-27

by Maxwell Grant

  that they had been heard by another man than Gawky Tyson. Not for a moment did Cardona suppose

  that a man who had sauntered from the speakeasy prior to Gawky's appearance had been an agent of

  The Shadow!

  Cliff Marsland was performing a duty to-night; and nothing had interfered with him. The situation that lay

  ahead was planned as a battle of brains between two master minds — Professor Folcroft Urlich and The

  Shadow.

  Joe Cardona, confident of his own shrewdness, was nothing more than an unexpected factor that had

  come into the field. Unsuspecting, he was entering the battle ground. What would the outcome be?

  The answer to that question was coming. It would occur after the ace detective arrived at the office in the

  Sharon Building!

  CHAPTER XI. THE SILENT OFFICE

  THE tiny beam of a little flashlight appeared upon the surface of a glass-paneled door. It revealed the

  number 2020. The light swung downward. A concentrated circle shone steadily upon the lock. A

  black-gloved hand appeared with a tiny pick of steel.

  Deft fingers used the instrument to probe the lock. Under The Shadow's touch, the door of Gardner

  Joyce's office yielded. It opened inward and closed. A soft laugh sounded in the darkness.

  Finding his way with the shaft of light, The Shadow reached the door of the inner office. He stopped to

  make a careful inspection.

  All was well. The Shadow entered and let his light range across the desk. The beam showed inkstand,

  large blotter pad, calendar, and telephone.

  There were no signs of a trap tonight. Why should one exist? At Barnsworth, the intention had been to

  take a life. Slips Harbeck and gangsters could not have been summoned there to serve in case the death

  snare failed.

  Here, in Joyce's office, the intention was theft. Slips Harbeck was coming there alone. Unless The

  Shadow knew that the explosive desk at Barnsworth's had been prepared for him, and not the Wall

  Street man, he could suspect nothing here. Thus had Professor Folcroft Urlich reasoned.

  The inspection of the probing light showed that all was serene. Nevertheless, The Shadow was exacting

  as he examined the drawers of the desk. His pick enabled him to open them, and he used his light to

  glance through the papers that he discovered. All were arranged in orderly fashion. There was nothing

  that resembled a contract among them.

  Still, The Shadow waited. It was evident that he, like Cardona, had evolved the plan of luring Slips

  Harbeck's chief to this spot. No telephone call had come as yet. The light glimmered on the telephone,

  going over the instrument carefully. Suddenly it went out.

  The keen ears of The Shadow had detected a sound in the outer office, despite the fact that the secret

  investigator had partly closed the inner door behind him. With no sound other than a swish, The Shadow

  reached the outer office and lingered there.

  Some one was working on the outer door. A man was trying to remove the glass panel, which was held

  in place only by a molding. The Shadow waited. He could not see through the frosted glass. His natural

  assumption was that Slips Harbeck was attempting this mode of entry.

  The work went on. The panel began to waver as the worker pried one side loose. Then, apparently

  fearing that he would break the glass, the man started anew upon the molding. At last, the glass came

  free. It was set upon the floor; a hand came through the door, and turned the inner knob.

  WHEN the door opened, The Shadow was drawing back into the darkness. In a far corner of the room,

  his tall figure waited, invisible. The man at the door was replacing the glass panel. This was short work.

  Finishing, he strode across the office.

  Had he turned on the light, he probably would not have seen The Shadow, for the strange being who had

  come there before him was in a position of total obscurity. But the entrant's objective was the inner

  office. Reaching it, he half closed the door behind him, and turned on a light.

  It was then that The Shadow moved, advancing to a spot where he could view the scene within, and still

  stay in the cover of the darkness formed by the outer room. Through the opening by the door, burning

  eyes spied the man who had entered.

  It was not Slips Harbeck. Detective Cardona was at Gardner Joyce's desk!

  The sleuth was going over the same ground that The Shadow had covered, searching every drawer in

  hope of discovering the contract. Failing, Cardona stood thoughtfully beside the desk.

  He was wondering whether or not some one had come here in Slips Harbeck's place; but as he reviewed

  events, he was satisfied that no one could have come.

  It had been a considerable trek from Red Mike's to the Sharon Building. But Joe was sure that he had

  made the journey in less time than Slips Harbeck could have accomplished it. The absence of the

  contract pleased the sleuth. It reminded him of the signal that would bring Slips Harbeck's chief rushing to

  this spot.

  Cardona reached for the telephone. His intention was to call headquarters and summon other men to be

  on hand.

  He stopped before he grasped the instrument. That course would be inadvisable. Suppose that the call

  should happen to be made while he was phoning? The busy signal might scare off the man who was

  communicating with this office.

  No; the call to headquarters could wait. Mumbling half aloud, Joe repeated the reply that he intended to

  give to the unknown caller:

  "Nothing doing."

  The detective smiled. That would bring the big shot. The door was unlocked; ready for his arrival. He

  would enter to find Joe Cardona instead of Slips Harbeck. Arrest would result; the impending chain of

  crime would be ended. Credit to Joe Cardona; commendation from Commissioner Ralph Weston. The

  situation seemed certain as the detective considered it, standing in the silent office.

  MINUTES drifted by, and Cardona began to feel uneasy. He had a sensation that eyes were watching

  him. He turned and peered through the door into the outer office. He saw nothing but blackness.

  Swiftly, the detective stepped to the door. His flashlight was in his left hand, his revolver in his right. He

  turned on the glimmer, pushed open the door, and let the rays sweep the walls. He saw no sign of a

  hidden watcher. Long, shadowy blotches appeared as the light circled. They revealed no person.

  Cardona laughed and returned to the lighted inner office. Once more he closed the door only partially, so

  he could listen as he waited. Sure that no one lurked in the other room, the detective gained new

  confidence. He had seen no more than shadows. But sometimes shadows lived!

  Joe Cardona was a man of hunches; to-night, he was on ground where hunches failed. He had imagined

  a menace in the other office, and only safety here. In both instances, Cardona was wrong. The hidden

  being whom Cardona's fleeting light had failed to uncover was not there to thwart the law. The Shadow's

  only enemies were those who sponsored crime.

  Why did The Shadow wait? Had he planned the same course that Cardona was taking; and did he know

  the detective's thoughts? Did he still expect Slips Harbeck to arrive? What was going on within that mind

  that dwelt in darkness?

  Only The Shadow knew!

  At last came the signal that Joe Cardona awaited. The bell box of the telephone, stationed beside the

  wall, gave forth the expected ring. J
oe Cardona reached out and gripped the telephone. He repeated the

  words that he would utter:

  "Nothing doing."

  The telephone rang again. Cardona lifted the receiver. As he held it to his ear, he nonchalantly seated

  himself upon the desk. The action turned Cardona's back to the door.

  It was then that motion occurred in the darkness. The door opened a trifle farther. A projecting mass of

  black moved slowly into the inner office.

  Joe Cardona was listening for a voice over the wire. Then it occurred to him that he must respond first.

  He spoke in a low, cautious tone.

  "Hello… Hello…"

  There was no answer. A look of chagrin came on Cardona's face. As he clutched the telephone in his

  right hand and held the receiver in his left, he realized that his own stupidity might have caused the man to

  hang up at the other end.

  So keyed had the sleuth been to give the certain message, that he had overlooked this minor detail. Now,

  with the receiver pressed closely to his ear, he still hoped that the connection had not been broken.

  "Hello… Hello…"

  As Cardona spoke again, The Shadow was approaching. Fully revealed, a tall, amazing phantom

  cloaked in black, this being had neared Cardona.

  He stood directly in back of Cardona now, so close that he might have been the detective's own

  shadow! Yet Cardona, intent upon the telephone, did not sense the presence of the sepulchral being who

  had advanced behind him.

  THE SHADOW'S hands were moving. They hovered above Cardona's shoulders. Sinister fingers nearly

  touched the detective's arms. Had The Shadow changed his purpose? Did he intend to overpower the

  detective and to receive the call himself?

  "Hello… Hello…"

  Cardona again spoke futile words. Impatience flickered on the detective's countenance. He raised his

  right thumb and pressed the hook to jiggle it, and possibly restore the connection. Down went the hook;

  the thumb released it.

  At that instant, The Shadow struck. His hand came forward with a swift blow. It landed squarely upon

  Cardona's left arm, and knocked the detective's hand forward with the receiver at the very moment when

  the sleuth released the hook with his right thumb.

  A hissing sound came simultaneously from the telephone receiver. It was accompanied by a terrific puff

  of smoke. A bullet whistled by Cardona's face, and shattered a large water bottle that stood upon a

  stand by the wall.

  Joe Cardona tumbled from the desk, telephone and receiver still in his grasp. He caught himself and

  staggered backward.

  As his head turned so that his eyes could view his mysterious assailant, Cardona caught a fleeting glimpse

  of a tall form that had swung to the half-opened door. Burning eyes met the detective's quick, startled

  gaze. A cloak swished, and the mysterious figure was gone.

  "The Shadow!"

  The cry burst from Cardona's startled lips. The detective had recognized the personage who had struck

  the receiver down in time to save his life. The telephone clanked upon the desk. Bewildered, Cardona

  seized his revolver and his flashlight.

  The tones of a strange, whispered laugh came to the detective's ears. Cardona reached the outer office,

  and threw the beams of his light toward the outer door, just as it closed. The detective hurried to the hall.

  He was too late. The Shadow was gone.

  After a long interval, Cardona weakly returned to the inner office. The floor was soaked with water from

  the cracked bottle. The detective picked up the telephone from the desk. His eyes ran along the wire that

  connected it with the box.

  Joe Cardona's backward stagger had brought that wire free. The sleuth made an examination. He

  discovered that the cord was a dummy. He picked up the telephone. It, too, was a faked article.

  Some one had removed the genuine phone and its wire. This instrument had been installed in its place. It

  was not a telephone. It was an ingenious death machine. Quickly, Cardona unscrewed the parts. He

  found himself possessing a remarkable device.

  The receiver contained a short, stubby pistol barrel. Behind it was the hammer; out dropped a large,

  empty cartridge. Filled with a special charge of explosive powder, this deadly weapon had discharged its

  bullet with a sharp pung, accompanied by the puff of smoke.

  There was a dry battery in the post of the telephone. This, connected with the receiver hook and the wire

  between base and receiver, had supplied the current that released the hammer of the pistol. Down and

  up — Cardona went through the motion with the hook. Both actions were required; the hammer rose and

  fell.

  Certain death — silent death! Cardona had escaped it to-night. The fiend who had designed this

  instrument had planned well.

  CARDONA did not know that the idea had occurred to Professor Folcroft Urlich when the scientist had

  seen Alfred Sartain's actions with the telephone within the studio where doom had been slated to strike.

  The detective knew only that the vigilance of The Shadow had saved him from certain death. Vaguely,

  the detective realized that The Shadow might have been the one for whom this fate had been intended. A

  man, jiggling the hook, would surely have the receiver to his ear.

  The conjecture was correct. The Shadow, scenting a death trap, had finally centralized upon the

  telephone. He had watched Cardona's actions, and had acted when the crucial moment had been

  reached.

  Other thoughts were buzzing through the detective's mind. This deadly instrument could well be accepted

  as a device intended to slay Gardner Joyce, the occupant of this office. That made a third intended crime.

  Alfred Sartain had escaped death; so had J. Wesley Barnsworth. Now Gardner Joyce was on the list.

  Cardona's perplexity faded. He knew the charm that had acted on all three events. The Shadow!

  To Cardona, The Shadow was a living being. On other occasions, the master of the night had intervened

  to save the ace detective from doom. Where The Shadow's hand had entered, success had followed the

  affairs of Joe Cardona. Yet there was a reason why the detective preserved silence on that count.

  Technically, The Shadow was nonexistent. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston had passed that order.

  Until the identity of The Shadow was known, the being in black could not be regarded as a subject for

  the records.

  Joe Cardona shrugged his shoulders. Once again, he had observed The Shadow only as a living

  phantom. He could not include to-night's intervention in his report. He must state that he, himself, had

  discovered the secret of the false telephone.

  Taking the death device with him, the detective strode from the office. He had proof of crime. He had

  connected Slips Harbeck with it; and the gangster was a prisoner. Cardona was pleased with his

  accomplishment; and he grinned as he thought of the effect his report would have on Commissioner

  Weston.

  Yet Cardona did not lack gratitude. He would have been pleased to extend his thanks to The Shadow,

  had he been given the opportunity to do so. Although ignorant of Professor Folcroft Urlich's part in

  crime, Cardona knew well that a battle of brains must now be under way between The Shadow and

  some supermind that plotted death.

  Silent death! It had failed to kill. Not only had The Shadow avoided it; he had saved Detective Joe

  Cardona also.r />
  Another scheme of Professor Folcroft Urlich had been thwarted. Again, The Shadow had prevailed!

  CHAPTER XII. THE QUIZ

  "COME on, Slips. Open up."

  Cardona's challenging voice brought a feeble grin from Slips Harbeck. The captured gangster was

  standing the ordeal of a constant grilling by Cardona and other detectives.

  "What do you know?"

  Slips shrugged his shoulders.

  "Nothing," he drawled.

  Cardona paced the little room where the quiz was taking place. He studied Slips Harbeck's strained face.

  The gangster was slouched in a chair, in a state of exhaustion. He had managed to hold out for hours.

  "Look here, Slips" — Cardona's milder tones denoted a change of tactics— "we've got the goods on you.

  You were hooked up with Duster Brooks. We know you were with those gorillas at Sartain's

  penthouse."

  "Never heard of the place," protested Slips.

  "You were in on the job at Barnsworth's," continued Cardona. "That's why we put the clamps on you.

  But we didn't do it until we got the goods. My man heard that phone call you got at Red Mike's. That's

  how we queered the job at Joyce's office. You can't get out of it, Slips. Understand?"

  "You've got nothing on me," drawled the gangster.

  "We don't want anything on you," announced Cardona quietly. "We want to give you a break. You were

  at Sartain's. All right. You beat it. We've got no proof that you even fired a shot.

  "Somebody planted a death trap at Barnsworth's place. We aren't laying that on you. Last of all, you

  were to go to Joyce's office, to get a phone call. That's correct, isn't it?"

  "I don't know."

  "You'll know when I tell you what happened," asserted Cardona grimly. "That phone call came through. I

  took it. I'll show you what I nearly got."

  He motioned to one of the detectives. The man produced the fake telephone. Cardona exhibited the

  parts to Slips Harbeck.

  "See?" quizzed the detective. "Right up against my ear like that. It would have got me, if I hadn't turned

  wise all of a sudden. Say, Slips" — Cardona spoke as though he had a sudden idea—"I think you're all

  right, after all. Lucky, I call it. You were going to that office. You were going to answer the telephone.