Detective Sergeant Markham was there; and Cardona could not help bursting loose with what he had learned.
"I've found out plenty about Bill Quaine!" exclaimed the inspector. "He's been running a racket of his own! All during that night club mess, he was walking in on places, getting what he called 'evidence'; but that wasn't what he was after!
"He was making trouble for those night clubs. Every manager that confided too much in Quaine, began to find the clamps coming down on him from the racket
ring; Quaine always had an alibi for it, so no one man thought he was phony.
"But when you get the same hints from a dozen of them, you know what lies behind it. If those fellows had talked together, they'd have seen through the racket themselves; but night club managers don't get too chummy with each other. It took an outsider, like myself, to get the real lowdown."
Cardona yanked open a desk drawer; brought out the file that he found there. He studied it with angry eyes, then flung the papers on the desk. "Who took that stuff about Bill Quaine?" he demanded. "This isn't the data I had before. Who's been in here, Markham?"
Markham hadn't seen anyone; but he admitted that he had not been in the office all along. Cardona went to the office door; in the hallway he saw a stoopish droopy-faced janitor, busy with mop and brush.
"Come in here, Fritz!" gruffed Cardona. "I want to talk to you."
The janitor shambled into the office. Cardona took the papers on the desk.
"Did you see anybody in this office?" he roared. "Anybody who went out with a batch of papers hike these?"
Fritz shook his head. His eyes were listless, dull.
"You've been around here all along, Fritz?"
"Yah," Fritz nodded. "Not all along. Only a little while."
Cardona slapped the papers on the desk. Fritz wasn't of any use; he knew as little as Markham. In fact, Joe wasn't even annoyed when Fritz began to paw the papers, looking at them curiously.
"I know him," grunted Fritz, suddenly. "Yah. Bill Quaine."
Cardona swung about. Fritz was pointing to a photograph that had come loose from the papers. It was Quaine's picture, all right, but what it was doing in this batch of records, Cardona didn't know until he looked more closely.
He started to snatch the photo from Fritz's hands; the janitor dropped it.
The picture fell face downward on the desk.
Fritz was shambling away, back to his mop and bucket, while Cardona was staring at the name on back of the photo. That name wasn't Bill Quaine; it was Slick Thurley.
CARDONA scanned the papers. Amazement took control of his poker face.
Here
were records of a sort the police didn't have, although they were backed with certain official data that had never yet been properly linked.
"Slick Thurley!" exclaimed Cardona to Markham. "Say - he's a dead ringer for Bill Quaine, but we never knew it! I've heard of Slick Thurley; he's been in some jams, too, but he always managed to get out of them.
"That's because we never guessed his real racket. He's been doubling for Quaine! With this mug of his, he could get away with it, by talking like Bill and acting like him. But, that's something we can check up on in a line-up.
"Bill Quaine is O.K.; the guy we've got to find is Slick Thurley. When we get him, we'll know who murdered Parrington; and I've got a hunch, Markham, that we'll learn a lot besides!"
The telephone bell jangled. Cardona answered. When he heard a whispered voice across the wire, he didn't have to be told who had put the new papers in his desk drawer. Joe Cardona was listening to The Shadow.
All during that call, Cardona nodded. When he hung up, he pulled a telegraph blank from the desk drawer and began to write a wire. "Forget all that's happened," Cardona told Markham. "We're keeping this business to ourselves. I've found out the best way to handle it."
Downstairs, Fritz, the janitor, was hanging up the receiver of a pay telephone. Hoisting his mop and bucket, he went to an obscure locker. Putting down the implements, he opened the locker and drew out a black cloak and slouch
hat.
As those garments settled over the head and shoulders of the pretended Fritz, a whispered laugh came from obscured lips. Though only an echo, that mirth identified its owner.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVI
THE GO-BETWEEN
THAT night, Maude Revelle had a date with Pinkey Findlen. Maude expected it to be for dinner only; when Cranston had called her on the telephone, she had told her new friend that she might be able to see him later.
It was thought of Cranston that made Maude give Pinkey a suggestion, when they met at the side door of her apartment house.
"Let's go to a decent place, for a change," insisted Maude. "You know, like the kind we were at when you ran out on me."
"I didn't take no powder," argued Pinkey. "The Shadow slugged me. My pals had to carry me out."
"They didn't think of me, though did they?" retorted Maude. "Which means that maybe you didn't, either."
Pinkey was muttering when he hailed a taxi. Once in the cab, he decided to
humor Maude.
"All right," he growled. "You name the place - provided it ain't somewhere
that people are going to lamp me."
"It won't be," assured Maude.
The place where she took Pinkey was the one where she had dined with Cranston. Pinkey gave the surroundings a disgruntled stare, but was forced to admit that it was secluded. The little room was certainly a good spot where two
people could be alone.
The dinner, too, pleased Pinkey reasonably well, after Maude had translated the French terms that appeared on the bill-of-fare.
"You've got class, kid," approved Pinkey. "I've always said you had, ain't
I? That's why I never introduced you to the mugs I pal around with."
"I've met Claude Ondrey," reminded Maude.
"Yeah, but he ain't no mug," rejoined Pinkey. "I mean guys like - well, never mind who they are. They ain't in your class."
"And maybe you aren't, either."
Maude's remark brought an ugly stare from Pinkey. That glare didn't make the girl flinch.
"Whatta ya mean?" he growled.
"Figure it for yourself," insisted Maude. "You've always tried to bluff me, Pinkey. Why deny it?"
"I didn't drag you into the racket, did I?"
"You've come close to it. You haven't fooled me, Pinkey. I know you've framed things so I'd look as crooked as you are, it case you wanted to put me in wrong with the police."
Pinkey gave a short laugh. He liked Maude's direct manner, especially because it was leading up to a plan that he had in mind.
"I suppose you want to ditch me," he remarked, "because you've fallen for this silk-hat guy. Say - what's the name of this bird who's too good with his dukes?"
"That's my business," returned Maude, coolly. "I haven't mentioned your name to him; so I'm not telling you who he is."
PINKEY'S eyes showed a mingling of expressions. Through his mind were passing the thoughts that Maude wasn't the sort who would talk; also, that she was getting too ritzy in her ideas, to suit him.
After all, Pinkey decided, blondes were plentiful; and what Pinkey liked about most of the ones that he had met was the fact that he had found them dumb. He'd made a bad guess with Maude. She was smart.
That had seemed good, at first. If she'd turned crooked, and acted dumb, she could have helped in Pinkey's business. But Maude had never listened to reason along those lines.
What Pinkey wanted, most of all, was to outsmart her. He knew that if he did, Maude would be through with him forever; but that seemed likely, anyway.
Right now, Pinkey saw how she could be useful; and the time was right for his proposition. "You've taken a shine to the silk-hat guy, ain't you, kid?" he questioned. "All right - suppose we do call it quits. How would you like that?"
"I'd like it a lot," admitted Maude, frankly. "But get this straight
, Pinkey: I'm not trying to make this fellow fall for me. He's just a friend, that's all."
"I'd figured that," nodded Pinkey. "What you're hoping is, that he'll introduce you to a lot of other stuffed shirts, so you can go ritzy."
"That's partly so," admired Maude. "Of course -"
"Never mind the rest. If this guy is the real McCoy, and really knows people, you're welcome to him."
Maude's eyes widened. For a moment, she thought that Pinkey was getting big-hearted; then she began to look for the catch. It came.
"Tomorrow," undertoned Pinkey, "there's a swell cocktail party being thrown on Long Island, at the home of a dame named Mrs. Rothmorton. This guy you talk about ought to be able to crash the gate, and take you with him."
Maude agreed that such might be the case.
"There, you'll meet a doll named Beth Jondran," continued Pinkey. "All you've got to do is find out when she's coming into town, and how. Nobody's going to know it, if you spill me that news."
"And in return?" asked Maude.
"It's quits for you and me," returned Pinkey. "Everything forgotten.
We've
never heard of each other."
Maude wanted to hold back acceptance, but she couldn't. The words fairly sprang to her lips; before she knew it, she was thanking Pinkey, and giving full agreement.
"O.K., kid," declared Pinkey. "But remember" - his eyes went ugly - "you go through with it, or else -"
"I'll go through with it," interposed Maude, "provided nothing is going to
happen to this Jondran girl."
"She won't be hurt. That's understood."
WHEN Pinkey and Maude went from the little cafe, a figure emerged from the
hallway phone booth. The Shadow had been there all the while; he had overheard the entire conversation. The wiring that ran from the dinner table to the telephone booth was equipped with a two-way hookup.
Maude wasn't at her apartment very long before she received a phone call from Cranston. One hour later, they were sixty-odd stories above Manhattan's streets, watching the floor show in an exclusive night club. Maude found her chance to mention tomorrow's party at the Rothmorton residence.
Cranston, she learned, was a welcome guest there and would be glad to attend the party, if Maude went with him. The girl was enthusiastic with her thanks, and she was genuinely pleased at the prospect of meeting persons who were socially prominent.
But with it, Maude showed a certain restrained bitterness that few persons
other than The Shadow would have noticed. He knew what was on Maude's mind.
She
didn't like the task that she had to perform for Pinkey Findlen. To Maude's credit, the girl would probably have turned down the offer that Pinkey made her, if it hadn't given her a chance for absolute freedom, along with another factor.
The other item was that Maude knew how tough Pinkey would become, if he wanted his way. If she hadn't taken his promise, he would have changed it to a threat. There were probably ways where Pinkey could have forced her to go through with the plot against Beth Jondran.
There had been times, Maude had heard, when Pinkey planted phony servants in swell households. He could manage to do that with her, if he wanted; and supply a trigger-man to watch her.
During the rest of the evening, Maude was impelled by a huge desire to confess everything to Cranston. At moments, she hated herself, because she didn't tell her story. At other times, she calmed enough to reason that if she spoke the truth, Cranston would also be placed in danger.
All the while, Maude was confident that she had kept those thoughts from the man who had befriended her. Actually, The Shadow recognized everything that
passed in Maude's mind. That wasn't difficult, since he already knew her story.
Maude reached her apartment soon after midnight. She hadn't long to wait, before Pinkey called. From his cautious tone, Maude decided that he had broken his usual rule and was calling her from his hide-out.
As she heard Pinkey's voice, she wished with all her might that she knew where the hide-out was, for she was in a mood to finish Pinky's entire game.
The big-shot didn't state that information. He merely wanted to know if Maude had arranged matters for tomorrow. Listlessly, Maude told him that everything was set.
IN the hideout, Pinkey gave a gruff chuckle when he hung up the telephone.
Slick and Bugs were present to hear the big-shot's glee.
"Its going to be a cinch!" announced Pinkey. "We'll snatch this Jondran doll, and hold her while we make her old man listen to the million dollar proposition. After that, we'll let her go."
"That means Maude won't make a holler. She'll be glad because I'm through with her. Only I won't be" - Pinkey's eyes went glinty; his under lip gave a shove - "because were going to rub out that blonde, after we've finished everything else.
"No dame can pull ritzy stuff on me and get away with it! I talked nice to
her tonight and, for a while, I really meant it. Only I changed my mind, afterward."
None of the crooks were watching the door, as it closed a fraction of an inch. A figure glided down the stairs and out through the alleyway, where some of the mobbies were keeping guard. The watchers were on the lookout for anyone who started trouble; but they hadn't expected a shrouded prowler who could creep in and out like night itself.
Later, a voice spoke within the darkness of a soundproof limousine. Its tone was The Shadow's whisper, forwarding instructions by short-wave radio; orders that would reach his agents and have them ready on the morrow.
Burbank acknowledged those instructions; and, in his listening post, the last tone that the contact man received was one that promised full success.
That tone was The Shadow's laugh.
CHAPTER XVII
CRIME'S ZERO HOUR
MAUDE REVELLE was at her best, the next afternoon. She had expected that the guests at the cocktail party might regard her as an outsider; instead, they
received her like an old friend.
That was partly because she came with Lamont Cranston; but Maude's own conduct was an added factor. Most of Maude's society notions had been gained from watching movies; but she had profited a lot from the process. Moreover, she had an aptitude for imitating other persons, without having them realize it.
That was one reason why Pinkey had liked her. She had seemed "classy," as he put it; but she talked his own language. He had never realized that her conversation was unnatural. Nor did the guests at the Rothmorton party suspect that Maude was not of their own ilk.
There were times when Maude used slangy terms; and once in a while, she didn't grasp what others talked about. But they accepted her slang expressions as quips; and Maude was wise enough to preserve silence, when she found herself
beyond her depth.
There was one girl at the party that Maude liked the moment she saw her.
The girl was a slender brunette whose smile was is friendly as her eyes. She admired the tasteful way in which Maude was dressed; and that pleased Maude more than ever.
The two were not introduced at first, because most of the persons at the party were already acquainted. When Maude finally met the brunette, she was pleased until she heard the latter's name.
The girl that Maude liked so well was Beth Jondran.
As the party progressed, Maude learned that Beth's father was a very important man in the oil business. She also found out that Beth was driving into the city alone, in her roadster. The car happened to be parked just outside the window; it was the only roadster in the driveway.
Maude had no trouble learning the license number. Gloomily, she scribbled it on a bit of paper, tucked it into her cigarette case. With it, she marked the time at which Beth intended to leave; namely, a quarter past six. Beth wanted to meet some friends at seven; but they wouldn't wait for her if she was
late.
That fact also bothered Maude; for it fixed everything nicely, in accordance with Pinkey's plan
s. Maude was hoping desperately that something might happen to prevent Beth's capture.
For her own part, she saw no other way to manage it; whether right or wrong, she had to go through with Pinkey's orders.
IT was nearly six o'clock, when Beth suddenly approached Maude and handed her an envelope. The deed was timely, for Maude had reached the point where she
knew she would have to call Ondrey and give him news for Pinkey.
"I've been carrying this for the last ten minutes," laughed Beth. "Mr.
Cranston gave it to me, for you. He found that he had to leave unexpectedly.
I'm terribly forgetful at times. So much so, that I can never remember where I place the car keys. That's why I always leave them in the car, whenever I know that it is safe."
Maude was opening the envelope. Dusk had gathered; it was gloomy in the corner where the two girls were. Beth turned on a floor lamp. She was starting away, when Maude halted her.
With the envelope only partly opened, Maude forgot about it to express something to Beth. "You know, Miss Jondran," she said, "there's one thing I wouldn't ever do, that's double-cross anyone."
Beth smiled sympathetically. She didn't quite understand; but she saw that
Maude was badly troubled.
"I mean, anyone like Mr. Cranston," continued Maude. "Or anyone as swell as you are, Miss Jondran. But sometimes - well, there are things you can't tell
a person."
Beth looked at the note, then asked: "You mean something you cannot tell Mr. Cranston?"
"That's it," returned Maude. "That is, in a way. What I mean is, if a fellow doesn't know something he ought to know, but if you've promised someone else that you won't tell him -" Her voice broke; Maude was choking when she added:
"What I mean is, a real guy like Mr. Cranston ought to be treated right.
And so should you, Miss Jondran."
"I don't quite understand," soothed Beth. "But Maude - I know you won't mind my calling you Maude - I feel that real persons can trust each other.
That
often solves life's problems. But I feel, too, that each person must be allowed
to do what he or she thinks is best."
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