"Listen to this!" he exclaimed. "Say—I know why the place is empty. Varden beat it!"
"Where?"
"He doesn't say."
Holding the message to the light, Joe Cardona read its words aloud.
"To whom it may concern. I, Worth Varden, have decided to leave New York because of the incriminating circumstances which I have encountered through my connection with the San Salvador Importing Company. Signed,
WORTH VARDEN."
Markham took the message from Cardona's hand. Joe plucked the gray sheet of paper that also lay in the drawer. He looked at both sides of it, held it to the light, and let it flutter to the desk. The gray paper was blank.
From the drawer, Cardona removed a packet of papers. This was bound with a rubber band. Removing the elastic, the detective spread documents upon the desk. They consisted of old data pertaining to the San Salvador Importing Company.
"Let's see that note," ordered Cardona. He took the sheet which Markham held and compared it with written notations that he had discovered. "Yeah—it's Varden's writing sure enough—and his signature, too. It fits with this San Salvador stuff."
"Say"—Markham's tone was expressive of surprise—"this guy Varden must be a crook -"
"That's something we've got to learn," Joe declared. "But I've made a big jump already. Put one and one together, and you get two, don't you?"
"You mean that Varden -"
"Was hooked up with Seth Cowry. He said so over the telephone. All right. I've been trying to figure Cowry's racket for a long time; and I've been wondering why he slid out of New York. It looks like we've got the answer.
"Something must be phony with this importing company. Cowry may have found it out—and tried a racketeering job on Varden. Then Cowry saw the bust coming—maybe he'd got his hush money, too—and took it on the lam. That left Varden wondering what was going to happen when the San Salvador Importing Company hit the rocks."
"So Varden called you -"
"To give away Cowry's game. He was excited. When I didn't come quick, he got cold feet, wrote this note, and beat it. Maybe he's a crook—maybe he isn't. That all depends on what we learn about the San Salvador Importing Company."
Cardona paused emphatically. The puzzled look disappeared from Markham's face. The detective sergeant voiced his approval of Cardona's theory.
"Say, Joe!" he exclaimed admiringly. "You sure get to things quick. I've got it now. Varden is probably a big shot with the importing company. He'll be in a jam if it's phony."
"These papers prove it," returned Cardona. "There's letters here, showing Varden's connection with the outfit."
"You should have gotten here sooner," decided Markham. "Then you could have grabbed this guy Varden."
"I know it," grunted Cardona. "Well—I couldn't have pinched him anyhow. He'd have talked about Seth Cowry, maybe, but I wouldn't have had any evidence to arrest Varden. We'll have to look into this San Salvador proposition first. An importing company. Looks like it may be a job for the department of justice."
CARDONA began to gather up the scattered documents. He laid them in a stack on the table. To them, he added the note that bore Worth Varden's signature.
"We'll take this stuff down to headquarters," announced Cardona. "We'll hold it there. If Varden comes back, he can call us about it. In the meantime, I'm going to make sure of one thing."
"What's that?" queried Detective Sergeant Markham.
"That Varden isn't somewhere in this house," returned Cardona. "Shut that door and lock it. Then we can look around a bit. If we don't find anything, we'll pick up this stuff and take it with us."
As though to secure the papers, Cardona replaced them in the drawer. He closed the drawer, saw the sheet of gray paper on the desk, and brushed it to one side. Markham had turned to close the door that led to the corridor. There were no eyes watching now. The Shadow had returned to gloom.
The door went shut. Markham turned the key. Cardona went to an opposite door. It was locked and held a key. The detective turned it and opened the door, to find that it led into a living room.
"Come along," said Joe to Markham. "We'll give the place the once-over. But I'll bet we won't find Worth Varden."
The detectives went into the darkened living room. Silence pervaded the lighted study. There, in the desk drawer, lay the documents which Joe Cardona had accepted as proof positive that Worth Varden had fled the city, because of complications involving him with the San Salvador Importing Company.
On the desk lay a gray sheet of paper. Cardona had rejected it as of no consequence. Little did the ace detective realize that he had overlooked the one real clew that might have led him to the trail of a superfiend!
Gray Fist! The gray sheet was a token of a master crook's evil toils. Yet to Joe Cardona it was no more than a scrap of useless paper.
Joe Cardona had missed the beginning of the trail. In so doing, however, he had left its discovery to another. Invisible eyes had seen Cardona's actions; listening ears had heard Cardona's comments.
Waiting and watching, The Shadow was ready to examine clews which the ace detective had rejected!
CHAPTER V. THE GRAY PAPER
SHORTLY after Cardona and Markham had left Worth Varden's study, a motion occurred at the door which led to the corridor through which the detectives had entered.
The key began to turn in the lock. It was operating under the pressure of some instrument that had been inserted from the other side. Uncannily, the key completed its twist, without the slightest click. The knob of the door turned noiselessly. The door opened.
Blackness projected itself into the lighted room. From this mass materialized a living form. Like a ghost from spectral regions, a tall figure assumed the shape of a being clad in black.
The Shadow had entered.
The folds of a black cloak draped The Shadow's body. As the tall stranger moved across the floor, the cloak swished and showed a flash of crimson lining. The face of The Shadow remained unseen. The upturned collar of the cloak; the broad brim of the black slouch hat which The Shadow wore—these hid all except a pair of burning eyes that turned directly toward the desk in the center of the room.
Minutes were at the disposal of The Shadow. While Cardona and Markham were looking through the house, the master investigator had his opportunity to form theories of his own. Would they be different from the idea that Cardona had expressed? Only The Shadow knew!
Like Cardona, The Shadow went to the drawer of Worth Varden's desk. A gloved hand opened the drawer. It plucked forth the papers that Cardona had examined. Standing beside the desk, a tall blot that loomed beneath the light, The Shadow began an examination of the documents.
The papers which pertained to the San Salvador Importing Company were bona fide. A quick inspection proved that fact. The Shadow, like Cardona, compared the note that was with the papers. This was the message, with Varden's signature, which stated that the importer had fled.
A soft laugh escaped The Shadow's hidden lips. A gloved hand began to open other drawers. All were empty except one—this held some sheets of blank white paper. The Shadow withdrew one. He picked up a fountain pen that lay upon Varden's desk, and wrote a few words.
Another comparison; again the laugh. The Shadow had detected something wrong with Varden's supposed confession. Although the importer had evidently written it in this study—at least, so Cardona had supposed—there were two factors which made The Shadow doubt the fact.
The paper on which the message appeared was of different quality than the paper in Varden's desk drawer. The ink used in the message was of differing hue from the ink which was in Varden's fountain pen. The Shadow knew at once that the note could not have been written by Worth Varden after the importer's telephone call to Joe Cardona.
The deduction was masterful because of its simplicity. It showed the keen directness of The Shadow's methods. It gave The Shadow a prompt inkling to the fact that the note might be a forgery.
KEEN eyes s
tudied the writing on the suspected note. A tiny glass, of microscopic qualities, appeared between The Shadow's thumb and forefinger. The eye that studied the writing through that lens saw the inscribed letters raised to great size. The eye of The Shadow detected proof of forgery.
The edges of the inked lines were blurred. They proved that the writer of this note had worked slowly; that he had copied some actual writing of Worth Varden. The forgery was an excellent one—when not subjected to microscopic examination. Yet the forger had unwittingly left the tell-tale marks through the very care which he had exercised.
The Shadow laughed softly. He crumpled the sheet of paper on which he had sampled Varden's ink. It disappeared beneath his cloak. Burning eyes surveyed the room, while a gloved hand replaced the examined papers in the desk drawer.
The Shadow was working out his theory. He had discovered facts of vital importance. He noted a ticking clock upon a side table; his keen brain began to take in the time element involved, in this mysterious and peculiar case.
Worth Varden had called Joe Cardona nearly one hour ago. At that time, the importer had probably been alone. He had desired Joe Cardona's presence here. The detective had promised to come. Varden had stated that he had facts to show regarding a racketeer named Seth Cowry.
No such evidence was present now. All that Cardona had found were documents that incriminated Worth Varden, without mention of Seth Cowry. The Shadow knew that events during the past hour had brought about an important change.
Some one must have visited Worth Varden. That visitor had talked with the importer. Somehow, he had managed to get Varden away. Then the visitor had reentered. Either Varden or he had carried away the evidence which the importer had intended for Joe Cardona.
The visitor must have come back after Varden's departure. The presence of the forged note was proof of that. The unlocked door from the alleyway was assurance that something had gone amiss. Cardona had pushed the door open; yet the detective had seen nothing important in the fact that it was unlocked. The Shadow, however, had seen Cardona's action. The Shadow knew.
Added was the evidence of the cigar butt that had been dropped outside. It indicated that some one had been lurking here. The ash tray at the side of Varden's desk showed cigarette butts only. The importer, evidently not a cigar smoker, would not have dropped a discarded cigar outside the door of his house.
A link between Worth Varden and Seth Cowry was a surety. The Shadow was seeking some trace of that connection. His keen eyes observed the blank sheet of gray paper. The Shadow lifted it from the desk.
Here was paper unlike any other in Varden's study. Cardona had found it with Varden's papers. That indicated that this sheet was intended as part of the false evidence that would go against Varden.
The Shadow held the paper to the light. No trace of any writing was visible. Yet The Shadow, as he keenly studied the gray paper, saw a fact which Cardona had not noticed. The sheet of gray paper was double!
DESPITE the thin gloves that covered them, The Shadow's fingers were deft. They peeled the paper; it came loose and separated into two individual sheets. The gum which held them was present only at the edges.
Once more The Shadow laughed. He saw the purpose of this doubled sheet. Between the portions, a message could be written—yet the inscription would be invisible until one held the paper to the light.
Nevertheless, the gray paper was blank. Why?
The Shadow had the answer. His whispered laugh gave sibilant tone to his thoughts. Worth Varden had called Joe Cardona, and had mentioned that he possessed data which concerned Seth Cowry. Later, a visitor had called on Varden; and the importer had probably told him of the call to Cardona.
Varden must have possessed a message inscribed between two sheets of gray paper. The visitor must have realized that Varden could have told Cardona something regarding such a message. Hence the visitor, returning to Varden's, had deliberately left a blank sheet of double gray paper to replace the one that had held a message to Varden.
Such was The Shadow's deduction. The Shadow knew, from Cardona's rejection of the gray paper, that the detective knew nothing of a mysterious note. Probably Varden had not mentioned it to Cardona. But The Shadow was picturing the mental state of the man who had come here to plant a forged confession.
As yet, The Shadow had found nothing that gave him a direct lead to Ruggles Preston, pretended friend of Worth Varden. Yet The Shadow had pictured Preston as an existing person. Furthermore, he had made a very close analysis of Preston's actions on this night, even to the mental processes in which Preston had indulged.
Footsteps were approaching. Cardona and Markham were returning. Carrying the discarded gray paper with him, The Shadow swept quickly from the room. The door closed softly. When Cardona and Markham entered the study, the key was turning in the lock, manipulated from the opposite side of the door.
Neither Cardona nor Markham saw the turning key. Cardona opened the desk drawer; took out the San Salvador documents, and the forged note. He unlocked the door which The Shadow had just closed.
With Markham following, Cardona strode out into the night.
When the coupe had pulled away, a splotch of blackness moved beneath a street lamp. A soft whisper sounded in the night. The Shadow moved through darkness.
Joe Cardona had completed his investigation at Worth Varden's. So had The Shadow. The detective had formed his theory. The Shadow, too, had formed a theory. But where Cardona had merely fallen into the channel set for him, and had been deceived by Ruggles Preston's work, The Shadow had used keen deduction to learn the truth of matters that had occurred at Worth Varden's home.
LATER, the bluish light appeared within The Shadow's black-walled sanctum. White hands appeared upon the polished table. The girasol glimmered while The Shadow inscribed orders in his special code.
One order was to Cliff Marsland. It instructed The Shadow's agent in the underworld to continue his investigation of Seth Cowry's affairs.
The other order was to Harry Vincent. The Shadow was instructing that young man to make a preliminary investigation that would involve the friends and business associates of Worth Varden.
The orders were completed. The Shadow folded the sheets before the vivid blue ink had time to disappear. Each message went into a separate envelope. The Shadow addressed each one, and placed both together in a larger envelope.
This container was addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building, New York City. Its legend was in ink that would not fade. To-morrow, Mann would give the coded orders to Marsland and Vincent, respectively, when they called at his office.
The white hands moved. Something appeared between them. It was the gray paper—the doubled sheet that had separated into two. The hidden eyes of The Shadow considered it; a soft laugh rippled from The Shadow's lips.
In this gray paper, The Shadow saw the hidden hand of a master-schemer. He knew that Worth Varden had been handled only by minions; that behind the disappearance of the importer lay the craft of a supercrook.
The blue light flicked out. The laugh of The Shadow rose to its crescendo and died away. It was a presaging laugh. The Shadow knew that ways of crime must soon be met; that stirring episodes lay ahead.
As yet, The Shadow had not learned the identity of the enemy whom he must meet; nevertheless, he had seen the evidence of fiendish craftsmanship. The Shadow had sensed the hidden power of Gray Fist.
Deep silence pervaded the blackened sanctum. Mystery held sway. The Shadow had fared forth in search of an enemy who dealt in crime. When The Shadow set out on such adventure, fierce conflict was intended.
The might of The Shadow was nearing a clash with the power of a superfiend. Soon, Gray Fist would find himself compelled to meet the master fighter who was coming from the dark to put an end to crime!
CHAPTER VI. MINIONS AT WORK
IN deputing duties to his agents, The Shadow had chosen wisely. All those who served him were men of capability, well suited to the tasks to wh
ich they had been assigned.
The disappearance of Worth Varden, following the prolonged absence of Seth Cowry, showed a direct link between a man of supposed respectability and a racketeer whose habitat was the underworld. Thus, while Cliff Marsland still worked upon the Cowry case, Harry Vincent had been ordered to study matters from the other angle, through an investigation of Varden's affairs.
On the morning following The Shadow's visit to Worth Varden's home, Harry Vincent called at the office of Rutledge Mann, in response to a telephone call from the investment broker. There he received his instructions. He started at once upon his assigned task.
No news of Varden's disappearance had reached the newspapers. Joe Cardona was looking into the matter of the San Salvador Importing Company. Nothing had broken from that angle. Hence, when Harry Vincent visited the office of Worth Varden, he was informed only that the importer was out of town.
Harry possessed the manner of a prosperous young business man. He stated that he would call again within a few days; and although he decided to keep his business for discussion with Worth Varden alone, he did condescend to enter into conversation with a bespectacled secretary who worked in Varden's office.
The talk turned to the importing business; from that, it swung to Varden himself. By tactful conversation, Harry began to learn facts regarding the associates of Worth Varden. He heard the names of men with whom the importer had been engaged in business enterprises, and he also learned of certain professional men who appeared to be close personal friends of Worth Varden.
During the afternoon, Harry worked on the list which he had thus compiled. He made several telephone calls which brought him further information concerning the men with whom Worth Varden had had associations.
When he returned to the Metrolite Hotel, his stopping place while in New York, Harry went to the restaurant and ordered dinner. At the table, he studied his list to see what work he could do in the evening.
Harry noted one name in particular. It was that of Ruggles Preston. He had heard Varden's secretary mention that the lawyer was a close friend of Varden's. Yet from what Harry had gathered, Preston did not represent Varden as an attorney.
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